Drowning In Secrets Read online

  As I ate, I tried to think about my happy place; one of the earlier tricks I learned, along with controlling my breathing. Every afternoon, we had a designated activity time. We had to pick something to participate in, whether it be a sport, music, art, or something to that extent. My favorite activity, my happy place, was running in the park. I liked the tranquility of it; where the only thing I could hear was the pounding of my feet, my breathing, and the birds chirping. When I ran, I felt at peace.

  So, I tried to visualize the feel of the wind on my skin, and how the trees swayed gently from side to side. Or the scent of the lake and the sound of the splash as birds swooped down to hopefully grab a fish. I pictured the smooth grass that I stroked through my fingers after I finished running.

  After a few moments of visualization, my heart rate calmed down and my breathing went back to normal. I smiled at my friends. But really, I was smiling at myself, grateful for the relief. I just needed to make it through the rest of the day.

  ******

  I looked at the clock. The designated time for homework was almost over, and then I was free to move on to an activity. I had this song stuck in my head all day. So, I was dying to use the time to go down to the music center and play the piano.

  I was sitting on the couch with my homework spread out before me as the news played on the tv. The broadcasters were sure not to play anything kid related during these hours, like cartoons, so it didn't distract us from our schoolwork. The only times our tv shows were available to play was on the weekends and after dinner during the weekdays.

  The news was covering the same boring topics as always - new modifications to technology and how there was peace amongst our nation, Euphoria.

  Bellicus was a nation that always had conflict with Euphoria. Bellicus was known to have weaponry and a very intimidating army, but the news reporters were very careful about what information the population was allowed to hear. The iconic news anchor, Velarity, was saying how all was fine in the world, and that Bellicus was being taken care of. It then segued to an interview with our president, Randall Thorn. He was the oldest child of the presidential family. The presidency was passed down through family, and the Thorn family had the title since the start of our nation.

  I am not sure how our nation came to be, and in all my history classes, they navigated around the topic. I had a feeling it wasn't a decent way into power and would make the citizens think badly about the presidential family, which was not tolerated. The only thing they tolerated was our unfaltering loyalty.

  The president walked into view on the screen. He was young, probably in his late twenties. He always had a look of disdain on his face and appeared as though he could kill with just his glare. Although he was supposed to be the president of the most peaceful nation in the world, he was anything but. No one else seemed to understand my point when I brought it up. I was pretty sure that whatever I tried to tell my parents or friends would go in one ear and out the other.

  I had never seen the president in anything other than a sharp-pressed suit. He was so perfectly flawless. I wondered how he was even human. His dirty-blonde hair was combed neatly, and his suit was freshly pressed. He had a straight, arrogant nose and hard grey eyes. His face was almost always in a scowl, and I don’t think I have ever seen him smile. I have only seen him portraying two emotions: anger and boredom. He had an almost robotic feel about him, and it didn’t appear that he felt any emotion in that heart of his.

  “We have everything under control,” he said to the camera. “There is nothing to fret about, and our military is the best in the world. We are doing everything that is necessary.”

  He was a man of very few words. Although everyone was always satisfied with his answers, I felt as though there was so much more he left out.

  I clicked off the TV and put away my school supplies before heading over to the music center. The center was huge and contained every instrument you could think of. I could spend days in here plucking each little string, trying to listen to every note. But there was not enough time with the regimented schedule they had us following.

  A music instructor, now that is a job I would have loved to be assigned. The only instrument I had mastered, however, was the piano. I typed my name into the tablet outside of the soundproof piano room. With a click, I was granted access, and the doors swished open efficiently. I walked up to the piano, my fingers gliding over the smooth, glossy keys. The piano was always in pristine condition.

  I took a seat on the bench in front of me and let the keys take me away. With every note, I drifted further and further from the thoughts in my mind. Until my mind was still and utterly calm. If this was how everyone else felt daily, I would be extremely jealous. It would be amazing to not have raging thoughts pounding in my head, wanting an escape, or to be capable of not overthinking every possible scenario and every outcome. It was so much simpler this way, to just be and let things come as they may.

  Too soon, my time was up, and I had to report back home for curfew. I signed out of the tablet and made my way out of the music center, through the flower garden with benches along the path. Sitting on one of those benches was Ian, smoking that weird device again.

  I didn’t know what compelled me to do it, but I walked forward and approached him. “What is that?”

  His gaze dragged up my body slowly, and I repressed a shiver. When he finally met my eyes with his own, I was startled by how vibrant his green eyes were.

  “A vape. Very illegal, but very effective,” he responded, taking another drag.

  A vape. I think I had heard of that. “Aren’t those things bad for you?”

  “Deadly actually, but what do I really want to live for anyway.” The thought hit a little too close to home.

  He looked away and rested his arm on the back of the bench. I took that as a dismissal. I was only a few steps away when I heard him.

  “It wouldn't matter anyway, with their new astonishing medical technology. They wouldn't let me die, even if I wanted to.” I could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  I turned around to face him. “And do you want to?” I couldn’t help asking. “Die?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said with a long sigh. “No, I don’t want to die. I just want some relief every once in a while. Don't you?”

  I feigned ignorance.

  “Oh, come on,” he told me. “I see the way you are biting your cheek, anything to distract yourself from the war raging inside your own head.”

  I stopped biting my cheek, and my eyes went wide. Was it that noticeable?

  I really should have walked away. I wanted to walk away, but my feet seemed to be glued to the floor.

  “It’s alright. You hide it pretty well. It just takes one to know one. Come sit,” he said, patting the spare bench seat beside him.

  I looked over my shoulder warily. Curfew should be starting soon. But as I looked back at Ian, I felt drawn to him. I took the remaining steps toward the bench and sat down as far away from him as I could. He smirked and then took another drag.

  “What is your name, anyway?” he asked.

  “Rainy,” I told him.

  “Hi, Misty. I’m Ian.”

  “It’s Rainy,” I corrected him.

  “Isn’t that what I said?” he asked with a smile.

  I shook my head. He took in another drag and let it out slowly as he exhaled.

  “Do you know the difference between fear and anxiety?” he asked, and quite loudly at that.

  I gazed at our surroundings to make sure we were truly alone.

  “Aren't they kind of the same thing?” I asked, unable to stop myself from fidgeting.

  “Not at all,” he said pocketing the vape. “Anxiety,” he said, turning to me, “is the worst thing anyone can experience. It is your mind overthinking situations, playing out different scenarios, and stressing over what the outcomes may be. It can make people sick. It makes me sick. I don’t blame the government for trying to get rid of it. But fear
,” he said, holding up a finger. “We need fear to truly live. It keeps us alive. It allows us to feel adrenaline from taking risks. Without fear, without uncertainty, we are not living. Sure, it may be exciting for you to find out your profession, and it may give you a sense of purpose, but you never really get to make a choice. It’s assigned to you. You don’t feel the true impact of consequences, good or bad. And it is not as fulfilling to live life by just going through the motions.”

  He took a breath, and it was silent for a moment, staring at the ants moving along the sidewalk. I was stunned by his words.

  “Do you know what job they assigned me? A Waste Regulations worker.” He barked out a laugh. “They put me there because of how I do in school. But honestly, having someone else plan out my life for me sucked all the motivation out of me. I have no reason to try hard in school because I don’t really face any consequences. Sure, I get a sucky job, but I am still guaranteed a future career. There is no uncertainty. There is no taking chances. Everything is set in stone, and you are not the one setting it. What are you assigned? Probably a surgeon or something, right?”

  I glanced away, unable to meet his eyes, and shook my head. “No, a dentist.”

  “Figures. You look like the type who would work hard in school and get assigned a nice job. Although, I would bet that you aren't too thrilled about that assignment.”

  I took a deep breath. “No,” I voiced softly. “Anything medical gives me anxiety,” I said, unsure why I was voicing my concerns aloud for the first time, and to Ian of all people. “The idea of drilling into teeth, being up in people’s mouths all day, every day, doesn’t really appeal to me. It has been so difficult for me all these years attending my own dentist appointments. I am not sure how I will be able to pull it off. I guess I will get used to it.” I shrugged.

  He nodded as though he understood. “But the thing is, you shouldn’t have to get used to it. You should be able to do whatever you want that makes you happy and motivated to wake up in the morning. Whether that is tending to flowers, or cleaning bathrooms, you should have the freedom to choose.”

  His words sunk in. What would I choose if I had the freedom?

  “Do you do anything to help it? The anxiety, I mean. Their medicine isn't a quick fix. Managing it takes a lot more than a few pills. I mean, sure it helps, but it never really goes away. You just get better at hiding it,” he said, and I felt as if his vibrant eyes saw into my mind.

  “I like to run. It clears my head,” I admitted to him.

  “No illicit drugs, drinking, or sex? You would be surprised how much those things can pull you out of your own head.”

  I stiffened at his harsh words and shook my head. “No, of course not.”

  He looked as though he was about to say something more when the bells at the center tower rang, indicating the curfew would start in ten minutes. I stood up quickly.

  “Uh oh,” Ian said. “Wouldn’t want you to miss the precious curfew. You can go back to your home that looks like everyone else’s, watch the same thing as everyone else, and eat what they tell you to eat. Sounds like a fun night.” He chuckled.

  I ignored him and started speed walking home. What was I doing? Speaking to him so openly was bound to get me into trouble. What if he told someone about my anxiety?

  Dread filled the pit of my stomach. No, I don’t think he would do that, because I know as much about him as he does about me. But I shouldn’t have gone near him in the first place. He was bad news and going to ruin everything I have constructed for myself.

  I have a good family, good friends, and a good future career that I worked hard in school to get assigned. A good life. Sure, I have anxiety, but I have dealt with it every day of my entire life. A few words from Ian weren’t going to convince me to go off the rails.

  Chapter 3

  I didn’t see Ian again for a few weeks. Three terrible anxiety filled weeks. It was announced that career day was approaching. It was meant to prepare us for the first Ascension.

  In Euphoria, there were three Ascensions. The first being when you graduate high school and are inducted as a trainee into your career. The second was when you mastered your job, were no longer in need of assistance, and could operate fully on your own. The third and final Ascension was after many years of working in your career, when you reached the age of seventy, and were able to retire.

  The first ascension was only three months away. I would be forced to begin working every day in an environment where the sounds and smells emitted triggered so much anxiety for me. It would be hard to breathe. Ian’s words impacted me more than I allowed myself to admit. Every day new questions of “what if,” would pop into my head, stirring the war within me.

  “I can’t wait to head over to the elementary school and see all of those kids,” Kaitlynn admitted during our free period, where we were studying in the library.

  She was assigned the role of teacher to because she had a knack for communicating well with young children.

  “I’m sure it will be amazing! You are so lucky with your assignment,” Elizabeth chimed in.

  I rested my head on my hand and had to fight the urge to close my heavy-lidded eyes from my lack of sleep.

  “What do you mean?” Kaitlynn asked. “You got a great assignment. Being an actress is absolutely amazing. Everyone and their mother watches television after dinner. You are going to be famous!”

  I nodded in agreement. I would much rather have either of their jobs than mine, but I could never let on that I was unhappy because unhappiness would mean therapy. Therapy would mean more medication, which would eventually lead to being sent away.

  “What about you, Rainy? Looking forward to finally getting in the office?” Elizabeth asked me.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged.

  Elizabeth laughed. “You don’t seem very enthusiastic. You know if you are not happy with your career choice you could always appeal.”

  “No, no. It’s not that,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I am just tired. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately and the extracurriculars have worn me out,” I lied.

  Believe me, more than once, it had crossed my mind to appeal, but doing so was a lengthy process that was rarely ever successful. The government wanted you to accept the choice they made for you and didn't want you to have the free will to choose your own job.

  Appealing would only draw attention to myself and my anxiety. With my father being a psychiatrist, it would not go unnoticed.

  I love my father, but his career scares me. I have nightmares sometimes of being bound and loaded onto a vehicle that is being driven to The Facility, and my father is just standing there watching them take me away. He was just doing what he believed was right. But the idea that he wouldn’t make an exception for his own daughter sent shivers down my spine. My mother was also a doctor, a general practitioner, and it was hard to hide from her when I feel uncomfortable and upset.

  “Oh, girl, me too,” Kaitlynn said. “I feel like I may be getting sick because I woke up this morning feeling like a truck ran me over,” she said, rubbing her head as if to relieve the pain there.

  I frowned back at her, sorry she was suffering, “I can ask my mom to check you -”

  “No, it's fine. I am going to go to my doctor after school,” she said.

  I nodded. They began chatting idly about other topics when I saw Ian. He carried a book that was remarkably thick and looked very old. He looked up at me and winked, only to sharply pivot and disappear behind a bookshelf.

  “I will be right back, I have to grab something,” I told the girls as I quickly hopped up from my chair and left all logic behind.

  I searched between the bookshelves, but he was nowhere to be found. I went back to the shelf where he went missing. I noticed the book he was carrying laying on one of the shelves. It was laid open to a story called, “The Yellow Wallpaper.” I assumed the book was full of short stories. But why would he leave it turned open to this one?

  I grab
bed the page between my fingertips and felt the rough paper between my hands. This book was old, and definitely not published in the twenty-third century. It looked to be published even before the twenty-first. How was this book here?

  There was nothing this old in the library. I turned it over to see the spine. There was no barcode label on it to check it out. It must have been Ian’s personal book. I looked around for a moment, making sure I was alone, and then began to read. I had to read the first few paragraphs three times before I understood what it meant. This was not modern-day language.

  The bells chimed, indicating that my free period was over. I had one more class left in the day. I grabbed the book, quickly memorizing the page number I was on, and then shut it. I walked back over to our table and discreetly slid the book into my backpack.

  I walked out with the girls, and every step was nerve wracking because, although it may not be owned by the school, it looked like I was stealing a book. I could be majorly punished for such an act. I held my breath until I was out of the door of the library. I said goodbye to Kaitlynn and Elizabeth, and then I finally exhaled deeply.

  It felt like there was a red, hot rock in my bag that was sure to be noticed by anyone and everyone. Throughout my last class, I kept glancing at my bag. My fingers itched to reach out and flip through the pages. Why would Ian leave this book open for me? Surely, he knew I would come after him. When I finally left for the day, my bag felt heavier than ever. I decided I would chart my afternoon activity as reading. So, I could take time to understand the significance of the strange story.

  *****

  “Take it back,” I urged Ian as I walked up to him.

  He was sitting under a tree in the courtyard during free period, and I wanted to get this book off my hands as fast as possible.

  I was unable to sleep, yet again, as the story played over and over in my mind. It was about a woman who had just moved into a house, and she had a “condition.” Her husband was her physician and had forbidden her from various activities. Therefore, she stayed up in her room and studied the yellow wallpaper and all the scratches, marks, and shadows within the room. Over time, she grew crazy and started to see people hidden in the wallpaper. It became her obsession.