Orange Hearts

I can still hear Grandpa. His final words, something telling me that he will watch over me forever. It always gives me chills, but good feelings at the same time. It, honestly, is kind of weird. But I get used to it.

You’re going to die today. If not, you’ll screw something up so badly that your life goes beyond repair. I hear the thoughts whirring in my mind. It isn’t me thinking, though.

I’ve nicknamed him Yob. He’s the anxiety and intrusive thoughts “ghost” that follows me around, whispering things into my ear like, What if you killed yourself? Hey, hey, hey, you should try to kill yourself. See what happens. Or things like Run away from home. Nobody will miss you. The things he says aren’t true. I just can’t get him out of my head.

Sometimes it helps to say, Go away, Yob. to him. Most of the time, though, it doesn’t. He doesn’t go away. He never will.

I walk by Hot Topic in the mall. I want to go inside. I just got my paycheck from the job I slave over far too much, and want to buy a new top. I see one in the windows. It’s a short-sleeve shirt with the band Panic! at the Disco’s logo on it. I should go buy it. I want to go buy it. But that would mean I have to try it on, and once again, Yob is in my ears. You’ll hate yourself in it. When you try it on, and go look at yourself in the mirror, everyone will look at your ugly body. See how short it is? It’s a crop top. You’ll get judged. By everyone. 

I start to walk away from the shop, still eyeing the shirt. It’s no use. I can already feel the bags under my eyes, even though it’s only four in the afternoon. I punch into my texts that I’m ready to go home. I get a text shot back at me.

K. I’ll be there five minutes tops.

I clutch my small bag. My ride—brother—is supposed to be here. He isn’t. You’re getting left behind. Everyone hates you, even your brother. I can feel my palms sweating. What if someone in one of those classic white vans comes up and takes you? You’ll never see your family again. But they wouldn’t care. I shake my head profusely, trying to erase the thoughts. I can feel my heart racing endlessly, but a black Nissan Pathfinder pulls up.

“You took Mom’s car,” I say, sliding into the shotgun seat, cranking the radio up. 

“Yeah, so?” Jake replies, turning the song “Crazy = Genius” on, completely disregarding my song choice, though I like this one better. Panic! at the Disco. I think again about the shirt in the store. 

“I figured she wouldn’t let you.”

“Anyway, did you buy anything Cassie can steal?” Cassie is my freshman sister, always taking my clothes. 

I pause for a second, but then speak. “Almost. There was this one tye-dye shirt, but—”

“Let me guess. Yob?” 

Jake knows about Yob, too. He’s a high-school senior, and me being a junior, I always confide in him for advice on nearly everything. I nod my head. His usual carefree face turns grim.

“He should know he can’t control you. Look, you’re strong.”

I nod, pretending I’m okay. 

“Trix cereal again,” Cassie says to me after I stumble out from the top of the stairs, hair in a messy bun. I walk downstairs, clicking the thermostat up a couple notches when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s cold.”

“Yeah, power went out last night. We had a storm after you went to bed.” So that explains how chilly it was when I woke up. 

I slide half-heartedly into my seat at the table, finding an orange candy heart with the words “BE MINE” written on it. These things, in their classic perfection and great flavor, mean so much more than just a candy to me. Up until my grandpa died, he always gave me candy hearts (They’re my favorite). Not kidding, the man would buy them and save them all year. But he always made me promise to save him the orange ones; they were his favorite color. 

I pop the heart into my mouth. Mom always gives them to me leading up to Valentine’s day, since she isn’t a year-round hoarder like Grandpa was. 

I look for Jake; he’s always salty when we don’t wait for him.

He died. Just like you will today on the bus. Some cars will come speeding down the road and cause a crash. I shake Yob out of my head once more. He didn’t die, and I won’t, at least, not today. 

“Better not have left me with the crumbs at the bottom of the box!” Jake yells, running downstairs in his school outfit, jeans with worn-out knees, and a plain black shirt with a couple paint splatter spots.

“You know you don’t have to get ready for school until after breakfast, right?” 

“Well yeah, but I like looking like I’m put together in front of y’all. Leaves a good impression.” He shoots me a smile and sits down, before remembering that there is breakfast he needed to actually get before he could sit down to eat it.

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there buster. We were here first,” Cassie shoots at Jake, jumping up from her seat to race him.

“Bozos. Everyone knows milk goes first,” I say, getting up to grab my milk. They make puking sounds, but I still get to pour my food first.

This is how every morning went for us. Except for one thing. I don’t always get candy hearts.

***

I open my locker to find a box of candy hearts (What a coincidence) and my friend, Jasmine, leaning against her locker, two down from mine.

“Happy Galentines,” she said. When we were little, we saw some TV show where the ladies went out for “Galentines” and thought it was so cool, that we made that very day Galentines. February seventh.

“Oh, come on. I thought we stopped that. Besides, it’s the tenth.”

“I’m spontaneous.”

“You’re dumb, that’s what you are.”

I grabbed my history books, thick phonebook-length, and slammed my locker shut. She grabbed my hand and we started walking down the hall.

“So, you gonna ask Stephen out?”

“He doesn’t even know I exist,” I said, struggling to keep up with her chipper pace.

“He had a crush on you in the first grade,” she tried to reason with me.

“Yeah, until he figured out I keep live frogs as pets.”

“Yeah, but he’s cute. And perfect for you.”

He hates you. Everyone hates you. Everyone wants to kill you, and he will kill you when you ask him out. 

“I don’t think I can ask him out,” I say, popping a yellow heart in my mouth, careful to save the orange ones for last. She sighs, pulls her phone out, and shows me some saves on her Instagram. 

When we reached homeroom, Mr. McCartney is taking attendance. It will be a boring day.

***

“So… I may have done a thing…” Jasmine says at lunch time.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah… so I may have gotten Stephen’s number…”

Do it. Try it. See what happens. Yob scorns me. 

“Fine. Give it,” I say, somehow peer pressured by my thoughts. She hands his number, and I add the number to my contacts.

Hey, Stephen. It’s me, Emilee. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out on Sunday. 

I’ve done it. 

***

I reach into my bag where my phone is peacefully tucked away. I pull it out, to find Stephen typing. I know I shouldn’t get excited, he’ll reject me, but I do get excited. 

Sorry, who are you? 

Any form of happiness fades, and I fall onto my bed, utterly exhausted. 

I manage to type, Emilee. I’m in your homeroom. 

Ghosted.

***

The next day at school was horrible. When I walked in, I saw Stephen eating chocolates from some girl who had a crush on him.

See? I told you he hated you. 

“He doesn’t hate me,” I mumble to myself.

“Yes, Emilee?” 

“Oh. Nothing.” Mrs. Blanchar, my ELA teacher overhears me. I hear Yob laughing horribly.

***

Insert Valentine’s day. The worst day of the year. I always get left out from everything. But today is different. I find a box of candy hearts, opened, with only the orange ones inside. Only the work of Jake. I smile, I thinking back to what my grandad said before he died. Finally, I remember.

“You have my heart, and you don’t need anyone else’s.” And suddenly, everything seems to be okay. I mean, I’ll still struggle with Yob. I’ll still get teased at school. And I still won’t win Stephen over. But when I think to Grandpa, everything seems to be okay. I really don’t need Stephen.

No. It will never be okay. Yob is back. But he cannot control me. I whisper a goodbye. He’Her all be back, that Yob thing, but next time, I won’t let him take over. I will buy that shirt, too.