This is my entry for @svashta's #constrainedwriting contest! :D You can find the contest at the following link -- https://steemit.com/constrainedwriting/@svashta/constrained-writing-contest-28-winners-of-constrained-writing-contest-27
The constraints this week are to write about someone suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder and one of their struggles, and the story had to be at least 250 words, written in English, and in first-person.
I ended up writing a story about someone suffering from Schizoid Disorder with a slight Multiple Personality Disorder. And it's most definitely more than 250 words! Haha. I couldn't stop. My fingers just kept on typing. So, here it is! I hope you like it. :)
There is a coffee sitting before me. Black, not the slightest hint of milk tarnishes its colour, and it's cold. I don't even like coffee and I'm not sure why it's on the table or why my breath tastes of the disgusting elixir.
I click my tongue and rub it around my mouth, licking at my lips, trying to dislodge the foul taste. It does not work and I sigh as I push myself up from my seat, a weary hand over my tired eyes. I wince as the chair clatters to the floor behind me, its fall pierces my brain in the worst way. I just can't cope with loud noises this morning, I can barely walk!
Each step I tread vibrates through my body and echoes through my skull in violent tremors, and I soften my footsteps, tip-toeing as I make my way to the bathroom. I feel as though I have a hangover, yet, I haven't binged on alcohol since I was a teenager. My tongue keeps roaming my mouth and I despair at its numbness and its failure to remove the lingering taste.
Why can't I find the bathroom? Oh God, the bathroom... the bathroom is upstairs. The ascent is going to kill me. I rub the grit from my eyes and peer around the house, my heart thudding loud in my ears. I don't understand, where did the stairs go?
"Ahh, pathetic little Brienna."
I whip around and cry out as my brain rattles inside my aching head, that was not the wisest movement, but, I know that voice, that cold and callous voice a mimicry of my own, but there is no one else here.
The sun shines through the window, gentle rays of gold fall upon the filthy kitchen sink. Disgusting. This is not my house. The filth, the germs, the bacteria! I swallow down my disgust and step back, a doorknob hard against my spine. I don't know where I am. Who's house is this? What am I doing here?
The door opens behind me and my feet get tangled as I struggle to keep from falling. The tiles cold beneath my feet. Where are my shoes? At least I found the bathroom. I steady myself on the doorframe and step inside, desperate for the feel of ice-fresh water on my face, hopefully from a faucet cleaner than the one in the kitchen, anything to snap me out of this confusion and bring back some memories. The door swings shut as I move further into the bathroom. Must be spring-loaded.
I fumble for the lightswitch, I don't like the dark, and definitely not the darkness of an unfamiliar bathroom, an unfamiliar house. Thankfully lightswitches are universally located and my fingers find it immediately. Relief floods my veins as I spot the pristine sink and I hurry towards it, my hand on the tap, cool water flowing, I splash it on my face and my headache dulls. Thank God. It's only slight, but I feel I can cope a little better now.
"You? Cope? Don't be ridiculous, Brienna. You have never coped, have never been able to look out for yourself. You don't even know where you are! Pathetic."
The venomous voice drips around me, stabs into me and pains me, floods me with uncertainty and sadness. But I know that no one else is here. Only me and my confusion, and now my despair. I close my eyes tight, so tight my sockets ache, but the pain feels good, it helps with my aching head, much better than the water.
I lick at my lips and cringe at that disgusting taste again, and splash water into my mouth, onto my tongue, swirl it around before I spit it out. The bitter taste lingers but is dampened, it will have to do.
I close my eyes tighter, tighter, my eye sockets need this, my headache needs this, the pain ebbs and flows as a river of agony, of joy, and at last I wrench them open again, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom a pleasure as it impacts me. There's a mirror in front of me. My face is pale beneath the harsh light, or maybe it is always this pale and I've never realised. Sunken black circles beneath my glazed eyes. My hair falls over my face, oily, stringy, dirty, disgusting. This is not me.
"You don't even know who you are! I worry for you, Brienna."
That voice! I wish she would go away. The faucet is still running. I splash some more of the delicious water onto my skin and turn the tap off. My tired eyes run across my pallid face and return my stare in the mirror and then I see it, a dark shape on the floor behind me, leaning against the door.
An anxiety assails me, my heart beats faster, the hairs on my arms stand upright, and my mouth floods with a hot saliva, almost as disgusting as the taste of that coffee. I know better than to swallow it down and simply let it drool from my mouth as I turn around. I am not alone.
A man is on the floor, bound and gagged, swollen bruises upon his brow, blood in dried streaks from cuts all over his naked body. He looks up at me, a terror clear within his awakening eyes as he begins to scream behind the gag, his voice muffled.
My pulse races faster as a similar terror billows inside me. Oh God. What is happening? Who is this man? Did I do this? Was I drugged last night? I don't know what's going on! My thoughts scream circles around my mind as I stare in dumb bewilderment at this poor man. What do I do? What did I do? Is this my fault? Why am I even here?
"Calm down, you pathetic bitch!"
"Stop calling me pathetic!"
My yell is coarse, husky, and a stranger to my ears as it vibrates through my dry throat. The man shrinks back against the door, his terror rising as he looks at me. I briefly close my eyes and shake my head, trying to clear these incessant thoughts, and then I hurry towards him, my own pain ignored as I hasten to remove his gag. I wince in shared sympathy as the duct tape rips across his lips, his flesh dotting with fresh blood.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't yelling at you. I'm so sorry. Who did this? Where are we?"
"Don't bother with him, Brienna. He's as pathetic as you. Just leave him on the floor and go on home. Ahh, but he knows your face now. He knows what you did."
The man mumbles incoherent words, I can't make sense of him, his language, his foreign dialect as alien to my ears as the sound of my own voice. My mouth floods with hot saliva and still I refuse to swallow it down, I know that I'll retch and that's the last thing I want, I have panic attacks when I vomit, and I'm panicked enough at the moment. It drools from my mouth like the foam of a rabid dog. I am disgusting.
"Yes, yes you are, dear. Pathetic and disgusting."
"Shut up!"
My eyes well with tears as the man babbles in his strange language, his terrified gaze burning into my own. I wipe the forming tears from my eyes and hurry to untie the knots that hold the man bound.
"What are you doing?! Do you want to go to jail? Do you know what they do to disgusting, pathetic bitches like you?"
"No, no, no."
The tears flow down my cheeks and I fall backwards, away from the man, I bury my face between my knees and sob. Why? The question whirls around my mind, a cyclonic repetition that does not cease. Why? Why? Why? My heaving sobs wrench at my chest, my stomach hurts, I can't bare the pain, the agony of my pounding head, my thoughts, my eyes, my stomach!
A calm sweeps over me and I climb to my feet, carefully removing the creases from my skirt as I stand upright. I sweep a hand through my greasy hair, I'll have a shower and wash that soon, I haven't washed in days. The pong is getting a bit strong. The man before me is babbling, terrified... why is he babbling? I thought I had fixed that. I retrieve the duct tape from the bathroom counter and replace his missing gag as I whisper for him to shut his pathetic face. That's better. Silence.
I check his binds, good, they remain tight. I will deal with him later.
I flick off the lightswitch and embrace the darkness before I step into the sunlit lounge. The foreign man's lounge. He thought he could have his way with me. I proved him wrong, oh yes, I most certainly did. Ugh, I feel so drained, there is a fatigue in my step and a throbbing ache deep behind my mind. Didn't I make a coffee before?
Ah, yes, there it is. On the kitchen table just where I left it. I smile, suddenly feeling radiant beneath the sun's warmth as I raise the cold liquid to my lips, and I bask in the delightful elixir. Perfection.
Thank you for reading! :)
The image used for my header is a CC0 image courtesy of Pixabay!
