The Road to Insanity

By Jaclyn Lewis

Nova Rogers had the perfect life before her father randomly decided to walk out on her and her family. Her mother, in an attempt to gain some sort of closure, decides to move them from Detroit all the way to Independence, Kansas, where Nova meets Pete Ramsey, a quiet, expressionless, Scottish boy that loves to insult people using slang that no one understands. They become fast friends and try to cope with their difficult lives together. Along with the big change in scenery, Nova's younger brother, Robby, can't cope. His multiple personality disorder could cause him to do something absolutely crazy, so he is a constant endangerment to anyone around him. Pete is a welcome distraction to remove Nova from all this chaos, but the closer she gets to him, the more pain she'll feel if it all ends badly. With no happy ending in sight, will Nova's end come at the hands of her brother, or will she be too damaged to even care?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaclyn Lewis
• Release date: Aug 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310150166

Jaclyn Lewis

It's probably about time I update this thing. First off, my name is Jaclyn, named after Jaclyn Smith, so it has no 'k' or 'q' or 'e' as everyone but close friends would believe. It's simple. Easy. Unique. My favorite pastime--I should probably say reading or writing but that's what everyone would expect--is bowling, playing with yoyos, and Rubik's cubes. I live in a small town, one smaller than even Forks, and my favorite color is yellow. I don't know if I'm a good writer or not, but like everyone, I'm trying to improve. That's why I'm here. It's an experiment--helping me strive toward my ultimate goal: excellence. This is one more step to reach it.

Book preview

The Road to Insanity

By Jaclyn Lewis

The Road to Insanity

Copyright 2015 Jaclyn Lewis

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: Monday, April 2015

Chapter 2: 2014

Chapter 3: Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Chapter 4: Thursday, April 23, 2015

Chapter 5: Friday, September 12, 2014

Chapter 6: Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Chapter 7: Thursday, October 9, 2014

Chapter 8: Monday, April 27, 2015

Chapter 9: Friday, October 10, 2014

Chapter 10: Friday, October 10, 2014

Chapter 11: Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Chapter 12: Saturday, October 11, 2014

Chapter 13: Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Chapter 14: Sunday, May 3, 2015

Chapter 15: Friday, October 24, 2014

Chapter 16: Saturday, November 1, 2014

Chapter 17: Friday, December 19, 2014

Chapter 18: Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Chapter 19: Thursday, December 25, 2014

Chapter 20: Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Chapter 21: Friday, January 2, 2015

Chapter 22: Wednesday, January 5, 2015

Chapter 23: Thursday, January 8, 2015

Chapter 24: Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Chapter 25: Friday, February 27, 2015

Chapter 26: Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Chapter 27: Friday, March 6, 2015

Chapter 28: Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Chapter 29: Thursday, May 7, 2015

Chapter 1

Monday, April 20, 2015

I stared at the clock, drumming my fingers constantly against my thigh. Time was moving far too slowly, and I couldn't handle it. I felt like the room was suffocating me, trapping me inside where I could never get fresh air.

Nova, Dr. Wilson said, breaking the never-ending silence. It hurt my head, the noise. I needed the silence to cope. You've been here for several weeks now and haven't spoken a word. You can never be helped if you don't talk to me.

Shaking my head, I crossed my arms as I stared straight ahead, my head completely blank.

I was desolate. There was nothing left of me anymore—I was no longer the same girl I was a year ago, and that was a tragedy.

Therapy was my mother's idea—I wasn't crazy.

I really wasn't.

At the very least, I hoped I wasn't.

Nova, Dr. Wilson tried again. Would you like to talk about your dad?

I didn't move, didn't speak. I didn't show any signs that I'd heard her.

A headache pounded at my temples, and I flinched slightly from the pain. I couldn’t think about my dad. He was the one that tapped the first domino, causing every single one to tumble to the ground right along with it.

It was because of him that I was this way. If he hadn't... If he would have just....

Everything would have been fine.

What about your mother? The move? Your friends? she tried in vain. You're never going to improve if you don't talk to me. Your mother will keep forcing you here, wasting your time, and mine, along with her money.

I don't care about her money, I finally said, my voice deadpanned. It felt weird to speak, like I had forgotten how.

Dr. Wilson took this as a sign that I was opening up. And what do you care about? she pressed, leaning closer. She casually grabbed her pen, clicking the end. She slowly began writing on her notepad as if I was a scared rabbit, and if she moved too fast, I would run.

Maybe it was the truth. Avoiding my problems had always been my way, and now I was here, in therapy.

I shrugged, shaking my head slightly. I don't even know anymore.

And how does that make you feel?

I smiled bitterly, slamming my head into the back of my chair just to feel the sharp pain. I had been expecting that question at some point.  It makes me feel empty. Void of everything I ever was, and it's to the point where I don't care anymore.

What happened to make you feel this way? Dr. Wilson tried to press further. It might help to talk about it.

I shook my head, my heart rate rapidly accelerating at the thought of reliving everything. I can't talk about it. Ever.

And why not?

Staring straight into her eyes, I told her the truth. Because if I have to go through that again, I might have to kill myself. And that would do wonders for your reputation as a therapist.

Dr. Wilson stared at me for a minute before scribbling down more notes.

She nodded. Maybe, now that you’re opening up, we can try to get to the root of everything. How are things at home?

I shrugged, not giving anything away.

You have a brother, correct?

My head snapped up, and I stared at her in disbelief. I hadn’t been expecting that. The answer tumbled from my lips before I could stop it. Yes.

He's eleven now, correct?

Yes.

She scribbled that down. And, forgive me, but what is his diagnosis?

My hands clenched into fists, and the anger I felt was overwhelming. She had to know, as my therapist, that mentioning Robby was just going to hurt me. It’s none of your business.

She stared at me for a minute, calculating my reaction before continuing. "If you make it my business, then I can help you work through some of the issues you might have with life at home as a result of his illness."

It’s not an illness! I shouted, completely offended. Robby was not ill.

Dr. Wilson sighed, looking at her watch. That's all the time we have, Nova. Maybe you'll reconsider talking to me about some things on Thursday?

I ground my teeth together. I doubt it.

She nodded like she was expecting that response and got to her feet, walking quickly to the door.

I could hear her exchanging words with Mom about how I was improving and opening up and I could make some great progress if it continued.

I walked to the door and watched the different people in the waiting room. There was a little boy, only a toddler, sitting next to a girl that looked like she was my age, staring down at the ground like she didn't know what it was like to live anymore.

I know the feeling, I thought, glad, at least, that I didn't have a child to take care of.

Figuring Mom and Dr. Wilson would be a few minutes and obviously didn't need me, I stomped from the room and out of the building, not even bothering to stop once I passed our car in the parking lot.

Nova! Mom shouted, running up behind me. She tried to stop me by grabbing my arm, but I just shook her off, continuing to walk away.

Let me go! I need space! I shouted, growing hysterical. I needed to breathe and I couldn’t do that at home, where it was quiet in that house, too big for the amount of people living in it. I’ll be home later!

Mom didn't say another word, but I watched as her car drove off toward our house. I then began walking in the opposite direction.

The sky was blue above me—so blue, it hurt my eyes. Still, I stared at it. It wasn't like I could see anyway.

Mom didn't want me wearing my glasses because the ends of the frames could be sharpened into points that I could use to cut into my wrists. Again.

I also wasn't allowed to wear my contacts because I already harmed myself with my glasses. Jamming my fingers into my eyes every day didn't seem like a good idea in Mom’s opinion.

Memories started to flood back, but I pushed them away as my haste walking turned into a full-on sprint.

Like I said, maybe I was a rabbit because it was a hell of a lot easier to run from my problems than to face them.

***

I sighed, sitting calmly in one of the waiting room chairs beside Mom.

I knew I had issues. There were really too many, but I didn't want to be better. I wanted to be this way because if I wasn't, all the people that messed me up wouldn't be a part of my life anymore. Moving on was too scary for me when I needed the memories of those I once loved.

Still, I decided to give Dr. Wilson and Mom what they wanted. I would give them a show of trying to get better so I could stop going to therapy and drown in misery alone.

I sat in my normal chair in the waiting room, spacing out as I stared off into space.

The secretary walked into the room, smiled at me, and sat in her chair, starting up the computer on her desk.

My eyes widened as I watched her grab her cordless mouse.

Then her hands hovered over the keyboard and she began to type.

Her fingers blurred as I stared, and the constant tapping hit me in the head like little needles stabbing into my skin.

My heart raced, and judging by the heat, my face was flushed. Sweat appeared on my forehead. I couldn’t handle that sound.

Memories took me away, and I began to twitch.

Pain, pain, I thought desperately. I need pain.

I clenched my hands into fists so hard that my nails drew blood from my palms. Still, it wasn't even enough to make me wince. I couldn't feel it—the emotional trauma was already making its way through me.

When I glanced over at Mom, I saw she was reading a magazine, not even paying attention to what was going on with me.

Anger seized me, and I squeezed my nails harder into my skin.

Nova?

I jerked in my chair, surprised. Looking up, I saw Dr. Wilson waiting for me by the door. The sound of typing was still all around, tearing me apart.

Quickly, I rose and almost ran into her office to get away from the noise of the computer.

It made me think of him, and I couldn't let myself remember him at this moment. Not when I was about to go into therapy.

How have your last few days been? she asked, closing the door behind me.

I stared at her blankly. With my voice slightly higher pitched from the waiting room incident, I sputtered out, Cut the crap! Sighing, I sat in my chair, throwing my head against the back like I had done so many times before. I was already experiencing headaches from eye strain—my prescription was really strong and going without my glasses gave me the worst ones of my life. Hitting my head against things made the pain last longer, which was an excellent distraction.

I looked at Dr. Wilson, resigned to my fate. I'll tell you what you want to know, but don't pretend to care.

She folded her hands in front of her, laying them entwined on her desk. What do you mean?

I shrugged, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to keep looking at her. I didn’t want to watch as she scrutinized me. I made my hands go into loose fists so she wouldn't see the damage I had done before and ask about it.

The next words that came out of me were completely true. "No one really has a concept of caring about me because it is my life, and I know what caring feels like—it's something only I can really do about my life. I'll tell you what you want to know—my story—because that's the only way I'll be allowed to stop coming."

Dr. Wilson sighed. You'll only stop coming if you improve, and I believe that talking about everything will help you deal with the pain that you've kept trapped inside.

I didn't pay any attention to what she said and just dove right in.

My life was normal up until we found out about my brother, Robby, about seven years ago. Mom and Dad were freaking out with all that happened with him, and life was no longer really normal for us. He was put on medication to keep him from doing something reckless, and he was less of my brother because he couldn't remember anything when he would go into a mood.

What happened to him? Dr. Wilson asked, interrupting me.

Peeved, I explained. "He had this imaginary friend as a kid—Georgie—but one day he kind of... became him in a way. Then he was always forgetting everything that had to do with himself. When he began the seizures, Mom and Dad took him to anyone that could help—doctors and shrinks mostly. It took five years for them to diagnose it, but they found out he suffers from dissociative identity—also called multiple personality—disorder. He switches into a completely different person sometimes, with different memories and a different name."

How old was he when diagnosed?

Nine.

She nodded. And how did that affect you—Robby's condition?

I frowned. I'll tell you everything you want to know as long as you knock it off with the questions.

Fair enough.

I nodded and continued. After we got the actual diagnosis, we learned to cope with it and things were normal again. We were happy. It was last year that everything really changed.

What happened? Dr. Wilson interrupted, and I glared at her before telling her everything, hoping it would get her to shut up.

It took everything I had left to relive it all.

Chapter 2

2014

It was deep into March of my junior year in high school when my parents split. For no reason at all, it seemed, Dad left and never came back.

I don't remember the actual event that underwent, but I do remember the aftermath.

I remember pacing down the halls, going to the living room and back, passing Mom's room. I could hear her crying through her near-constantly locked door.

When Mom would even leave her room at all, she would be in the kitchen, staring off into space with stuffy, red-rimmed eyes as she sipped her coffee. No matter what time of day it was, she would always drink coffee, like if she fell asleep, she might be tempted to never wake up.

Six months after the split, I went to the kitchen for breakfast and was surprised to see her leaning against the counter, the phone held to her ear in desperation. She was never out of her room this early, which aroused my curiosity.

Who are you calling? I asked, talking to her for the first time in months. I grabbed a bowl and the cereal.

Your dad, she said, tears starting to tumble down her cheeks. She looked like she would fall to the ground at any second. I just need to hear his voice. One more time.

***

I sat in my English IV class, thinking about her expression. I couldn't get Mom out of my mind—I was so worried about her.

It was September and she was still a complete emotional wreck.

Are you okay? my best friend, Marcia, asked as she sat in her seat. I mean, you seem more distant today.

I shrugged, rolling back my sweatshirt sleeves. I had given up wearing dresses since April, though I kind of missed them. Dresses were just too cheery for my reality. "I'm fine, but Mom's still depressed. I'm wondering if she should go with Robby to therapy tonight. She’s messed up enough to need it at this point."

Marcia was well aware of my brother's condition, and she knew that if he didn't go to therapy, he would have been put into some sort of institution to keep him from causing harm to us or himself.

How are things at home? Have you talked to your dad at all lately? She put her cheek on her fist, staring at me in concern.

I shook my head, feeling sad. He never returns my calls, but I drive to his new place in the suburbs every few days. He can't really stop me from visiting.

Marcia nodded, smiling. Well, it's good that you still see him.

She didn't say more. She knew that things were rough with me right now.

I hugged Marcia after class, promising to text her when I got home, while thinking about driving out to see Dad after homework.

The separation was almost as hard on me as it was for Mom.

***

I stepped through the front door and immediately sensed that something was wrong.

One great indicator was the fact that Mom was running about, throwing away a lot of stuff. She was usually working when I got home, tucked away in her room typing on her computer like nothing else mattered.

Go through your things, Nova, Mom ordered, her voice hoarse from crying. We're going to sell whatever people will buy and everything useless goes in the trash.

I frowned, looking around our tiny apartment. Everything in it was linked to my childhood. All of my best memories were here, all of my greatest moments. I couldn't throw out this stuff. It was too special to me. We can’t throw out our stuff! I cried.

Mom rolled her eyes. Nova, stop being difficult. It’s just taking up space, and the clutter isn’t good for anyone.

It has sentimental value! I shouted.

She gave me a stern look. Sentiment only hurts you in the end. It’s better to just cut it out—there’s less pain that way.

I stomped off, unable to believe she was serious. Reaching my room, I slammed my door once I crossed the threshold. There was no way I was going to go through my stuff.

After throwing my car keys onto my dresser, I angrily began digging through my backpack for the homework that I was still debating whether or not to do.

Robby came in through the front door half an hour later, after I had calmed down a little, and I could hear Mom fix him a snack, asking him about his day.

Listening through my closed door, she almost sounded like her old self again. I glared off into space, unable to believe that she could be so casual about everything.

Finally deciding to get over it, I sighed and went back to doodling on the side of my math worksheet.

Suddenly, my door opened. I looked up to see Robby grinning from ear to ear, his blond hair sticking out in all directions.

I was just about to scream at him for bursting into my room, but he spewed out what had him so happy before I could. Momma says we're gonna move! Novie, we're gonna move!

What?! I shouted, and then I was on my feet, running to the kitchen before I realized I was even doing it.

You told me we were getting rid of stuff, not moving! I shrieked as soon as I saw her. How could you do this to me? In my haste for an answer, I accidentally knocked over a glass of milk. I stared angrily as the freed drink ran down the counter and pooled under my sneakers.

Mom pursed her lips in irritation, gesturing to the spilled milk. I shook my head, glaring at her. I wasn't going to clean it up when she had some explaining to do.

We stared at each other for several moments before she sighed—one of those I'm-so-irritated-at-your-behavior sighs—and began cleaning it up herself.

I need this, Nova, she said, frustration in her voice. I can't stay here—there are too many memories of your dad and I need to escape.

I threw my hands into the air. "Well then let's go on vacation or something! Not move!"

She didn't say anything for a minute. Instead, she threw away the paper towels she'd used in Project Milk and washed her hands, the loud faucet making me even more furious.

I began to think of my dad and Marcia, how I couldn't be separated from them. He was my father, and she was my best friend in the world. They were both my family, and if we moved, I would never be able to see him.

Breathing deeply, I reminded myself that there were plenty of other apartments in Detroit. Moving didn't mean we were actually leaving.

I found us a place today, Mom said, staring out the window above the sink so she wouldn't have to look at me. At least, I think I did. Tomorrow I'll drive down there and see if I like the house. Regardless, we're leaving in a week, so pack up.

With that, she dried her hands and left the room. She glanced back at me, and that was when I saw the desperation in her eyes. It immediately calmed my temper.

I walked over to the sink and looked out the same window that Mom had a minute ago, staring into the only city that would ever be my home.

The buildings were tall and beautiful. Well, to me they were. The sky was bluer than blue, with big cotton clouds dotting it, adding color just by being white. It looked like something in a drawing.

Shaking my head, I went to my room to continue the amazing work I had already gotten done on my math homework—the doodle was, after all, almost finished.

***

We were now in Independence, a small town in Kansas, and hardly settled in. Our stuff was mostly still in the truck.

When we crossed into the town earlier, I had been surprised at how utterly dismal it was. As it turned out, there were barely ten thousand people, which was one sixtieth of what I was used to.

Everything seemed like some sort of sick joke. Mom kept telling us on the way that all this was a sign that we could be independent—we didn't need our father and she didn't need her husband.

Yes. She chose our new home because of the name of the town.

Mom even went out of her way to ship my car over rather than let me drive it, for fear I would do something stupid like try to go live with Dad instead.

Her complete lack of trust in me would have hurt if she hadn’t been right.

I stared out of