I didn’t start hearing the voice until I stopped the medication. I was afraid to tell Nikolai that I was going crazy, but he listened, really listened to me. And another yay, Maksim, we found out one of the drug’s side effects was hallucinations and psychosis.
Throw me a fucking parade.
The good news? Nikolai was able to reverse engineer a few things and fix it.
The bad news? It was too late for the lab rat, aka me, and on top of that, I somehow got poisoned—it finally showed itself in my blood chemistry—but we didn’t figure out for a while where or when I picked it up, or what triggers it, and since the medicine is already killing me anyway…
I will forever be in a state where I am pulled between myself and this fuzzy dark world of blood, disaster, and Sim.
God, I hate Sim.
Sim hates me too, or at least I imagine he does, but how will I ever really know? It’s not like I’m talking to him. No, he talks to me, he’s aware of me, and the only reason I even knew who he is, is because of the cryptic journals he left me, which are almost too disturbing to read.
It’s terrifying having conversations with myself. At one point, the only way I could compare it or give an example was using the stupid Spiderman movies with Tobey McGuire and the Green Goblin as an example.
Lame, so laaaaame.
I would black out, I would hear the voice—my own, and then I would wake up in a completely different place. Some days the blackouts were long; other days, they were short, like having amnesia and wondering why my body was so sore.
I finally found out—after Nikolai kept me at the hospital—that I wasn’t blacking out at all. I was just taking a back seat and letting someone else drive.
If the guy driving wasn’t a psychopath, then maybe I wouldn’t be so petrified every time I didn’t get the suppressant into my system in time.
I flex against the knots and remember the first time Nikolai tied me up this way, the first time he explained why it was necessary to give control back in a way that takes it away.
Where I have no choice.
Some use Shibari sexually; others use it to be set free. And it helps. It fucking helps so much that it’s a relief whenever I’m bound.
Because at least then, I know I won’t go anywhere.
I’m safe.
Tied.
I’m Maksim, not Sim.
I hang my head and take a deep breath.
The door opens.
I hope it’s not Izzy.
I don’t want her to see me this way.
I don’t want to see her tears when I know I’m the reason for them.
I sigh in relief when it’s King.
“You look like a really fucked up Christmas present,” he jokes and pulls out a chair. “Feeling better?”
“A bit.” I shrug. “I just don’t want to lose myself.”
“You won’t.” He’s so earnest and convinced that the worst-case scenario won’t happen, and he’s a total pessimist, so it makes zero sense. “You just have to accept it.”
I snort out a laugh. “Accept that I’m going crazy?”
“No.” His smile is sad. “Accept that you were born this way, with a need for blood and a talent for spilling it.”
I recoil. “No.”
“Remember when we were six?”
“Maybe?” Shame builds inside me, so thoroughly my body hurts. “Why?”
“Hmm…” He shrugs. “I guess you don’t then.”
“Don’t what?”
“Remember what happened.”
I’m confused, wanting answers, ready to Hulk out of the ropes, or at least attempt to, when he sits forward. “They killed her in cold blood, slit her throat and let a river of blood run down the cement. We weren’t supposed to be in the room, but we were playing hide and seek. I tried to protect you, to shield you from the blood, but it was too late; you saw it all.”
Fragments assault my brain—searing along neural pathways, each adding to a bonfire that threatens to make my head explode into flames. Fiery images pulse into my temples, oozing in like living lava, as my head begins to throb in time with each flashing memory. “She had blond hair.”
“She chose death. She didn’t want your dad to free her; she chose death, not life,” he says. “You were never supposed to see it.”
“No.” I squint. “Neither were you.”
“The next night,” he says, “you went back, and you watched again.”
“What?” I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. That part I really don’t remember.
“You would sit in the corner and watch the violence that took place at your dad’s club. You would sit eerily still and never speak a word. Every time punishments were given out to rats or people who betrayed the Five Families, you’d almost sigh in relief, get up and say some shit like ‘let’s go play video games’ as if you didn’t even see it…” He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he shrugs. “Maybe you didn’t.”