Silent Ground: Part 1

by Quil Carter

  But to Sasha’s grim horror, over the last year the migraines had not only gotten worse, but they’d become more frequent and would stay longer. They were so bad that eight months ago, Sasha had given in and had gone to the doctor. Unfortunately for him though, after several brain scans and multiple tests, nothing had been found to be wrong.

  It had been a cripplingly sad diagnosis, which had left Sasha even more resistant to seeking medical help. If they weren’t going to find anything… what was the point in putting himself through that stress and anxiety?

  Sasha shut his eyes tight and grimaced. At its worst, the pain was debilitating, a low throb that seemed to spread all throughout his brain like the headache itself was infected. It seemed alive in a way, like it had its own pulse or heartbeat, and seemed determined to make Sasha aware of its existence at all times.

  Sasha opened his eyes and slowly, almost robotically, he rose to his feet. With the man inside of his head grabbing onto his brain and eyeballs with his talon-like hands, Sasha walked to his closet; the nightlight in the bathroom allowing a sliver of light to illuminate his way.

  He opened up the white closet door, and retrieved a small metal tin.

  Inside of it was a homemade knife, constructed from a razor blade inside a shaver being embedded into a blue coloured pencil and set with super glue.

  And on the blade, were bloodstains.

  Sasha sat down on his bed with the knife and turned on the table lamp. He looked down at the makeshift blade, dried blood clearly visible on both the pencil and the razor, and winced when a particularly painful throb made his vision temporarily blur.

  Sasha let out a muffled whine and grabbed his head. He shut his eyes tight and rubbed them with his free hand, strobes of pulsing light flashing behind the closed lids as he put pressure against the ocular. When the headaches were this bad, Sasha knew to eventually expect a bleeding nose, and before he learned his new trick, he’d sometimes pass out on the floor from the pain.

  It had only been a few months ago that he’d stumbled upon a disturbing solution to his migraines, and although it didn’t cure it completely, it quelled the intense pain enough for him to fall asleep. In the morning, the headaches were usually gone, but sometimes it would be a solid day before they vanished completely.

  And what was this solution?

  Sasha’s own blood. For some fucked up reason, one he didn’t understand, drinking his own blood helped.

  And not just a small taste of it either.

  Sasha grabbed his empty water glass, his hands trembling from the sledgehammer being taken to his head, and he put it between his legs. He squeezed the glass with his inner thighs to keep it from slipping, and turned his arm, exposing the soft skin between the crook of his arm and his wrist.

  There were several large cuts on Sasha’s skin, in various stages of healing, and several pink scars. He’d had to wear long sleeve shirts, and when Jobe slept over he made sure to turn the heat down in his room to stop himself from kicking off the covers at night. Summer would prove to be difficult, but he would think of an excuse as to why he was going to bed with long sleeve shirts. If there was one thing that Sasha excelled at, it was thinking up excuses to explain his quirky, and oftentimes bizarre, habits.

  Sasha pressed the razor against his skin, put pressure against the blade, and began to drag it towards his elbow. By now the pain was a relief to him, and as soon as that sting hit his brain stem, a rush of endorphins were released. It was like Pavlov’s dog, knowing that he’d soon be relieved of the debilitating migraine was enough to temporarily take the edge off.

  After a cut, about an inch and a half long, was made in his skin, Sasha brought the blade up to the top and made another slice. He did this several times until the trickle of blood was steady enough to drip down his arm and into the water glass.

  “Why does this work?” Sasha whispered to himself.

  It didn’t make sense why drinking his own blood worked. It wasn’t like he was a god damn vampire or something; but then again, he’d never tried Jobe or Lex’s blood. Honestly, for all he knew cow or pig blood could work, but there was no way Sasha would go to a butcher on his own to request blood. The thought of doing that was laughable.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Sasha maintained the blood flow. Once he was happy with the inch of blood in the glass, he washed the wound in the bathroom sink and doused it in antiseptic, then wrapped it quickly in gauze. He’d stitch it properly tomorrow, right now he could barely see straight and the traces of blood he’d swallowed from licking the cut wasn’t enough.

  When he walked from the bathroom back to his bedroom, Sasha grabbed the glass and drank it all in one shot. Just like how the pain of cutting was no longer uncomfortable, the taste of his own irony blood no longer made him cringe. It could almost be said that he craved it now, his brain fully associating the taste with pain relief.

  Sasha sat down on the bed and swept his index finger over the glass. Like a squeegee cleaning a window, he collected the blood against the digit, and brought it to his mouth. He repeated this step until the glass was clean, then laid down in his bed.

  Then, finally, the relief. Sasha stifled a sigh as the throbbing began to dissipate, leaving his body like the blood was a cold compress, pressing itself against the infected raw wound and cooling it down.

  It was… incredible. That was the only way to describe it. It was just incredible. After suffering for a year and a half with these debilitating headaches, Sasha had cried with relief when he’d accidentally made this discovery. It was found out by Sasha biting his tongue due to no longer being able to handle the relentless and prolonged assault. When he didn’t have the will to even get up to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, he had begun to swallow it down.

  And then, the pain stopped.

  Sasha turned off the lamp and shut his eyes. He buried himself in his covers and rubbed the stinging wound on his arm. But with the disappearance of the pain, the racing thoughts returned, and as such, the voice did as well.

  ‘You cut yourself like some angsty teenage girl,’ the voice said, his tone condescending. ‘You’re a new level of fucked up.’

  Sasha’s eyes shut tighter and he tried to ignore the voice that echoed so clearly inside of his head. But when the voice carried on, continuing his cruel bites and nips, Sasha found himself opening his eyes.

  “Shut up,” he whispered. He ignored the stinging in his eyes, and when tears began to form, he ignored those too. “Shut up and fucking leave me alone.”

  But all he got for his fleeting bravery, was a low, taunting laugh. “Leave you alone? Oh no, my friend––we’ve only just begun.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Sasha sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the car, and when Jobe saw how rigid he was sitting, he let out a chuckle. “I swear, if I crash this car, the cops will find you in that same position in the middle of the road, just staring off into space like your life is flashing in front of your eyes.”

  Sasha put his hands over his face and let out a pathetic whine, before slowly sliding them down. He reached for a bottle of water and took a long drink, trying desperately to quench the desert forming in his mouth and throat.

  That morning he’d woken up with a thousand nauseous bees buzzing around his stomach, and what was worse, he couldn’t relax the entire day. He kept watching the clock, doing the mental countdown in anticipation to when Jobe would be picking him up.

  But by the time five rolled around, he’d taken two doses of Pepto Bismol, had chewed a Xanax, and had washed it down with a shot of vodka.

  It had helped, but it had helped in a way that using a fire extinguisher on a house fire might extinguish the flames in one room. The other rooms, hell, the whole house, was still rather fucked.

  And that’s how Sasha felt right about now.

  Rather fucked.

  “You’ll be fine. You’re not even getting out of the car. See? You have your fucking Joy Luck Club book and Harry Potter. What more does a Sas
ha need?” Jobe smiled and backed out of the driveway of Lex and Sasha’s home, and when he snorted back a laugh and pointed, Sasha looked up to see Lex on his second-floor patio. Sasha’s uncle was waving at the two of them, and when Lex saw that he'd been noticed, he gave them both two enthusiastic thumbs up, his mouth open and his tongue out.

  Sasha groaned and shook his head. “He’s such a man-child.” And right as he said this, Lex began doing a comical dance. This brought a smile to Sasha’s lips, and an eye roll, but before Lex could do anything else stupid, Jobe backed out onto the street, and headed off towards Jobe’s friend’s house. A man named Dave.

  And where was Dave’s house? As a means of calming Sasha’s anxieties, since the more information Sasha had, the better he felt about where he was going, Jobe had fired up Lex’s desktop and had pulled up a map of the area. He’d pointed out, several times, that Dave’s house was miles away from their small town and deep in the woods. It even bordered a field and was surrounded by forest so ‘the only thing Sasha had to worry about was getting eaten by bears.’ Which, of course, had made Sasha feel better.

  Or at the moment it had. Now Sasha was tense and rigid, his hands crossed over his chest and his green eyes large with terror. He was like a cat going on a car trip, Jobe half-expected him to start howling and clawing at his seats.

  “Baby, what do you honestly expect to happen if you come inside?” Jobe asked. They were on the highway now, the street lamps on both sides of them casting a warm yellow glow onto the road. The moon was out tonight too, the silver orb almost full, as if it too wasn’t ready yet to be completely seen. “Are you really worried people will just be mean to you, or something?”

  Sasha glanced over at Jobe, his best friend’s eyes on the road, full of sparks as the lights from the street lamps reflected in them. He was dressed to the nines tonight: a studded leather vest with silver chains that hung off of the pockets, a wine-coloured dress shirt with frayed cuffs, and a black tie. To top it off, he had new leather pants on, tight enough to make Lex wolf whistle, and sneakers that Jobe had sewed buttons onto and had drawn on with a Jiffy marker.

  And as Jobe looked over at him, his eyes inquisitive and shining, Sasha could see fresh black eyeliner, shining lip gloss, and skull earrings in the three piercings on each earlobe, and dangling silver hoops with Celtic designs in the piercings he had in each of his upper cartilage.

  He’s so confident. Why can’t I be like that? What… what’s…

  “What’s wrong with me?” Sasha suddenly whispered. His brows met as he scowled, but when Jobe looked back to meet his gaze, he deflected it in favour for the passenger side window.

  But he could still see Jobe’s reflection, and the expression on his face was full of both sadness, and sympathy.

  “Baby… I… you know I love you just how you are, right?” Jobe said kindly. He put a hand on Sasha’s leg and rubbed it. “My worry is just that you’re not happy. You don’t seem to be enjoying life, and you’re at this time in your life where you should be taking the world by the balls. Going out and dating, making mistakes and getting into trouble… but instead you’re just scared and sad, and you always seem so tense and depressed.”

  Sasha shifted around, his entire body suddenly uncomfortable. He searched for an answer, but while he was, Jobe sighed.

  “See? This is what I’m talking about,” he said sadly. “You get this wide-eyed look on your face like a cat does after you yell at it. Baby, the world isn’t out to get you… you don’t have anything to be afraid of. No one’s going to be mean to you, everyone has their own shit they’re dealing with. So, unless you’re insulting, or loud and obnoxious, they don’t really care.” He patted Sasha’s knee. “Yeah, there are assholes in the world, but I’ll protect you… always.”

  Sasha nodded, watching the dark forest go by. “I know,” he whispered. “I… I wish I wasn’t like this but… it’s just who I am. You gotta understand that… I can’t help it, Jo. I’m fully aware that there’s something wrong with me but… but I just think it’s who I am.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Jobe urged. “Just make small steps, understand that people aren’t out to get you, or to make you feel bad. Baby…” For a moment, his words faded and Jobe was quiet, but then he himself seemed to find the confidence to say what he wanted to next. “I think you should come inside with me… just to see how you like it, see if there’s anyone who you might connect with.”

  Immediately Sasha tensed up, his body constricting in on itself as if he was being crushed by an outside source.

  But surprisingly, on the heels of that rush of anxiety, was annoyance at himself. Or more specifically, at his brain. Why did his first knee-jerk reaction have to be terror at going inside a house? Without even thinking about it, the fucking immediate response for his brain was to be scared of it, and anything new that happened.

  Sasha’s lips pursed, the anger simmering inside of him. He was tempted to say he was going to go inside, just to defy the brain that he hated so much, but even the thought of doing it made his heart palpitate. There wasn’t enough Xanax in the world to make that an option.

  “I’ll just be in the car,” Sasha said. “I… I can be your designated driver.”

  Jobe chuckled at this. “I never thought of that. I was just going to smoke some weed, but if I decide to drink, okay, you can drive me home, even if you only have your learner’s licence.” He glanced at a road sign they were about to pass and smiled. “The turn off is soon. It’s party time!”

  Another tremor travelled around Sasha’s body like a low percussion, and again, the self-derision started. But instead of letting the anxiousness control him, he pushed it down and forced himself to unfold his arms at least. He might let his brain get away with a lot of things, but he wasn’t going to let himself be scared of waiting in the car for Jobe to finish partying. That, at least, Sasha knew he could do.

  They hit a dirt road soon after leaving the highway, and with that, the streetlights also said their farewell. Outside of Sasha’s window there was now only darkness, and the illuminations of old-growth forest from the car’s headlights.

  “If you get another migraine, just honk the horn and I’ll come running, okay?” Jobe said. He slowed the car and turned down a rough road with only one lane, one that had a bunch of rainbow-coloured balloons stapled to a telephone pole. “Or if you’re feeling antsy enough to want to go home. Or, my ideal outcome: if you want to come inside.” Jobe reached over Sasha’s lap and opened up the glove compartment, then took out an Axe car freshener. Sasha chuckled when Jobe rubbed the air freshener on his neck before tossing it back into the glove compartment. “There, do I smell sexy enough to bang?”

  Sasha covered his mouth to hide his laugh. “Yeah,” he said with a grin. “You smell like a fucking ‘97 Chrysler.” He reached into the glove compartment and grabbed a Snickers bar, deformed and with specks of dirt on the wrapper, but it was sealed and looked edible. “I’m claiming this, and if you want to come out with some food… by all means.”

  “Sure, you can eat my damn Snickers,” Jobe said. He rubbed a hand against his neck and smelled it. He nodded with approval, obviously happy with the scent, and looked back to the dark road. “I can see the lights in the distance!”

  Sasha looked up from his partially unwrapped chocolate bar and saw bright lights peeking through the trees, occasionally becoming vibrant yet ominous orbs when the car drove by a clearing.

  Like any lights when coupled with the cold darkness, they seemed warm and inviting. A lighthouse set in a backdrop of pitch black, offering companionship and solace to the lonely sailor. To feel this sense of comfort was to tap into instincts that developed hundreds of thousands of years ago. The attraction to warmth, to light, to the prospect of finding life in the dead of night. As a moth was drawn to the flame, man would always find himself walking towards the promise of a roof over his head.

  And even with the anxieties rolling through Sasha like his blood had become nitro,
he still felt that faint draw towards the well-lit house.

  But all of that changed once he began to see people milling around inside and outside. There were at least five of them on the porch, their shadows long and stretched out to make them appear elongated and deformed, and inside the house, Sasha could see more men and several women, all of them with smiles on their faces and drinks in their hands.

  The house was rather large too. It was two storeys with an A-frame, and a deck that wrapped around the house’s exterior. There were impressively large windows on the bottom floor, all of them glowing brightly with light, and a sliding glass door that opened to the busiest part of the deck. It was a decent house, and from the looks of it, remote with no neighbours in sight.

  And, to Sasha’s relief, there were a large amount of trees on the property, and though a lot of them were being blocked by people’s cars, Sasha spotted several he would be content being under.

  Jobe nodded when Sasha pointed one of them out, a gnarled oak several feet from the road. It was far enough away for him to feel comfortable, but not far enough that if he screamed or honked the car horn, Jobe wouldn’t hear him. So while the party continued, music now being added to the chorus of unease currently playing on repeat in Sasha’s mind, Jobe parked the car underneath the ancient tree.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Jobe asked. “Just for a second to meet everyone?” They both glanced towards the house, and spotted several men who were looking out the window at their arrival. All of them were dressed in fancy clothing, with their hair styled. Sasha didn’t recognize any of them.

  “No, I’m okay,” Sasha said. Those three words were, hands down, the most overused words in his vocabulary. “I’ll be fine here reading.” He dug through the knapsack he’d brought and pulled out a flashlight. “Now stop worrying about me, Momma Jo, and have fun.” He smiled at this friend. “I’m fine. I really am.”