It’s becoming more and more difficult to concentrate in school. The voices are getting worse. I don’t know how to control them. Dinner with my parents is always bad. I can hear them chatting about their day, very distantly, but the voices are overpowering them too. It’s hard to even hear my own thoughts. Because of this, I’ve been excusing myself from dinner every night. I think Mom is catching on, though. She’s been watching me a bit more than usual.

Then there’s Eric. He has no idea what’s going on with me. I’m afraid to tell him. All of this is bottled up inside, and I’m going through it alone. I don’t know any other way. I keep lashing out at him, which isn’t fair, but I have no clue how to handle…whatever this is.

Why is this happening to me?

Earlier today, the voices were poking and prodding, yelling. Each day they’re getting louder and speaking faster. I sat on the edge of the sofa at Eric’s parents’ home. Eric rented a movie and ordered pizza for our date night while his parents were out.

He sat beside me on the couch, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in closer to him. Usually, I’m a puddle of mush in his arms, but today I felt off about him. He was on the phone for a few seconds in the kitchen, whispering. When he came back to the couch and settled beside me, I tried not to let it get to me, but the voices were persistent. “Who were you on the phone with?” The question came out in a harsher and more demanding tone than I had intended.

He looked at me and shrugged a shoulder. “It was Jim. Why?”

“Jim?” I questioned.

Eric raised a brow. “Yeah, Jim. Is that a problem?”

“Yes. I know you’re lying.”

His eyes widened at the accusation. “Excuse me? Why on earth would I lie about being on the phone with Jim?”

Angry that he would lie to my face, I stood and pushed him away. “You were whispering in the kitchen, Eric.”

His features etched in confusion. He raised a hand, palm up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jenna. I wasn’t whispering.”

“Were you really talking to her?”

“Who?”

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re keeping from me.”

He got to his feet and brought his hands to my shoulders. His body towered over me, and his eyes pierced into mine. “Jenna, listen to how you sound right now. What are you talking about? And who is ‘she?’”

“The other girl you’ve been screwing with!”

Shocked, he let go of me and took a step back. “You’re crazy.”

Then the voices began to chant his words over and over again.

You’re crazy, You’re psycho, You’re crazy, You’re psycho, You’re crazy, You’re psycho…

It repeated in my head, and it didn’t want to shut off. So I ran out of his house. I ran all the way home. I ran up the stairs into my room and climbed out the window onto the roof. Where I am now.

I wish Brooke were here and not away at college. I’m not sure if I’d tell her what’s going on with me, but at this moment, I need someone to talk to.

My thoughts are all I have and they’re the last things I want to keep me company. I’m a prisoner of my own mind, trapped with the unknown, angry voices.

Logan

The music and lyrics of my favorite band pounce through the speakers. I’m in a good mood for two reasons. One: I managed not to beat up my alarm clock this morning, so I woke up on time, which means I’ll be early for work. Two: Tonight is the first summer evening of our lake house party, and with every previous year being such a success, I have no doubt this year will be just the same, if not better. As always, the kick-off to the summer lasts an entire weekend. After the first summer bash, we throw a party every Saturday for the rest of the summer.

Twenty minutes away from the McDaniels’ home, I slowly brake as I approach an intersection. What the hell? Is that a girl sitting on the corner…in pajamas? This isn’t abnormal to me. Living in Philadelphia, I think I’ve seen it all. But here, in this neighborhood, it just strikes me as odd. I shrug it off, release my foot from the brake, and drive on. As I pass the intersection, my curiosity gets the best of me. Turning my head, I look out the window and have a much better view of the girl. It’s not just any girl—it’s Jenna. What is she doing out here this early in the morning?

She’s been crying. Again. I can tell by the black tearstains down her cheeks. For the second time in less than a week, I’ve found this girl in tears. She didn’t see me; she’s too busy staring blankly across the street. What should I do? Should I just keep going and act as if I didn’t see her? Or should I pull over, check up on her, and see if she’s okay or needs a lift?

I can’t keep going. It’ll fuck with my head all day.

I pull over by the curb. Placing the car in park, I adjust the rearview mirror and watch her for a bit. Maybe she’s waiting for someone. She doesn’t move; she just continues to lean against the street sign and stare straight ahead. I look out the driver side to see what’s so interesting. It’s just a house. Another look in the rearview shows me she’s still there, unmoving. I’m a half hour early. Maybe I can see if she needs a lift. Before exiting the car, I reach into the glove compartment and remove a few napkins left over from some fast food drive-thru trips. I step out of the truck and slowly walk over to her.

Jenna doesn’t move when I step up beside her. She’s lost in her own head, not even realizing I’m here. I sit down beside her, a foot away. I don’t want to scare her, so I don’t say anything. Instead I just watch her. It’s as if she’s hypnotized. She doesn’t move or speak or blink. If it weren’t for the up and down, even chest movements, I would think she wasn’t breathing. There’s that and the tears roaming freely down her cheeks. Yeah, she’s definitely alive. Did some guy break her heart? Was it that Matthew guy? What could cause her to be this sad? Within a heartbeat I reach out, placing the napkin in her view. Her features quickly change from vacant to confused. She snaps out of her trance, tossing her head back and away from the napkin. Her eyes follow my hand, up my arm, and then land on my face. I give her a slight grin and a one-shoulder shrug to say, “Hey,” but her features turn angry.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

Maybe I caught her off guard. “I saw you sitting here when I was driving by. I thought maybe—”

“You thought maybe I’m crazy, right? Is that what it is?” she asks as she shuffles to her feet.

Confused, I shake my head and look up at her. “No, I thought maybe you needed a lift or…” Fuck. Should I have kept on driving?

Jenna fidgets and digs a hand into her hair. “You look at me and you see that, right?” She points across the street at the house she’s been staring at for God knows how long. I look back at her. What should I do or say? Is she having a girl breakdown right now? How do people handle shit like this?

I stand but keep my distance. I don’t want to set her off. Maybe she just needs to get some stuff off her chest. I remain quiet, silently giving her permission to go on. She turns away from me, faces the home, reaches her hands out, and points at each item she describes. “It’s flawless on the outside. Every brick neatly stacked, every corner properly secured. Every shutter handpicked. Every rose planted in its rightful place. It’s fucking perfect. But what happens when the walls can no longer hold up, when they can no longer contain all the demons inside? Do they just explode from the pressure, finally setting free everything that’s been imprisoned inside?”

She turns to face me. Her brows draw closer and her face tightens as she shrugs her shoulders. “Or do they crumble into dust, taking all of the secrets, all of the monsters hidden within, everything—including the truth—down with them?”