“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. Olivia squeezed me tight. My voice was hoarse and my eyes were swollen but I felt like a weight had been lifted. Admittance was the first step, wasn’t that what they said? And now I knew just what I was. I was amongst those I had always thought of as less than me. I was one of the ranks of people who couldn’t function without something to alter my mind and now that I knew it, I could do something.
There was just one barrier in the way.
“Olivia?” I sat up, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper.
“Yeah?” I saw she had been crying too. Her eyes were bloodshot and I knew that some of that was tears, some tiredness. Instant guilt rocked through me. How much had I put her through? How much had I put my parents through? I wasn’t an alcoholic then but I liked to spend my nights partying and I know I had come home in some states—or sometimes not at all. I was a bad person through and through and it was too late to apologise to my mum and dad. They were gone.
But at least I could do something for Olivia. I took a deep breath and quelled the panic rising in my chest that threatened to prevent my outburst of truth.
“I’m going to tell you something. It’s going to sound crazy and you might not believe me but please, just listen.”
She nodded and I watched as her lips sealed shut as she prepared to hear me out.
“I know it’s no excuse for what I am and what I’ve done, but there is a reason I started drinking. It’s the only thing that works to blot them out. It gives me some peace. And once I realised that, I just kept on going. I never intended to spiral into… into this.”
“What do you mean blot them out?”
“Them. The dead people.”
Her jaw dropped slightly and a frown appeared on the smooth skin of her forehead. “What do you mean?” Her voice was quiet. Quiet enough for me to be concerned that she might edge out of there right now and call the crisis team. I didn’t need that.
“I see spirits. Ghosts. Apparitions. Whatever you want to call them. When people pass over, I still sense some them as if they’re still there. Most of them are voices but I’ve seen them too.”
I saw the cogs turning in her mind as she continued to watch me. I bit my lip. Was she going to call me out or label me right then and there? I’d already had one label slapped on my head that morning, I wasn’t sure I could stomach another. “Ghosts?”
I nodded.
She took a deep breath. “And you’ve always seen them?”
“Always.” I nodded. “And drinking was the only thing that stopped it.”
“So living above funeral director’s probably wasn’t the best?” She laughed, the sound harsh and quiet, still unsure.
“No. When I was young it didn’t bother me. I just thought our family was a little bigger than it actually was. When I started to get older things changed. They began contacting me, asking for help. Some were nasty, violent even.” I held my tongue there. There were other things, things I wasn’t willing to share, to speak out loud.
“So you started drinking?”
I nodded. “It was the only thing that kept them out. If I was out of my mind, so were they.” I shrugged. A long silence lapsed over the room. I looked from Olivia to my stale coffee and back again. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Finally she shook her head. “Peyton, I don’t think you’re crazy. I know you believe in what you see and why you have to drink. But listen, the drinking may help things in the short term but it’s never going to make it go away. We need to deal with the alcohol problem now, before things continue getting worse. Then we can deal with the rest. And the first thing I’m going to do is get rid of a certain problem.” She stood up and straightened, wiping her hands on her pants, eyes going to the ceiling. I knew she was referring to the man in my bed and for once I was willing to let her take the reins. I needed help and I would let her take the lead on this one.
“We?”
“Yes, we. I’m not going anywhere.”
It had been a month. A whole month since I touched a drop. Everything was a little bit clearer after I finally passed the thirty day stage and earned my AA token. It didn’t mean it was easy. I still yearned to feel the way I had, to return to the normality of my old life wherein I spent most days inebriated just to forget. Every day was a struggle but I powered through with Olivia’s help. Without her at my side I wouldn’t be where I was and I’d still be drinking.
The first few days had been a blur of doctors and medical advice. I was treated at the local drug and alcohol clinic amongst hordes of other people addicted to alcohol and opiates. Still, it didn’t take the craving away. My body was physically well but there were still problems that came with getting rid of a lifetime of toxin and bad habit. Plus, my mind wasn’t okay. Far from it. Not only did I crave the alcohol psychologically, but having a clear mind began to present its own problems from the get go.
Now that my mind wasn’t clouded, it was open for everything else to come through. I endured memories, flashbacks and racing thoughts. I saw things in the past that didn’t belong to me, that were fleeting remembrances of another person. I heard voices that talked to me in the night. The dark, swirling energy of the spirits in the world forced their way in. My nights were spent waking and for the parts that I did sleep, I had nightmares. I was so exhausted during the day that I was barely able to function. And yet I stayed sober. Sometimes I wondered how. Other times I just chose to accept it as fact.
“Hey,” Olivia rapped on the back door and stepped in. I was sitting at the small table in the kitchen with a coffee in hand and a magazine in the other, doing something to try and alleviate my boredom. “How you doing?”
She immediately sunk into the second chair and balanced herself against the wobble.
I shrugged and took another sip of my coffee. “You want one?”
“Sure.” She nodded.
I pushed myself up with a groan. Everything still ached. It was almost as if it had never gone away since I had that first conversation with my best friend. It felt like all of my muscles had wasted away leaving nothing but an empty shell in which the rest of me rattled around. I would say my soul but I wasn’t convinced I had one. Maybe in the past, but now, after everything I had done? I doubted it.
I poured Olivia a fresh cup of coffee. The sun shone through the kitchen window and I admired the way it hit the benches and sparkled on the worktops as I sat down. The whole place was spotless. It was cleaner than it had ever been, in fact. That was mostly down to Olivia and her tireless and incessant energy. She not only started the whole process for me but kept me motivated and now the house was somewhere I was proud to call home.
Olivia took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “Thanks. That’s good.”
I smiled and felt it reach the hollow place in my cheeks. Quitting the drink was giving me a whole new lease in life. I was a different person. A better person. Or I would be if I could get a decent night’s sleep.
“You look exhausted,” she commented and when I looked at her I saw concern on her face. I also saw tiredness coming from her. The circles beneath her eyes were dark and her eyes were a little bloodshot. Looking after me was taking its toll on her and not for the first time since I quit, I felt a string of guilt winding up inside my stomach. I was doing this to her.
“I am.” I nodded. “I’m still not sleeping. But you look tired too. Olivia, are you sleeping?”
She waved her hand to push away my own concern. “You think we need to go back to the GP?”
I thought back to that first visit with the doctor a month ago. The way I broke down in front of a stranger, telling them all the intimate details about my life—minus seeing dead people—while Olivia squeezed my hand in support. I had never felt more vulnerable in my life until that moment. But Dr. Green had been worth her weight in gold. She listened quietly, gave me her full attention and by the end of it I felt like things were on the up. And it turned out they were. Thirty days later and I was still going.
“I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “What do I say when she asks what’s keeping me awake?”
“Is it still the voices?” Olivia asked, the wrinkles on her brow betraying her concern.
I sighed and dropped my eyes. Since we spoke about it the first time, I’d avoided the topic of conversation. I didn’t want my best friend to think any less of me and it was tough admitting something that had caused my alcoholism in the first place. “Yeah.”
“Maybe you do need to talk to someone, Peyton,” she suggested. “I mean they’re not just going to automatically lock you up in some place and pump you full of drugs. It’s a process. There’s assessment and—”
“What kind of drugs?” I grinned.
“Hey!” she admonished. “We’re not switching addictions here. You need to think about this logically. There are hundreds—thousands—of people with some sort of mental health issues. They don’t just slam people into padded cells if they seek help.”
“No but the kind of thing I’m experiencing is a little more than depression. I don’t even know if it is mental health, Olivia.” I sighed, slamming my hand down on the table. My coffee splashed over the rim of the cup and left a dull, brown splodge on the surface. Automatically I reached forward and wiped it with the sleeve of my top.
“You really think it’s ghosts?” she asked, eyes pinning me.
I bit my lip and considered her question. I knew it sounded crazy. The thought that somehow the dead could communicate and had chosen me to talk to was so absurd I almost laughed. Almost. I knew it was real because I’d heard them for as long as I could remember. It was the reason I’d started drinking. How could all of that be in my head?
“Yes,” I finally answered.
“Okay.” She paused and took a deep breath as if contemplating her next words. “Then first step is going to see a psychic.”
“A psychic?” I felt my nose wrinkle.
“Stop being so dramatic. Yes, a psychic. We can maybe have a chat and find out if there is something going on.”
“You really think that’ll work?”
“Yeah. As a matter of fact, go and get dressed and we’ll go out now.”
“Now?” My voice came out a little louder than intended. It seemed that during my years of alcohol abuse, I had also become somewhat reclusive. It was hard to believe that it had come to the point that I only ever went out when I was under the influence. Going out in a completely sober fashion was a little hard to swallow. For the last month I’d spent most of my time indoors, only venturing out when I had to. That was to meetings and to see the doctor when needed. And all of it was with Olivia.
“Yes, now.” Olivia nodded. “But relax, I’m coming with you.”
“Can we at least get a coffee while we’re out?” I bargained.
“I thought we weren’t swapping one addiction for another?” She raised her brow.
“But surely even you can understand my need for coffee in my sleep-deprived state.”
“Fine. But hurry up.”
I pumped my fist and grinned. One point to me. Though Olivia argued a good case, I tended to win on most things and hell if the woman wasn’t going to let me have a coffee I didn’t know why I was bothering to go out.
I trundled up the stairs and glanced at the pictures hanging on the wall. They had been stuffed in a box, some of the only belongings that were salvaged from the fire at the funeral parlour. I’d brought it here and packed it away and thought nothing more of it as I continued my descent into madness. When we began to clean the house, I came across it and found them. My parents. They stood outside the front of the funeral directors, arms around each other.
I smiled and kept walking. The next picture was one of the three of us. I can’t remember who took it but we were at the beach. My mum was splayed on a towel, lying on her back soaking up the sun. She wore a bathing costume that showcased her legs. I always thought she had great legs. My dad was scooping sand into a plastic castle-shaped tub. I always remember looking up to him and thinking how big he was and often how much of a bear he looked like. I smiled as I caught sight of the huge beard he sported. The friendliest bear I had ever known. Then my eyes fell to me. I must have been around ten then and I was grinned up at the camera like a buffoon. One of my front teeth was missing and my hair wasn’t as dark as it is now. We were happy. It was my little family unit but now I didn’t have any of that left.
Forcing my eyes away from the picture, I continued my journey upstairs. There were three bedrooms in my house. The first had lain empty for some time and instead, I opted for the bedroom at the back of the house. It was narrow and dark and perfect for me. I flicked the light on as I stepped inside.
Olivia had helped me clean out this room too. Clothes were stocked in the wardrobe as they should be, the floor was immaculate and the bed was made. A huge improvement from a month ago. I still had a long way to go but I was over the first hurdle and that was the hardest part.
Opening the wardrobe doors, I stared into the meagre collection of clothing I owned and sighed. People always said that when your wardrobe was full, it was hard to find something to wear. My wardrobe was empty and I still found it hard.
Reaching in, I grabbed the first thing that came to hand. A pair of black combats and a tank. That would do. I hurried to get dressed and then glanced in the mirror. The pants were tight at the waist and straight in the leg and the tank clung to my chest. I turned my lip up in a smile at the hourglass I saw. It wasn’t perfect and I had some lumps in places I’d rather not, but all in all, I could work with it.
My dark hair hung to my shoulders in ragged strips and my eyes looked keener than they had in a long time. Gone were the swollen eyelids and redness caused by the constant abuse I pushed onto my body. My skin was still pale, my cheeks a little gaunt but I looked better than I had in a long time. Dare I even say it? Dateable.
I smiled and shook my head, watching as a faint blush rose on my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I had dated. There had been more one night stands than I cared to remember, too many mornings-after and I was keen to put that behind me. I wasn’t going to be the girl I was a month ago. I was different. I was changed.
“Peyton!” Olivia yelled. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m coming,” I called back. I hurried across to the bathroom and brushed my teeth before going back downstairs.
“Finally,” Olivia grumped, standing up.
“Stop complaining,” I told her. “Come on.”
Grabbing the small shoulder satchel I carried everywhere, I slung it over my shoulder and followed her out of the back door and into the morning sun. The air was crisp but pleasant and I smiled as I locked up and followed her out into the lane.
“Why do you always insist on using the back door?” she asked.
“Habit I guess.” I shrugged. “When I lived at home, I didn’t exactly like coming and going via the front entrance. Plus, my garden isn’t the nicest to look at when I go around the front. It’s easier to avoid it.”
“I guess that makes sense.” She nodded. “I still don’t get how you could live in a home with dead people. I mean just knowing all those bodies were beneath me would freak me the hell out.”
I laughed. Even at school, Olivia had said the same thing. She rarely came to visit and I knew it was because of what my parents did and the fact that my home was housed on top of a locker full of dead bodies. “It’s not so bad. I guess I came to think of the bodies as the old, biodegradable part of the world and the spirits as the beings that lived.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I grew up around bodies so it wasn’t weird for me and my parents taught me a lot about life when I was really little so I grew up knowing that death was just another part of life. Plus, when the spirits kept on coming to talk to me, it was hard to just forget it. They were there and to me, still alive.” I shrugged as we made our way out of the lane and onto the street. It was fairly quiet, the odd car passing by.
“Like I said that happened for as long as I could remember.”
“You never told your parents?”
I shook my head. “My mum told me that when I was young, like really young, I used to talk to myself and have a lot of imaginary friends. I don’t think they were imaginary. Or not in the real sense anyway. It was normal to me and having company and someone to play with was nice.” I smiled. I could remember snatches of times that I’d spent with one spirit or another while playing with my toys. “As I got older I began to realise that it wasn’t normal, not in the slightest, and that’s when I began hiding it. My imaginary friends became a hindrance.”
Her eyes bulged. “I think if I saw ghosts, it would be enough to send me bat shit crazy no matter how often they came to see me.”
“Most of them are fine.” I shrugged. “A lot of them want someone to talk to, to ease their passing. A lot of the spirits I talked to when I was young thought that they were actually there. For them, death was something they had to process and until that happened, they couldn’t move on. It’s when the others came that was the problem.”
“The others?”
For a second I was transported back to one night in my room when I still lived at my parents. I was lying in bed in the dark about to drift off to sleep when I heard the voice. I knew it was different as soon as I heard it, the rasping voice carrying the undertone of darkness with it. I didn’t want to talk to it. I didn’t want to listen. But as I had lain there that night, frozen in fear and unable to sleep, it whispered things to me. It told me what it wanted to do to other people, how it wanted to harm them. That was the first time I remember hearing a bad spirit and that had never left me.
“Peyton?” Olivia grasped my arm gently.
“Sorry.” I forced on a smile as I met her eyes. “The others are dark spirits. They clamour for attention and all they want is darkness.”
The Darkness Within Page 2