Shattered
Chapter four
“Zander? As in Alexander?” Dani asked me, and then I knew how she felt when she cringed at the sound of her full first name, but technically it wasn’t my first name.
“No, Zander as in Alexzander, with a “z”.” I explained. I didn’t know why my parents had picked such a strange name, to be honest I think it was an accident. A slip of the pen, but whatever, it was better than Alex. The conversation came to a halt. I could hear her thoughts racing ever so strong at such a close encounter with death, but I could tell she was tired. She was laid back into the pillow, her hair was ruffled and she blinked longer with each passing moment.
"Hey Dani, the nurses need to contact your parents, I didn't know their number so.." I trailed off, letting her fill in the rest. Her mind flashed to a memory, but it was shut down before I could understand it.
"No." Her eyes were closing now and I didn't know what else to say. Apparently she didn't want her parents finding her. Maybe because they would be upset with what she had almost done? I stared at her bandaged wrist and wondered what could have made someone want to give up life. I mean, I know I had it pretty good for being an abnormal teen, but still what does it take to make someone give up so completely that they rather be dead?
And she was out, and I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't leave. There was no one else here for her, and I wasn't going out into the waiting room again. Every couple of seconds there would be whispering, crying and sometimes shouting. People were dying in this place and I didn't want to have to watch it happen, it was depressing. I walked over to the chairs across from the bed and sat down, closing my own eyes once again, thinking of my own history.
I was pretty lucky growing up. Both parents, no divorce, no siblings. Just me and 'rents. All eyes on me. My mother loved me more than my father, or at least I had always felt that way. He was never around, always working. He had to make a living to keep a roof over our head. And he never failed to do so. Of course, we were well off. Larger house than most, up to date clothes and such. We weren't really rich just higher middle class. I wasn't spoiled though, I mean sure I got some damn good birthday presents, but nothing too crazy on non holidays. I had to learn the value of a dollar. I had to save my own money for the things I wanted.
It wasn't until I was twelve that things started to change. Not your average teenage boy stuff, of course that was all happening at the same time, but I could hear things, things that no one else could. I stayed home a lot with migraines. I never wanted to go to school or be around large groups of people and in one on one conversations I tended to say things that I shouldn't know. Answer questions that weren't asked aloud.
My mother was scared of the things I knew. She wanted to have me tested, find out what was wrong. So I went in, met some psychologists. They thought that I was a schizo. You know, had a bunch of voices talking to me, but that wasn't it. And when they decided to put me on meds that's when I learned to keep my mouth shut. I took the drugs from the doctors, but after trying them twice and learning that they didn't help I figured that they misdiagnosed me. Something else was wrong and I was pretty sure they wouldn't be able to figure it out. So I kept accepting the drugs, but I never took them after that. Usually they would be flushed down the toilet, sometimes just ignored, but I didn't see a point in them. I wasn't schizophrenic. I could read people's minds. And sometimes it got a little overwhelming. Sometimes I can't help myself but to say things aloud.
By now I know how to deal with most of it. I just tell people I'm good at reading them and I'm still labeled as a crazy person, but I don't tell anyone that. It's an excuse sometimes when things get too crazy when I can't handle the pressure of everyone's thoughts swarming through my mind.
“No, Zander as in Alexzander, with a “z”.” I explained. I didn’t know why my parents had picked such a strange name, to be honest I think it was an accident. A slip of the pen, but whatever, it was better than Alex. The conversation came to a halt. I could hear her thoughts racing ever so strong at such a close encounter with death, but I could tell she was tired. She was laid back into the pillow, her hair was ruffled and she blinked longer with each passing moment.
"Hey Dani, the nurses need to contact your parents, I didn't know their number so.." I trailed off, letting her fill in the rest. Her mind flashed to a memory, but it was shut down before I could understand it.
"No." Her eyes were closing now and I didn't know what else to say. Apparently she didn't want her parents finding her. Maybe because they would be upset with what she had almost done? I stared at her bandaged wrist and wondered what could have made someone want to give up life. I mean, I know I had it pretty good for being an abnormal teen, but still what does it take to make someone give up so completely that they rather be dead?
And she was out, and I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't leave. There was no one else here for her, and I wasn't going out into the waiting room again. Every couple of seconds there would be whispering, crying and sometimes shouting. People were dying in this place and I didn't want to have to watch it happen, it was depressing. I walked over to the chairs across from the bed and sat down, closing my own eyes once again, thinking of my own history.
I was pretty lucky growing up. Both parents, no divorce, no siblings. Just me and 'rents. All eyes on me. My mother loved me more than my father, or at least I had always felt that way. He was never around, always working. He had to make a living to keep a roof over our head. And he never failed to do so. Of course, we were well off. Larger house than most, up to date clothes and such. We weren't really rich just higher middle class. I wasn't spoiled though, I mean sure I got some damn good birthday presents, but nothing too crazy on non holidays. I had to learn the value of a dollar. I had to save my own money for the things I wanted.
It wasn't until I was twelve that things started to change. Not your average teenage boy stuff, of course that was all happening at the same time, but I could hear things, things that no one else could. I stayed home a lot with migraines. I never wanted to go to school or be around large groups of people and in one on one conversations I tended to say things that I shouldn't know. Answer questions that weren't asked aloud.
My mother was scared of the things I knew. She wanted to have me tested, find out what was wrong. So I went in, met some psychologists. They thought that I was a schizo. You know, had a bunch of voices talking to me, but that wasn't it. And when they decided to put me on meds that's when I learned to keep my mouth shut. I took the drugs from the doctors, but after trying them twice and learning that they didn't help I figured that they misdiagnosed me. Something else was wrong and I was pretty sure they wouldn't be able to figure it out. So I kept accepting the drugs, but I never took them after that. Usually they would be flushed down the toilet, sometimes just ignored, but I didn't see a point in them. I wasn't schizophrenic. I could read people's minds. And sometimes it got a little overwhelming. Sometimes I can't help myself but to say things aloud.
By now I know how to deal with most of it. I just tell people I'm good at reading them and I'm still labeled as a crazy person, but I don't tell anyone that. It's an excuse sometimes when things get too crazy when I can't handle the pressure of everyone's thoughts swarming through my mind.