An Unwanted Trip To Old Friends

My head was hung low, my fists clenched, my breathing getting shallower. How could he? Was all that was running through my mind. I couldn’t hear anything-it was all just noise.
I was walking down the high street, coming back from school. Nameless and faceless people stared as I stormed past, but I didn’t care. The anger and fear that was boiling up inside me was forcing me on. I was blind with anger-How could he? How in the world could he?! I saw blurry glimpses of people talking, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Over the noise, I heard a familiar voice singing a familiar song. I raised my head a little and looked across the road. Outside the post office was Homer Simpson dressed in a Santa outfit and singing ‘Jingle-Bells’. Of course he wasn’t real, it was a mechanical doll-but still it amused the small children who gathered round it. Some of them had joined in the singing, others just danced and laughed. I looked down again thinking about how happy I was just twenty minutes before. The jingle merged into the background noise as I turned up a small alleyway.
Everything was silent, except for the sound of my shallow breathing. It was hard to breath; my asthma was kicking in.
“Damn asthma,” I muttered gasping to take another painful breath, “typical. He’s gonna kill me without even trying. Great way to go-suffocation.”
I stormed on, emerging in the car park behind Somerfield.
Suddenly I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder. I didn’t know who it was or what it was; I wasn’t stopping. I tried to break free, but whoever’s grip it was, was too strong. I whipped around to find Jason. Why was he here? He was saying something. His mouth was moving but no sound was coming from it. I looked down and closed my eyes.
“why did you run off like that?” I heard him ask.
I didn’t reply.
“Chelsea,” I heard him say. His grip loosened. I looked up at him; his face was full of worry-fake worry as far as I was concerned. I didn’t say a word, not a sound, as I turned and left.
* * *
“Stop it.”
“Why?”
“You’ll get me into trouble again.”
I turned around to see Jakie looking at me. I turned away and closed my eyes- She is not here. She is a stupid hallucination! She is not real.
“I am real,” Jakie began, “how could you say that I’m not?”
“I hate it when you read my thoughts,” I opened my eyes, “I have to go.”
I picked up my bag and headed for the door. Jakie stopped me.
“I cant believe you’re going out with him again. Especially after what he said.”
I stared blankly at her, then opened the door and left.
* * *
A distant glimpse of white reminded me of bad times. Choosing to ignore it, I stepped inside the restaurant to find Jason. He was sitting at a table choosing something to eat. I walked calmly up to him and sat down. We greeted each other then Jason asked me what I wanted to eat-Cheeseburger and fries.
“Why did you run away the other day,” he asked me referring to last week’s incident. I didn’t answer. Jason got the message that I didn’t want to talk about it.
“I’m just gonna go check on something,” he said as he stood up. I smiled and Jason walked away-another glimpse of white-another bad memory. As soon as he left, Jakie slid into his place.
“What are you doing here,” I hissed at her. She replied with a smile.
“you can’t be here,” I argued, “you’ll get me into trouble again.”
At that moment, Jason returned.
“Who are you talking to,” he asked me, looking confused.
“No one,” I muttered and lowered my head. Jakie budged over as Jason sat down. He was staring at me as if I was mad. Jakie started to make faces at me, then she jumped up onto her seat then stood on the table. I was willing her to get down, instead she walked across the table to stand in front of Jason, who stared straight through her at me.
“Shame on you,” Jakie was saying to him. My heart was pounding and my eyes were wide.
“How could you say something like that to her,” Jakie continued. She then turned and jumped off the table. I watched as she walked off and out of the restaurant.
“What’s wrong,” Jason asked, “you’re acting like you’re seeing ghosts.”
I looked at him, trying to find an excuse. A man walked up to our table, “Chelsea Randing? Phone for you.”
Glad to have an excuse to leave Jason, I nodded. As I stood up I thought about how much this man seemed familiar. He led me into a back room. I couldn’t see a phone.
“How did you know I was Chelsea Randing,” I asked the man. I was answered by a thick needle entering my arm. Everything went black.
* * *
“… ‘people in mad houses should be killed’ they told me the boy said.”
“What,” I asked, finally becoming conscious. I was being pushed along a blurry corridor in a wheelchair. The man pushing me sighed and said, “Don’t worry, the drugs will wear off soon. Always hated them, I did, makes people all groggy.”
I was confused and disoriented. All I could see was white walls.
“What is going on,” I asked the man.
“Oh great, I have to repeat everything I just said. Stupid protocol, have to tell everyone who enters this place why they are here… right, let’s start again …”
He was confusing me-my head hurt.
“So who are they,” the man asked.
“Who’s who?”
“The people you keep seeing.”
“Jakie?…why are you asking me this? Where am I?” I recognised this place, “How do you know about Jakie? She’s not even real, she’s just an hallucination.”
“Exactly! So this is your third admission. You must really like it here.”
“Why am I here?!” I tried turning around but found that my wrists and ankles had been secured to the wheelchair. I was getting irritated.
“Calm down dear. Do you remember what that boy said to you last week? ‘People in mental hospitals should be killed.’”
The conversation between Jason and his friends came roaring straight back into my mind.
“That’s why.”
Ahead of us was a door. I calmed down in the silence that followed the man’s last statement. We reached the door and stopped. Through the confusion as to where I was, I recognised the door-but why? My head hurt.
“Here you go love,” the man said, he stepped in front of me to let me get out the chair. He was wearing all white and opened the door to a white padded room. I remembered why I recognised the white, the man in the restaurant, the corridor, the door. I felt a hand on my back.
Push.
Hit the floor.
Slam.
Jakie.
“Hi.”
Click.
“Great.”