Mental State Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by M. A. Gardner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  “To anyone out there who’s hurting — it’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help. It’s a sign of strength.”

  Barack Obama

  A very special thank you to my writing mentor, D.J. Butler. He’s a fabulous young adult writer and gave me so much valuable advice. I didn’t follow all of it, so it was probably my fault for not heeding his experience if you didn't like something.

  To my Graduate academic advisor, Gary Stogsdill. He was instrumental in making sure this story was told. Not only was he a consummate champion during this writing project, but his encouragement also spanned my academic career. Thank you.

  To the denizens of the All-Night Donut Den. I won’t describe your innumerable contributions, but I hope you knew my gratitude before reading this page.

  To my daughter, who read the earliest drafts and provided poignant feedback and the fantastic art for the interior. There are great things in store for this young person.

  Finally, there were many more that helped me during the adventure that was this book. You know who you are, and I thank you sincerely.

  Contents

  I. /Alone/

  1. Wrath/Lust

  2. Quietus/Guilt

  3. Vultures/Scandal

  4. Guardless/Trial

  5. Nightmare/Numb

  6. Alone/Sleep

  7. Decisions/Sunshine

  8. Dreamer/Hatred

  9. Apparition/Fracas

  10. Redemption/Truth

  II. /Alive/

  11. Changes/Truth

  12. Ally/Innocent

  13. Friends/Enemies

  14. Isolation/Closeness

  15. Compassion/Disgust

  16. Kiss/Spy

  17. Reunion/Plans

  18. Revenge/Confront

  19. Reconcile/Finality

  20. Forever/Redux

  Suicide Prevention Hotline

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Part 1

  /Alone/

  1 Wrath/Lust

  Steven’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist around the rigid plastic. He breathed deep gulps of air and held the phone at arm’s length. His throat felt like sandpaper and the yelling had turned his voice to gravel. Fighting back tears that demanded release, he returned the plastic connection back to his ear.

  Ragged breathing on the other end of the line matched his own labored breaths. “Well?” Lindsay demanded, the ice in her voice doing nothing to counter his boiling wrath. “Is there anything else you want to scream at me?”

  The phone malformed in his grip as he fought another yelling fit that would prove Lindsay correct. He gulped several more breaths and mentally counted to ten before answering her. “No, Lindsay, I have no more to scream at you.”

  The line was silent for a heartbeat, and Lindsay replied in an even voice. “Good, because it’s not my fault.” There was another intense silence followed by the same even voice. “You have no right to scream at me.”

  Steven felt his head swim, and a flush encroach the back of his neck and ears. “No right?” He forced his rage into a single release of air through his lips. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  “What haven’t you done wrong?” Lindsay screamed on her end. The extreme change in volume caused the plastic to rattle, and the line went dead.

  Steven stared at the orange display, slowly breathing in and out. He relaxed his grip on the phone and tossed it on the counter beside the cradle.

  Why is this happening to me? He thought and scowled at the world.

  He couldn’t understand what possible justification Lindsay could have arguing with him. Not that she needed a reason lately; she and he seemed to argue endlessly. Steven doubted he would ever decipher the hows and whys of Lindsay’s anger. It was an endless parade of one-sided arguments and declarations that he did everything wrong.

  Steven’s cell phone rattled on the counter. He flipped the device over and stared at the caller ID. He sighed as the brilliant rectangle showed a happy Lindsay pursing her lips and cramming one of Steven’s baseball hats over her frizzy blonde hair.

  His finger hovered over the red ignore icon, but he knew ignoring her would be futile. They had established a pattern: She would call back after their shouting match and apologize for her rude behavior. It was always the same verbiage: rude behavior.

  Steven clenched his jaw and pressed the green accept icon. Her declarations were what he expected.

  After Lindsay’s standard pattern, she meekly asked, “Can we see each other tomorrow?”

  So many times, Steven clamped down on the urge to reject her. He was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to deny her. “Tomorrow,” he said and ended the call. He tilted his neck first to the left and then to the right; the satisfying crack seemed to center him.

  Lindsay perched on a hideous used sofa. They purchased the three-cushion monstrosity together after scouring community garage sales sites on the internet. Her fingers traced the green, white and red herringbone pattern. She was entirely engrossed with the tactile sensation the raised woven thread provided. Maybe it’s shame, he thought. She refused to meet Steven’s somber gaze.

  Steven leaned against the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. His eyes bored holes into the top of her head. The same blonde hair from his caller ID hung loose and disheveled. The tips of her curled hair were almost white, and the long length shifted to a dark dirty blonde as it erupted from her scalp. That was how he saw her: an eruption.

  The pendulum of emotions Lindsay wore on her face was explosive rapture one moment, and the darkest despair the next. He rode the crushing wave like a surfer would – he just tried to keep his head above water.

  Why did I even agree to see her today? He wished this had perhaps been his first musings of that nature, but this was just the story of Steven and Lindsay. He could feel tension roll down his shoulders and settle between his shoulder blades. His fuming was nothing new either. Arguing was all they seemed to know how to do any more. Steven was tired of the constant rollercoaster.

  “Steven...” Lindsay began when she excised whatever demons the worn sofa absolved her of with her steady stroke.

  Steven’s eyes softened, if only for a moment, before his intense stare returned.

  Lindsay winced at his unresolved anger. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes sinking back to the sofa.

  “Yeah,” Steven scoffed, “I know what you’re going to say.” He shook his head and continued. “You’re going to apologize for yourself. You’ll tell me how wrong you are.” He paused, closed his eyes, and let out a shallow breath. “But,” his eyes snapped open, and locked on Lindsay’s rapt attention, “tomorrow, maybe even tonight, we’ll argue again. And again. And again. It’ll be over the stupidest thing. All we do any more is argue.”

  Lindsay met his angry gaze. “There’s this voice...” she began.

  Steven closed his eyes. “A voice?” he responded, his heart pounding in his chest.

  “Yes,” she said in a low murmur. “I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t there. It tells me,” she waved her hand at the ceiling, “things,” she concluded.

  Steven stood mute, and Lindsay continued. “I try to ignore it, but for the last few months, it’s just been getting louder.” She pressed her index finger across her pale skin between her nose and lips. “And louder,” she declared, her shoulders sagged as if an invisible weight forced her to the back of the sofa. “An
d it’s getting madder and madder.”

  “Voices make you do it?” He shook his head and sighed. “Lindsay, that sounds crazy...” His voice trailed off as she narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists pressed into her lap.

  “But,” he said quickly, raising an index finger. “I care about you. We can work together to overcome anything.”

  The corners of Lindsay’s lips quirked slightly. “I need to use the bathroom,” she announced, and shuffled to the door between the living room and bedroom. Steven planted his elbows on the counter when he heard the door latch and cradled his head in his hands.

  He heard the water in the shower come on and glanced at the closed door. Lindsay had always been quirky, but this newly eccentric behavior was something he had never encountered before, and he didn’t know how they were going to get through it. As he listened to the water run, he wondered if her behavior would only escalate. Today, it’s voices and showering when she said she needed to go to the bathroom. Tomorrow, who knows?

  He wished things were like when they first met. Back then they both seemed to care deeply for each other and everything about them clicked so well. He was overcome by the memory…

  Steven gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He delicately touched the razor burn on his cheek. This hadn’t been the first time that hour that he evaluated his appearance in the mirror. He stood in a pile of discarded clothes. The doorbell chimed, and Steven kicked the pile of unsatisfactory attire into the small closet. He winked at his reflection in the mirror and made short work of the distance from the bedroom door to the where Lindsay waited. This would be their fourth date.

  Well, thought Steven as he reached for the doorknob, not a date, exactly, we’re just kinda hanging out together. Their first through third dates were various volunteer events—serving soup at the local homeless shelter and twice walking dogs at an animal shelter.

  Steven filled his lungs to stay his rapid pulse and opened the door.

  Lindsay’s dirty-blonde hair shone in the harsh light of the apartment corridor. It hung loosely past her shoulders and perfectly framed her soft face. Brilliant green eyes also glowed in the light, or was it mischief? Definitely mischievous green eyes, he thought. Perhaps she was just happy to be there. Steven hoped that was the case.

  Steven forced himself to meet her gaze, and lopsided grin. His eyes defied him and wandered down her cream short sleeve top. It was tight on her small frame, and while she wasn’t busty, the fabric did stretch and emphasize her petite chest. A black bra strap peeked out from the neckline, and the color and fit of the shirt left nothing to his imagination. Her denim miniskirt ended too far above the knee for her to adhere to the school’s dress code. The chain of the black clutch she wore over one shoulder matched her earrings and the bracelets that clanked as she adjusted it.

  Steven felt his pulse quicken, and even though they had had three dates prior, he found that he was speechless. It wasn’t that he worried what she would think of him–she showed up, after all. Wasn’t that a sign that she liked him?

  Lindsay’s soft features seemed to harden for a moment, and Steven realized he wasn’t acting like a proper gentleman. “Uh, hey, Lindsay,” he blurted before he lost his nerve. “Please, uh,” he stuttered, “come in.”

  Lindsay’s perfect cheekbones rose, and the mirth was evident in her voice. “You’re kinda in the way.”

  Crimson flushed his cheeks, and he turned his body to press against his door. He gripped it with one hand and waved his other inside.

  “Thanks,” she replied. She ignored his nervous chuckle, and as she passed by him, he caught a whiff of vanilla. He wished that scent would live in his nostrils forever.

  Steven gave her a tour of his spartan apartment. It didn’t take long, and she could easily see the small kitchen from the small living room, and he didn’t dare take her to the equally small bedroom. A noncommittal wave and a murmur of bedroom finished the grand tour of Chateau Steven.

  They sat on a pair of beanbag chairs and talked nonstop. He told her about his earlier childhood, and the deaths of his parents when he was a small child. He told her of his brief encounter with homelessness. Her story wasn’t as grim as his. She was seventeen like he was, but unlike Steven, she was just discovering her independence. She confided that she played her recently divorced parents off each other, and she usually got her way. The glow from Steven’s television precariously resting atop a two precisely stacked milk crates gave off a pale blue light that reflected on her hair. Of the two channels he received without an antenna, this one seemed to rerun the morning news program in a continuous loop. The blue studio and graphics flickered in the reflections of Lindsay’s eyes. He wished he could map the green specks surrounding her pupils that reacted to his closeness.

  They laughed. They smiled. Each made the appropriate gestures as the tales of their lives unfolded. Steven didn’t want the date to end. He was at a loss to how his life could be any better than it was at that precise moment.

  When their conversation had lulled, Lindsay leaned forward and gently placed her hand on Steven’s thigh just above the knee. She gave him a small squeeze, and her hand crept up ever so slightly.

  Steven felt the same flush as he did when she got there, but this wasn’t the same level of nervousness. His heart thundered in his chest, and he was aware of a roar in his ears. Those weren’t the only reactions he felt, as he was keenly mindful of the fact that her hand moved again. He met her intense green stare. She drew in a breath as Steven held his.

  “I really like you, Steven,” she whispered. He could barely hear her over the noise in his ears. “I enjoy spending time with you,” she continued. “I want to...” Her gaze flickered from his eyes down to her hand and back. “I want to do everything with you.”

  Steven tried to come up with a reply. Smart aleck, debonair, or funny, even. He managed a nod, and Lindsay smiled as she leaned forward. When their lips met, there was an explosion. He felt as if his lips were on fire. He would never admit his inexperience to his classmates, and he was relieved when Lindsay took over. Her free hand found the back of his neck, and she pulled him toward her.

  It was as if their bodies knew exactly what to do. They simultaneously rose, their arms wrapped around each other. He gasped for air when their lips parted, and Lindsay giggled. He could feel her chest against his, and each touch radiated fire. Their eyes locked, and then their lips did again. His hands found their way to her miniskirt, and fumbling hands caressed her cheeks. Her hands were just as awkward, but they found their target as she unbuttoned his jeans. The bedroom he was embarrassed to show her earlier now became the final stop of her tour. Steven hoped these feelings between them would last forever.

  2 Quietus/Guilt

  Steven tapped his smartphone and looked at the time. He groaned after Lindsay had been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. The shower was still running, and she had yet to reappear.

  She’s probably crying, he thought, or trying to figure out some argument to start the cycle all over again.

  Steven grumbled under his breath and strode to the bathroom door. He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Lindsay, did you fall in?” The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he thought of the joke his father used so many times a very long time ago. “Lindsay?”

  He pressed his ear to the door but heard no response on the other side of the door. “Lindsay, this isn’t funny,” he yelled through the door and twisted the doorknob. It was locked. He hammered on the door with his fist, and his heart thundered in his chest. A spear of dread stilled his breath as thoughts raced and his neck warmed. He knew his face would be beet-red.

  Suddenly, a chill raced down his spine, and he threw his body against the door. His effort only resulted in a sharp pain that radiated down his arm and made his fingers go numb. Steven leaned against the hallway and kicked the wooden door next to the doorknob. He felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes as he kicked at the door a second time. Each impact had jarred his leg,
but it was nothing like when he tried using his shoulder.

  He kicked a third time. His rage a thick miasma that tunneled his vision—the space below the doorknob his entire view. Why does this always seem to work in the movies? he thought as he felt a crack in the painted wooden door frame. He prepared for a fourth try, but he heard a knock at the front door.

  Steven looked from the bathroom door to the front door with hesitation. Another knock on the front door sounded out; this one more insistent, more forceful.

  “Steven?” a muffled voice sounded from the hallway. “Are you all right in there?”

  “I’m all right, Missus Nesbitt,” he shouted and kicked the bathroom door once again.

  This time, the doorframe splintered, and the jamb swung from its fracture point and struck Steven in the head.

  “Motherfu…” he started to say while rubbing the top of his head, but the bathroom door swung open, and his attention focused solely on the bathtub.

  Blonde hair cascaded over the foot of the bathtub. Lindsay was partially submerged and fully clothed. He could see the water below the rim, and a murky pink floated on the top. When it touched her sodden clothes, it clung as stubborn vermilion. A scream escaped his lips, and Steven rushed to the side of the tub. He tried to pull Lindsay up, but the long bloody gash from the middle of her arm to her wrist was slick. Her eyes were closed, a state of peace on her face. It looked as if she were enjoying a relaxing bath.