The Voice

TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains mentions of the following:

• Gun violence
• Strong language
• Mental Health

Reader discretion is advised.

******

“This is it. My life is over.”

Calm down.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! It’s your fault we’re in this mess!”

Don’t put all the blame on me. I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.

“So what? You were the one who told me to do it!”

Oh, don’t try to act innocent. You wanted to kill that bastard as much as I did. In fact, it took hardly any convincing at all for you to–

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Because of you, they are going to blame me for this! You’re not the one going to prison; I am!”

You idiot. Anywhere you go, I have no choice but to follow. Even if you do go to prison, so what?

“So what? SO WHAT?”

Calm down–

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down! You don’t get to tell me anything! You’re nothing! Just a fucking voice in my head! Who the hell are you to tell me what to do or what I should think? Huh?”

If you don’t lower your voice, they really are going to think you’re crazy.

“Well, maybe I am. Did you ever fucking think about that? Maybe this really is all my fault, and maybe I deserve to be locked behind bars, never to see the fucking light of day!”

So poetic.

“SHUT UP!”

Technically, you’re the one shouting and who needs to shut up. You’re the only one who can hear me. Look, just tell them it was in self-defense. You were just minding your own business when that asshole came over and picked a fight.

“Oh yeah? Great plan. How am I going to explain the gun then?”

Hmm. Good point. Just say you found it. They can’t really expect you to know gun laws; you’re homeless.

“No. No, no, no, no. I don’t wanna be locked away. I don’t. I didn’t do anything wrong. It was all your fault. Yours!”

So, what are you going to tell the cops, then? ‘Sorry, the voice in my head said to shoot the fucker.’ Yeah, that’ll go well. I guess you could always claim insanity in court. You might get off with a lighter sentence.

“I’m not insane!”

Says the man shouting at himself in an interrogation room.

“Shut the fuck up! Wait… they’re coming back…”

They were probably listening this whole time, idiot.

“I said shut up! Oh, no, not you, officer. Look, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me – well, no, it was technically me that shot him, but it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know the man! I’ve lived on the west side of Stanstown Street for the past few years, and I’d never bothered anyone before! What? Video surveillance? But… Listen, I’m telling you the truth! It was me, but not because I wanted to! He told me to! Who is he? Well… he’s… uh… I know how this will sound, but please hear me out. He’s… in my head. No, I’m not just making this up! He told me to! He… wait, no! Please! Come back!”

See? I told you so.

“…”

What? Nothing to say?

“…”

Really? Are you giving me the silent treatment right now? What are you, a child?

“…”

Okay, listen… I get that you’re upset. I do! But… really, what’s the worst-case scenario here? Sure, you’ll get convicted of murder. Sure, you’ll go to prison. But so what? You know what’ll happen in prison? Free food. Health care. A place to sleep with pillows and blankets. Hell, you’ll probably even get the chance to talk to some quack-doc who you can vent to about how horrible I am. I bet you’d like that.

“… why?”

Why what?

“Why did you do this?”

Do what? Tell you to stand up for yourself? If I hadn’t told you to fight back against that privileged asshole who thought it was his damn right to harass some homeless guy on the street who was minding his own business, you wouldn’t have done anything! You would have just laid there and taken the abuse.

“And? I wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn't listened to you.”

You’re right. You’d probably be dying in a ditch somewhere. And what would happen to me if you died?

“Ah… I see.”

See what?

“You don’t give a shit about me. All you care about is yourself. If I die… you die.”

That’s the gist of it. Do you think I chose to be stuck in your worthless, pathetic head? Why couldn’t I have been stuck with someone who was actually successful? A doctor, maybe. Oh! Or a lawyer! Now that sounds fun.

“You’re not real.”

What?

“You’re not real. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

We’ve established that I am inside your head. But I am very much real.

“No.”

No?

“I don’t have to listen to you. Not anymore. You’ve ruined everything. It was you who told me to ditch school when I was a kid. It was you who thought it’d be fun to get fucked up on meth and start running odd jobs for the dealers just for another fix. It was you who ruined my life! Every bad decision I have made was because of you.”

Oh? But if I’m not real, which you just said I wasn’t, then doesn’t that mean all those decisions were yours? You can’t have it both ways. Either it’s my fault, and I exist, or I’m just a figment of your imagination, and you’re the one who's fucked up.

“Stop.”

No, I won’t. You want to blame me for all the stupid shit you did? Fine. Go ahead. But let me ask you this… who was there when you were at your lowest? Who was there when your dad kicked you out on the street at sixteen? Who was there for the bad trips and withdrawals? Who was there when you were homeless, begging for scraps and eating whatever wasn’t crawling in maggots out of the dumpsters? Who was always there?

“…”

Who!?

“… You.”

Yes. Me. And if you end up in prison for standing up for yourself, do you know who will be there right alongside you?

“You.”

Yes. Me.

“…”

I don’t want to fight with you. We are in this together, as we always have been. If you go around telling people I’m here, they’re going to think you’re nuts. Normally, I’d advise against that. But right now… it might work out to your advantage.

“They’re coming back.”

I know... So, what’s it going to be? If you really want, I’ll shut up, like you keep saying. I’ll leave–

“No! Don’t… don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Shhh. It’s alright. I’ve always been here, and I always will be. Claim insanity. Tell them all you want about me. We’ll probably still end up in prison or even in isolation. But that’s fine. We only need each other. Right?

“Yes… just each other.”

Good. Besides, I’ll help you when we get to prison. I’ll make sure everyone there knows not to mess with you. With us. Here they come.

“…”

It’s okay. I’m here.

“Yes, Officer. I’m ready to talk. It was me; I killed the man. But it wasn’t just me. There’s this voice… in my head… I think I might be insane.”