Oh, Catastrophe

“Angelo! Angelo listen to me! I need you to calm down and breathe!”
“No, no, no, no, no, no!”
“Angelo!”
“ARH! NO! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Can you feel it? There’s an itch somewhere deep inside your mind dying to get out.. What are you hiding Angelo? I think it’s so much more than just skeletons in your closet. There’s a tear in the fabric of your conscious. The walls you call sanity crumbling as your eyes beg for sleep. I can help you sleep Angelo.. I can help you sleep for a long time. You won’t have to cry anymore.. Worry about being forgotten or even remember what it was like to pull that trigger. Give yourself to me. I can do so much more than lock myself up in a room working on endless sketches for tattoos never to be made. I can do so much more to let your true character shine. Sleep Angelo...

There was a deep pressure in the back of Angelo’s head. The voice, pushing down so hard, trying to distract him. It’ll only take a split second, one little slip up, that would cause Angelo to lose this mental battle. Then the endless struggle would begin for control and... He couldn’t keep letting it happen.

Stop fighting! Pathetic piece of shit! When are you just gonna give up and learn already! You’re done here! There’s nothing else for you!

Angelo collided into the coffee table, glass shattering everywhere sending Dr. Prescott scrambling backwards.
“Angelo! You have to control yourself! Control your thoughts! He’s not real Angelo!”
Angelo crawled amongst the glass, yet he still stumbled as the shards sliced his hands and knees, “Can’t. I can’t. He’s wants to. He’s trying.” He gasped for breath before letting his arms give way, collapsing into the shards and hissing in pain.

I should just make you lay here and bleed. Bleed until your veins empty and your lips turn blue!

The words felt more powerful and he grew fearful at how the bone chilling voice was becoming clearer, sounding more and more like him as it spoke in such an enraged tone.
He felt hands on him now; old, withered, cold hands that tried to get him on his feet. But they didn’t feel right, they felt... He didn’t know how they felt but he didn’t want them near him. His arm lashed out sending Prescott toppling over the back of the couch, landing hard on his back causing his old bones to ache. Ang began to sob, unable to control himself, head pounding, and in such a deep pain.

We almost had her Angelo! We almost had her and you fucked it up! You always fuck EVERYTHING up! Kelly could’ve been gone! Out of your hair and GONE! We could’ve had peace but NO! You always have to play the fucking hero! But what kind of a hero are you when you can’t even look your mother in the eye? When you fake happiness around the same friends you curse at night! It’s hard to believe you’re the so called man your so called fans think so highly of.

“No! K-kelly, my Kelly.” His lips trembled uncontrollably as he pushed himself up, standing and wobbling as the room spun around him.
Somewhere Prescott groaned, “Angelo.”
“I love her! I love her damn it! And I’m not worthless! I’m not a fuck up! M-my-” He clawed at his scalp so hard the skin peeled and buried itself under his nails. “M-my fans.”

What fans Angelo?! What delusion do you have now?!

He couldn’t remember.. Why couldn’t he remember? The faces.. the ones that cried and screamed out his name. The hands that grabbed at him and the bodies he’s held tightly against his own.

That’s it Angelo... A delusion. Who would ever put so much faith in what? A drummer? A background prop? What were you Angelo? Cause you were far from important.

“N-no. I am, I am!” He sounded like a child, stumbling about the room, knocking books off their shelves and sending objects to the floor.
Prescott slowly pushed himself up, adjusting his glasses and holding onto the couch for stability, “You have to think Angelo! Listen to MY voice and get control of yourself! The voice is NOT REAL! He is NOT REAL!”
Angelo whimpered like a child, “I-I-I can’t. Mom! Mommy! I want my mom!” He clawed at his face, smearing it with his own blood that dripped from his hand, embedded with shards of glass.

Look at you! It clawed at his inner thoughts, tore him apart from the inside out. Pathetic! Look at you! Come on Angelo. Come on. They don’t care. They never did. But I care Angelo.

“No!” Angelo made a run for the door, his hands slipping against the knob as he stumbled and fell against it, panting.
“Angelo! Come on! Listen to me!”

Don’t listen to him. He’s lying! He’s a liar!

“You have to control yourself! Listen to my voice and focus! It’s not real Angelo!”

Liar.
“LIAR!”

“Angelo! You’re letting the voice take control of you! You’re strong, fight!”

Liar. Liar. Just remembered what those pills did to that girl. He’s one of them Angelo. He’s like the ones who tried to take Chris away... He’s part of them. They’ve made you suffer... He wants you dead!

“No. No. I’m getting better. They promised. They promised I’d get better.”

They’re liars!

“ANGELO! FIGHT! FIGHT ANGELO!” Prescott’s voice roared, shattering through Angelo thoughts.
“ARG!” He dug his fingernails into his cheeks and clawed at his skin as his vision flashed white. He could see Kelly again, the way she withered underneath him, the fear in her eyes.
He could imagine her laying there, completely still, skin pale and cold. Her eyes would stare at something blankly, glazed over. Lifeless.
He could see Dr. Prescott lying amongst the shattered glass. A large shard embedded in his sliced throat as he choked on his own blood unable to scream for help.
He could see Chris burning amongst flames while hanging from a wooden cross, the hysterical laughter of a priest.
He could see himself emerge from the trees, stage make up on, white contact in one eye... Looking like her just played a show. A black hood hung loosely around him as he raised the gun with quick precision and took fire.
He could see the body of the man he killed... The one Chris use to tell him he called “blue jeans” before he ever heard him utter his name.
He could see the body of Ricky, mouth slightly gaped and bullet hole right between the eyes.
He could see Ryan with his skull collapsed inward. Bits of bone jutting from his head while his one intact eye was widened with fright.
Josh. Tongue cut out and stomach torn open so his organs would be on display for all to see, spilling out onto a concrete floor.
Devin’s body mangled and buried in a poorly dug grave.

Suddenly a door opening, sucking him in quickly. He fought to stay out of it. Clawing at the door frame.
Fight.
The word game like a bolt of light sending him backwards as if an energy helping him resist the pull of the door.
Fight Angelo! That’s it!
It’d send him back again, enough this time for him to grasp the door and slam it shut. Something pounded at it from behind, shrieking and scratching but he held his ground, pushing against it with all his weight and sobbing violently at all the things happening around him. He was in so much pain he began to grow faint, his body unable to put up with it anymore. He was so scared.

“Angelo...”
He gasped, sucking in a sharp breath and looked up to find Prescott kneeled next to him. His back ached, finding himself huddled in a corner, knees tightly pressed against his chest.
“Relax Angelo...” He placed a hand on Angelo’s shoulder and he trembled underneath it.
Ang’s eyes searched the room, finding evidence that his episode was indeed real. He looked at his hands, crusted in blood with glimmers of the glass from the coffee table.
“Angelo, relax.”
He looked up at the old doctor’s eyes and the wrinkles that accompanied them... Something that comforted him. Reminded him of a father. His old hand rubbed his back as he slowly stretched out his legs and his tense muscles grew at ease. His lip quivered and he looked up at the doctor for answers... Like a lost child just trying to find his way home.

Prescott swallowed, he too was shaken up by the event but he was a professional. He continued to stroke his patient’s back in an attempt to provide comfort, “You can relax Angelo. You’re safe now.. You’re safe here. We’re going to get you help.”
Prescott’s old voice sent a wave of warmth through Angelo, so sudden that he suddenly had a longing to see his own father. Unable to control his emotions, he threw himself into the old man’s hands and sobbed into his tacky wool sweater; clinging to him desperately as a child would his mother. Prescott accepted the embrace and cradled Angelo’s head in his hands, stroking his matted, glass filled hair and murmuring words of comfort in attempts to get the grown man in front of him to stop sobbing so violently.

This was the catastrophic case of Angelo Parente and this was only the beginning.