Two is Better

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Delilah has Multiple Personality Disorder--MPD. When her alter ego, Roxanne, gets her in serious trouble, she ends up in the hospital, with a nurse who she maybe, just maybe, has a crush on.

Submitted: February 28, 2012

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Submitted: February 28, 2012

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Two is Better than One

By: Stephanie R. Ledvina

 

 

I slumped against the side of a dumpster. There was a bloody mass of a man next to me. He was either unconscious or dead. He got what he deserved… he shouldn’t have made me mad… from the first punch I threw; he should have realized I was violent. The smell of rotting garbage was enough to make me gag, not to mention the annoying big-city sounds in the dead of night. I suddenly became aware of police sirens. Maybe, just maybe, an alley wasn’t the best place to be hiding an unconscious-or dead- guy. I could run for it, but I doubted I could outrun a police officer and perhaps a long-legged muscular canine. I looked around for an escape, finally realizing that the sirens were not even a block away. I cringed when I realized my only escape really wasn’t an escape at all. I wedged my foot between a broken milk crate and the dumpster, and hoisted myself in. I gagged, well, more like threw up in my mouth when the smell really hit me. I really didn’t care about a whole lot, but I definitely cared about getting caught by the police. I brought my hand over my mouth and nose, trying to keep from throwing up, yet at the same time, trying to breath.

Please don’t let me be caught… I thought when I heard a car door or two, open and then slam.

“There’s nothing or nobody back here as far as I can tell. My flashlight is broken, like anyways, so I wouldn’t be able to tell if there was. We’ll just come back in the morning,” a male voice said. I heard another voice agree. I honestly couldn’t believe my luck. I hoped they’d be leaving soon, because the smell was enough to make even Voldemort gag. The stench of apples, cheese, and some type of sauce all lingered in the dumpster air. They created a weird type of smell, almost as if it were a type of rare poison. When I heard the car engines start, and eventually fade off into the distance, I popped out of the dumpster. I took in a breath of fresh air, happy I was still alive. How am I going to get out of here? I thought to myself, I didn’t really think that through…

I sighed, was I really going to even attempt to get out of this dumpster? I’d probably end up falling out and cracking my head open… and possibly bleeding to death. I shook my head to clear the thought, trying to lift myself out of the dumpster. It was a lot easier getting in than out. On my second attempt, a rusty edge cut through my sweatshirt and my shirt, leaving a jagged cut on my pale skin. I swore as it started bleeding heavily. So this dumpster was going to be my death bed? Darn. I was hoping for at least a nice bed. I clenched my teeth, resting for just a minute. Severe pain in my stomach was starting to overpower my adrenaline.  Using all of my remaining energy, I lifted myself out of the dumpster, swinging my legs one by one over the edge. I hopped down onto the ground, immediately regretting my choice not to use the milk crate. I doubled over in pain, using my hand to help stop the flow of the bleeding. So, the guy I hurt is probably unconscious and I’ll probably end up being the dead one. Wow, Karma is screwed up. Hi, my name is Delilah, and my second personality, Roxanne, is going to bleed out… and kill us both.

 

I hate myself. I hate myself for being the way I am. I hate myself for being “two” people...why couldn’t I just be one average girl? I wasn’t normal and I’ll never be normal. If I’d never been born, I wouldn’t be this way. I hate myself more than anyone will ever know.

 

Unfortunately, Roxanne got me beat up pretty bad. I have a concussion; my left wrist is broken in three places; and the doctors suspect I have Tetanus, as I’ve been having muscle spasms. It’s a miracle Roxanne wasn’t overpowered by the pain- she was probably hopped up on adrenaline. After some thinking, I figured out I blacked out somewhere, because I remember waking up in an ambulance, apparently on my way to the hospital. But, that’s all I remember, besides a few glimpses of Roxanne fighting with a stranger. It was somewhat of a miracle… usually I don’t remember anything.

Before you start getting too confused, which you probably already are, I have Multiple Personality Disorder or MPD for short. Roxanne is my other personality, or alter ego, as I like to refer to her. She’s violent, aggressive, and vicious. The exact opposite of me. I’m shy, but kind. For being only fifteen years young, I kind of have a lot of problems. I’ve been arrested twice for things that Roxanne did, been in the hospital who-knows-how-many-times because of things Roxanne did, see a trend yet? I’ve been at this hospital so many times, it’s unreal. They should just give me my own room. Even one of the nurses, Eric, has gotten to know Roxanne and myself pretty well. Eric and I talk a lot, even when he gets off of work. I guess you could say I kind of had a crush on him. I blushed, just thinking about it. Jeez, I needed to focus on getting better, not on boys. He probably didn’t even like me back, anyways.

I lived with my parents when I wasn’t in jail or the hospital because of things Roxanne did. Roxanne did get me in a lot of trouble, especially before I was diagnosed with MPD. A lot of times at school, she’d punch kids on the playground, in the halls, or disrupt the teacher’s during class. Doctors just thought I was having severe mood swings, until they did some tests and diagnosed me with MPD.  After I was diagnosed, my parents decided to home school me, which, needless to say, didn’t exactly work out. I finished ninth grade, but didn’t even bother starting tenth. I figured I could just take it online eventually.

I picked up one of my notebooks, where I drew just about everything, and flipped through the tattered and worn pages. Just about every page had at least one drawing. I only had two or three pages left, too. I flipped through it, to a black page, picked up a pencil, and slowly started drawing. Just a daisy; nothing too extravagant, just like me. When I finished, about 45 minutes later, I admired my drawing, smiling. When I was depressed, drawing is what I would turn to. It doesn’t fix it, but it at least helps me keep my mind off of it. Drawing and sketching were just about the only things that kept me some-what sane while I was caged up here. Sure, I hadn’t been here for too long, but you try spending twenty-four hours, for over seven days in a white and cream colored room with just one ugly painting of a vase of flowers and a TV that only received stupid educational programming. It gets really boring when that’s all you can do. Wake up, watch TV, eat, sleep, draw, sleep some more, watch TV, draw again, and go to sleep. I live such an exciting life, don’t I?

I set my notebook down on the table, lying down. I quickly fell asleep, my dreams filled with thoughts about Eric.

 

“Do you; uh… have a boyfriend, Delilah?” Eric asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Eric, who would date a girl classified as mentally ill?” I sighed.

“I know one person.” Eric said, giving me a small smile.

“Who?” I questioned, flipping through TV channels, filled with useless educational stuff.

“Me…” Eric said his voice soft.

“You?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, me, Delilah…” Eric said, getting closer and closer…

…And I was awake. Two more seconds, and Dream Eric would have kissed me…with those sweet, handsome, adorable-wait! What am I saying!? I didn’t like Eric. I didn’t like Eric. I didn’t like Eric. I liked Eric. NO! Okay…maybe…kind of…sort of…yes. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?

This was not good. Not good at all. But, it was just a dream, right? Nothing more? I bit my lip and felt myself blushing. Alright, maybe it was more than a dream, maybe, just maybe, I did have a crush on Eric. Stupid heart. I heard the door open and Eric walked in.

STOP BLUSHING! I screamed at myself. My brain didn’t listen.

“Hey Delilah.” Eric smiled.

“Hey Eric.” I smiled back. The rosy cheeks were still winning this battle. But I’d make sure they wouldn’t win this war.

Eric plopped down at my feet, “I am so tired.”

I playfully rolled my eyes, “Oh?”

“You would not believe how many women have had babies today,” Eric sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“So now your helping them give birth?” I giggled.

Eric gave me a small smile, “All the nurses that are supposed to do that called in sick, and I seriously mean all of them. They resorted to me. A guy who’s never been in a,” Eric shivered and I giggled, “a…birthing room.”

I rolled my eyes once again, “Only you, Eric.”

“You try sitting in a room with a woman in labor. Nine babies from six this morning until ten. Nine! Two sets were twins, too! They should have at least given me some training or something. I’ll just, ugh, never be able to un-see that,” Eric said, covering a yawn.

“I take that as you having an eventful day, huh?” I asked, running a hand through my hair.

“Definitely. Those nurses better be back tomorrow or maybe I’ll be sick.” Eric nodded. “Oh, by the way, why are your cheeks red?”

Darn it.

“Uh, I’m just warm,” I lied, “that, uh, happens when I get warm.”

That lie was so obvious! I was using “uh”‘s and I never did that! Jeez, might as well stab me in the heart.

When everything went black, I was praying that some new personality would show up and not Roxanne. The last thing I needed was for her to go and beat up Eric.

 

“Delilah? Delilah, is that you?” Eric questioned.

I smirked, but Eric didn’t appear to have noticed.

“Yes,” I replied, sarcastically, “Delilah totally wants to kill you.”

Not only was Eric weird and unattractive, but he was stupid, too.

Eric got off the bed and started making his way towards the door. Um, no. Not going to happen. I sat up straight, silently daring him to make another move.

“Where are you going, Eric?” I smiled, sweet, but totally fake.

“I’m leaving, Roxy. I don’t need you trying to stab me with a plastic knife again.” Eric said coldly.

“Don’t call me Roxy…” I growled.

“Roxy, Roxanne, whatever you want me to call you, just don’t get yourself into any more trouble. It’s really starting to hurt Delilah,” Eric said, leaving the room.

I CARE ABOUT DELILAH! JUST NOT YOU!” I screamed, even though I was pretty sure the doors here were nearly soundproof.

I was going soft right in front of my very own eyes, saying that I actually cared about Delilah. I wasn’t going to be one of those “Oh, look at me! I’m so pretty!” clichéd girls. I was one of those “Mess with me and I’ll rip your throat out.” kind of girls. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. For once, I was surprised I didn’t actually try to harm Eric. Well, in my head I killed him about three times, but at least I didn’t attempt to kill him.

When everything went black once again, I was left thinking about how maybe I actually was starting to actually like Delilah.

When I woke up from a dreamless slumber, I anxiously looked around, half expecting to see a dead Eric, or at least a blood splatter or two. I let out a content sigh, relieved that I wasn’t stuck with Eric’s corpse. Roxanne always finds a way to get herself into trouble, ultimately getting me into trouble.

I was a teenage girl, with a billion and three problems. Jail time, injuries, being mentally ill, and maybe, just maybe a crush. I couldn’t change those teenage problems, and I couldn’t change who I was.

I grabbed my notebook off of the table, flipping to the last page that was empty. Picking up a pencil, I smiled slightly. It was now or never.

Dear Eric,

I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. Roxanne has put you through a lot, too. I’m sorry. For everything .But, thank you for everything. You always find some way to uplift my mood. Just your presence seems to help me a lot. Thank you. You’ve made me more confident, and for once, I can say I actually like myself.

There’s also one more thing you should know. Remember when you asked me why my cheeks were red? I lied. It’s because I like you. There. I like you. I know you probably don’t like me back, but a girl has to dream, right?

Do you like me too? __Yes __No

Love,

Delilah


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