Oh, Catastrophe

“It was talking to me again.”
“What was talking to you?”
“The voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one in my head.”

Angelo’s chest tightened so tightly that he flinched and trembled where he laid. He didn’t like coming here, laying on the stiff couch, and telling some stranger what was happening to him. What he heard everyday... The things he seemed to do without even remembering doing it. No matter how long he’s been here, no matter how long Dr. Prescott has recorded his history since recovering Chris; he couldn’t find comfort here.
There was no salvation here.

“And what was that voice telling you, Angelo?”

That he was worthless, that he was replaceable, that no one could give two shits about his existence. Without Chris, Motionless in White’s future would’ve been so altered; fans would mourn at the sound of his name. But Angelo? He’s just a drummer and drummers are always forgotten. He should off himself, just disappear.

“It.. It told me that friends didn’t matter... I’m better off alone. No one really cares and I should just-” He paused.

You should just put a bullet in your head. Say it Angelo, tell the doctor what I told you. What YOU told yourself.

He inhaled sharply, “I should just put a bullet in my head.”
“Is that what you want? To die?”
The ticking of the clock seemed to echo. He focused on the scent of pine coming from the cheap incense burning on a shelf. It made his head throb.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and cradling his head in his hands, rocking, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Dr. Prescott put down his pen and studied Angelo, taking mental notes of his behavior, “What’s wrong Angelo? Is it speaking to you again?”
He shook his head.
“Tell me Angelo... Are you feeling hopeless?” His voice was caring and gentle but it felt like a whip against Ang’s back.
“I don’t want to talk anymore!” He exploded, screaming in Prescott’s face before recoiling into the couch and letting out a sob, “Please... Let me go home.”
The ticking of the clock, Angelo‘s sobs, the smell of cheap incense, the sound of breathing, the silence of insanity, “Should I call-”
“No! I can go home myself!” He used his sleeve to wipe his tears, getting up and silently making his way outside.

He struggled to start his car,

Pathetic.

“No...” He whimpered, “I can do it...” His hands fumbled with the key.

Useless.

“Just.. let me try.” He gritted his teeth.

Give up.

“No!” He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. His world seeming to go black... A whirlwind of thoughts tumbling in his mind, images flashing right before his eyes. Everything was happening all at once and he just-
He woke up in his bathtub, breathing slowly. His vision blurred as he tried to look around the room, tried to understand. His head feeling like a pound of lead. He already knew this routine. He un-strapped the elastic from his upper arm and toss it aside, letting himself relax and come back to reality. How did he get home? He guesses that he gets himself home... Somehow.

I should explain to you what happened to dear old Angelo, shouldn't I? Not long after he killed a man for the first time, not long after his eyes watching his friend near death, not long after his last tour with his long time friends; Angelo's sanity wavered. He couldn't shake the memories, the feelings; the locked up emotions banging down the walls, the locked doors, he's set up for himself. He was so busy focusing on the good of his friends that... that he...
He lost himself.
That's when something.. something dark joined him on his nights of sketching out tattoos, commissions, and t-shirt designs for unpopular bands that paid him a good penny. It whispered to him.. it whispered truths and lies and let thoughts run wild where they should've died long ago. It took him places, made him do things, made him say things. He's in a constant battle over his own life. He's losing control.
He's sinking.
Falling.

His episodes seem so short but in reality, they’re hours long. Starting in one place and ending in another. Somehow he gets himself home and self injects himself with a dose of morphine. What he does until he passes out is still a mystery to him and he really doesn’t care to find out. Sometimes, things around the house have been moved, he’s been watching certain TV shows, or he’s been writing in one of the many journals that are now kept around the house.
He stopped reading the entries a long time ago. They’ve become too much for him to understand.They put him in such a dark place and - No, let’s not venture there.
His throat was dry and tasted fowl.

His voice-mail went off, “Hun? It’s Kelly. Dr. Prescott called me today. Said you had another breakdown.”
“Asshole.” He hissed, dragging himself out of the tub.
“I’m really worried about you... Can you please call me back?”
He stumbled through the house looking for the phone even though she had already hung up. She deserved a call back.. She was indeed his girlfriend after all and he would not let his hardships effect her.

“Ang?”
“Hey Babe.” He sighed, lighting a smoke and letting the smell of it drift through the room... A smell that’ll burn his lungs while he slept but he’s gotten use to it. It was an odd habit and often he didn't know where the cigarettes came from.
“Is everything ok with you? Dr. Prescott-”
“Everything’s fine, you know how he is. I don’t wanna talk and it’s suddenly another breakdown. What more could you expect form a therapist? Anything to get your money.”
She was quiet for a second, the sound of things moving around in the background, “I wouldn’t say that... I mean, you have been a bit better ever since Chris’ incident.”

Always talking about Chris. Never you. What about YOUR incident Angelo? Were you not the one to pull the trigger? Did you not watch the life vanish from that man’s eyes as you planted that bullet right in his skull? How did it feel Ang? How. Did. It. Feel.

“I guess you can say that...” He grumbled.
“How’s the commissions coming?”
“Smoothly. I’ve cleaned my plate so it’s back to the blueprints for the shop.”
She seemed to sigh, “I’m so proud of you, ya know that?”
He couldn’t help but smile, “Awh shucks.” He teased, “You know me. The little engine that could.”
She giggled, “I’ll let you get to it then. Glad it wasn’t anything too serious today. I love you.”
He cleared his throat, “Yeah.. Love you too. Bye.” He hung up before she responded and cradled his head.

Haha! What a cheeky LIAR.

“Shut up.. You don’t know. You don’t know anything.”

That’s where you’re wrong Parente. I know everything... Everything about you since your first memory. I’m a part of you Angelo. I am everything you are and everything you deny to be. We’re one Angelo... I AM YOU.

“ARH!” He sent papers flying, objects crashing down onto the floor as his arm swept across the desk in front of him, “You’re not me! You’re not me!”

Oh but I am! I am! I am! I AM! The voice cackled in a delight that echoed through his head for hours, way past the time when the sun went down and deep into his horror filled dreams that would constantly wake him up in a sweat. Did he bother screaming anymore? No. The images played like movies now... He played his parts until the very end rather if it was examining the thick scarlet ooze on his hands, all around him; or hanging by a rope in his own closet.