I can't move. [Do-over]

 “Being the type of school this is, I’m required to ask you if there are any particular special needs or other things I might need to know for your sake.”

First period rolled around quickly after Hanji was done dragging me through the halls like a disobedient pet. Unsurprisingly, the teacher took me aside before the start of class to talk to me. “For my sake.”

“Uh- I guess just that I might have an episode during a lecture, and in that event someone might need to take me out of class.”

“Ah, yes, I was informed of your condition. Post traumatic stress, correct?”

“Apparently so.”

“Well that can be arranged easily. Since you’re already acquainted with Hanji I can delegate that responsibility to her.”

The fact that he’s content to leave me in the hands of a person with no conscience practically confirms my suspicion. He’s not taking me aside to offer help. It’s an excuse to psychoanalyse me, see how much trouble I’m going to be. Just like Yuuko and Kyoshi, this new teacher Raipunittsu holds an assumedly fake smile, trying to make it seem like I’m welcome and cared for here. Of course, I’m under no such illusions. I’m here because I’m dangerous, no other reason.

“Well, if that’s all there is to it, let’s return to the lecture room. Feel free to take any seat, we don’t enforce seating plans or anything here.”

“T-thanks.”

Seemingly done with the “talk,” Raipunittsu guides me back into the classroom, where I’m waved at by a hand attached to a now-familiar face. The one I’d been seeing all morning, in fact.

“Yo, Taro bro, come sit here. I’ll introduce you to our classmates and shit.”

“I would much prefer if you saved introductions until after my lecture is finished, Koinyuu.”

“Shit, my b, Puni.”

Brushing off Raipunittsu’s surprisingly mild scolding, Hanji points to the seat next to her. Even though this girl is still off-putting to be around, I suppose it’s better than being dumped next to a total stranger. I silently take a seat next to her and unpack my bag.

As I open my notebook to the nearest clean page, I notice Hanji staring at it pretty intently.

“Taro bro, your handwriting is mint.”

“Hm? Uh, thanks. I’ve been told before that I write neatly.”

“Yeah, it looks real clean and structured an’ allat. But what was that shit on the page before?”

At first I tilt my head to the side, not entirely certain what she means, but after I go one page back, I realise what caught her eye.

“Ah- just some sketches I made when I was…”

“Having a meltdown?”

“...yeah”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to her casual attitude towards these sorts of topics. Everyone else pussyfoots around it

“Hmm… so this is, like, what you see in your head and shit?.”

“...sort of. They follow me around a lot.” I don’t exactly feel comfortable telling someone I just met about everything wrong with me, but if I judge the question she’s just gonna keep pushing.”

“Ooooh, so they here with us now?”

“Yeah, Taro, are the scary ghosties here with us now?”

“Go ahead, tell her all about how insane you are.”

“Tell her how we died! Tell her how we died!”

“I bet even this lunatic is gonna drop you straight away if you tell her.”

Shut up shut up shut up shut up.

“They’re… behind me. Whispering. Mocking me.”

Hanji’s face lights up like a kid’s on christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adult look so giddy before.

“Can I talk to ‘em? Can you interpret stuff for me? What’d they sound like? What are their names? Can you physically see them or are they just voices right now? Do they float or walk? Why are they all covered in blood in your drawings?”

Hanji’s train of questions goes on for almost an entire minute before she realises I’m getting completely overwhelmed.

“Shiiiit, my bad. I’m asking way too much, aren’t I?”

“...yeah. Kinda.”

“Well, just answer my first questions then. Can I talk with them and stuff?”

The request surprises me. Most people treat me like I’m a complete lunatic when I tell them about my spectres. What sort of weirdo wants to talk to another person’s ‘delusions?’

“M-maybe after the lecture. Now’s not a good time.”

“Ack, you right. I’ll have to pick your brain later, I guess.”

While we were talking, the remaining students had funnelled in, and Raipunittsu was waiting for the hubbub to die down. Once the noise level was low enough that he could be heard clearly, he started talking.

“Thank you, class. As I’m sure most of you are aware, we’re moving on from the chain rule to integration by parts…”

I try to pay attention to the integral Raippunittsu is solving on the whiteboard, but something keeps me distracted. While some of my classmates are fixated on the teacher and his methods, most are throwing glances my way. They try to hide them, but the message is clear. ‘Outsider. You’re not welcome here.’

“They know what you are.”

“They know what you’ve done.”

“They know you’re dangerous.”

“They don’t want you here.”

Shut up shut up shut up shut up

Drown them out drown them out drown them out

“This place would be better off without you”

“Even if a room filled with freaks, you’re the most broken”

“You know you don’t deserve to live around other people”

“You don’t even really deserve to live at all.”

Go away go away go away go away

“It would be so easy.”

“There are so many ways you could do it.”

“All of this would be over.”

“You wouldn’t be a danger to anyone anymore.”

Stop it stop it stop it stop it.

“Psst, Taro bro. You good man?”

The whispers are broken up by a more tangible voice. Not the weird ethereal-ish whispers that sound directly into my head, but a real human voice. “You’ve been staring down and looking all scared and shit for a couple minutes, it’s freakin’ me out. Ghosties giving you grief or some shit?”

I try to turn my head and answer, but every muscle in my neck feels tight and heavy. My mouth refuses to open, and my vocal chords make no sound.

After a few seconds I realise I’m not even blinking anymore. My sight is hazy and my hearing is muffled, but the voices of the ghosts grow louder and louder, their words now completely incomprehensible.

The pills. I need to take more of the pills. They’re just in my pocket. My hand is so close, but I can’t move an inch.

As my sight becomes so unfocused that even the characters in the equation I had quickly jotted become illegible, I realise the paper seems to move away from me. In fact, everything seems to get a little lower.

Is that someone’s hand? Am I being… lifted? I can’t make out any of the details, but my sight is no longer steady, and colours move in and out of my view. I think I hear the sound of a door slam, but I’m not exactly sure.

“Taro bro.”

I just about make out a voice. I think this one is real.

“Taro, where’re your schizo drugs? You get ‘em with you?”

I think I understand the situation now. I try with every ounce of my strength to speak, but my jaw is locked tight.

“Can’t talk? Fuck it, I’ll find ‘em.”

I think I feel movement around my abdomen, but the noise in my head is so loud it’s hard to concentrate.

After a few seconds, the real voice speaks again.

“Ke-kwe-quetiapine, this is it, right?.”

A few seconds after the voice says this, I just about make out a hand approaching my face, and feel it forcibly open my jaw. It’s then followed by another hand stuffing something small into my mouth and washing it down with water.

My inability to swallow properly makes it extremely uncomfortable, but I feel the pills and water slide down my throat.

Slowly, over the next twenty-or-so minutes, the voices get quieter and quieter.