Whispers

by Trickster Ozaki

Trigger Warning: This story contains depictions of explicit language, domestic abuse, violence, psychological torment, and self-harm that may be distressing for sensitive readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Voices that live in my head. They taunt and laugh, as if knowing how much of a coward I am.

Like a roaring tidal wave, spurts of echoing laughs smash against my chest. The abrupt collision causes my diaphragm to spasm; I double over in pain, searing through me. We won't let you go, they say. Why can't I remember how to breathe? Beads of sweat trace down my forehead, and I nearly topple over my own feet. I clutch the medicine cabinet door with the last of my strength, but its added weight causes a shift, dropping the medications inside.

"Damn it!" I yell, dropping to my knees amidst the scattered bottles. Each clatters as it hits the floor, their labels blurring in my frantic search. The voices echo louder, mocking and relentless, until I spot the one with a glittering Pikachu sticker on its cap. With trembling hands, I snatch it up, clutching it tightly against my chest.

I twist the cap with shaky fingers until the familiar pop fills the room. "Make them go away," I plead faintly. Tears mix with sweat, tracing a path down my face as I struggle to silence the cacophony within.

You can't silence us, Niles. We're your worst nightmare. Tears mix with sweat, leaving a salty taste of desperation. I shove two pills into my mouth and finally heave a sigh of euphoric relief.

You're nothing but a insignificant worm. Finally, I have some peace. But, for how long? More tears stream along the edges of my face, and I quiver at the thought of their return. They'll never leave me alone. My therapist has reminded me so many times of their normalcy. It's human nature, she says. But is it really? I stand and bandage my wrists before tugging my sleeves over them, just as the familiar jingling chime of keys and a creak of the door grab my attention.

"Mom?" The lights flicker, and the stairs screech in sync with the clunking of my boots as I descend. "Mom, can I talk to you for a minute? It's about—"

The refrigerator door slams shut, revealing my stepfather carrying a bottle of scotch in one hand and a sandwich in the other. "How's my favorite boy?" His lips curl into a drunken, sadistic smile.

The hairs on my neck stand up; knees buckling beneath my weight as I hold myself together. "Dave," I groan. I attempt to turn away, but he grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me back.

"Hey, hey, hey. Are you forgetting something?" he rasps.

My nose twitches at the acrid stench of liquor emanating from his breath. "I said hi, didn't I?" I say, shifting until he releases my shirt.

"Yeah, but come on. Why don't we have a couple of drinks and play Twister? It's been a while." he suggests, lifting my chin with his finger.

I gag in utter distaste, swatting his hand away. "Can you stop putting your hands on me? Last time you got this drunk, I had to get tested."

He laughs and places his bottles on the kitchen counter. The rumbling thunder shakes all the windows around the house. The walls quake with each loud strike, and the room grows cold. Only the sirens blaring outside fill the void between us.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap—." Dave's fist strikes my cheek, sending me sprawling to the ground and knocking over the glass centerpiece on the counter. His fist hovers in the air where I once stood.

He rolls his sleeves and towers over. "I could've sworn we had a conversation about mouthing off," he says, pinning me down with his foot and grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter.

"Dave, I-I said I'm sorry. Okay?" I plead, squirming beneath his grip. "Please, get off me!"

"Shut up." He removes his foot and kicks the air out of my lungs. Lowering himself, he constricts my neck with his free hand and presses the cool blade onto my chest. "It's hard being a parent." My breath hitches as I tremble beneath his grip. The edges of my vision blur and darken, and the sound of my beating heart grows louder. The only thing keeping me from losing consciousness is the sting of sharp steel carving fresh wounds over those once healed.

"Do you think I like doing this?" he continues, pressing deeper and covering my mouth to stop me from screaming. "Discipline is like a knife's edge." I sob as his gaze pierces mine. "Shh. It's okay, Ni. Life is all about learning from your mistakes," he says, removing his hand and patting my face.

"Mom's going to be home any minute. If she catches you—"

"She won't," he snaps.

"She will if I tell her," I threaten.

His glare becomes cold. He moves his foot off my shoulder, picks me up, and slams my head onto the ground with a skull-wrenching thud. "What did you want to say to your mother, Niles? That I'm hurting you?  That I'm an abuser?"

I scream in agonizing pain as he points the tip of his knife at my shoulder blade and digs it in deep—a pool of crimson liquid forms on the wooden planks beneath me.

"You made me cut you, Niles. What's one more?"

As long as he lives, so shall we. What are you gonna do, Niles? says the voice. Another mocks, as if he has the guts to do anything. Without thinking, I grab him by the nape of his neck and pull him in, bashing our heads together.

He stands, cursing under his breath long enough to kick him in the groin.

"You're fucking insane!" I shriek. As I drag myself to the front door, my nails scratch the floor's surface.

"She won't believe you, Niles. She already thinks you're losing it," he cackles.

Reaching the doorknob, I twist, pull, and thrust, but it won't budge. It just jiggles beneath my grip. There's no escape. Dave charges toward me with his weapon in hand. With nothing but a mirror present by the doorway, I punch it as hard as I can. The glass shards litter the floor, and I have no choice but to dig through the pieces and pick out a dagger. What are you going to do, Niles? says the voice yet again. You're a coward, says the other.

Having had enough, I let out one final war cry and jab it into his neck. He locks eyes with mine—blood gushing from his wound. Such a good boy! Do it again! They chant. I yank the shard out and repeatedly stab it into him. With each aggressive thrust, memories from the past cloud my entire vision like a scene in a movie. Every punch to the face. Every new scar he's marked. All the times he's had his friends over. Every disgusting act endured because of his influence. It all comes back to me. Then, suddenly, it all comes to a halt.

"Niles?" I turn to see a shadowy figure of my mother standing next to the door frame. She drops her bags, and her eyes widen as she scans the trail of blood and mirror fragments that lead to the man she once knew. "Wha-what did you do?" she cries.

I drop my dagger onto the ground and gaze back at what remains of the monster we once knew. "What you couldn't," I whisper.