It starts with one hand.

It squeezes me as if I am a piece of wood between a vice on a workbench, growing into a burst of multiple hands chaotically gripping me in the darkness. They yank and claw over my body in unwanted attention, trying to take me away. Trying to save me from this mind-numbing space and bring me back into the harsh reality.

Every inch of me revolts.

Except my mind.

It stays numb.

I shut out their unwarranted touch, focusing on the tingling that prickles down my arms and fingers. The sensation is like I had woken up from a deep surgical slumber, my anesthetized body sluggish but blissfully so. I've never felt more alive, even in this drugged state. This bizarre energy surges through me, my fingers, hands, and arms dancing awkwardly across an unknown canvas. Everything bends and contorts in ways that almost hurt. At times it gets to the point where it's like I'm on a medieval torture device.

Other times...I welcome the pain.

This is a twisted game I'm forced to play often...

... and too much.

My focus is interrupted when I'm jerked back so hard my body goes into shock. It's as if I've been plunged into water so cold I'm suffocating. My lungs throb and tighten causing my throat to close up and for me to croak.

I hover in the in-between.

Vines branch out from the clouds of smoke and tether themselves to me. Now I'm being pulled from every angle and stuck in an all-out war between fantasy and reality, not knowing who the victor will be.

Hands or vines?

I've never been pulled out before, but I've also never had so many hands trying to pry me out.

The screaming becomes real and all too soon as I'm pulled from the in-between and thrown into reality. Black dots start to disappear one by one and soon my eyesight is restored only to find all of my classmates looking at me in horror. Those violating hands remove themselves from me as an eerie silence coats the air.

There's no feeling like the one you experience when someone is truly, deeply terrified of you. And here I am with a group of fifty some people, with some guys who could easily snap my neck with their big hands, each and every one of them looking at me with those same eyes. Eyes that have haunted me my whole life and have shown me time and time again that some expressions are truly universal... like fear.

Taking a deep breath I close my eyes and force on a bubbly smile, trying to pretend what happened didn't just... well, happen. The minute my eyes pop back open and I jump up on my feet, I realize I made a terrible error.

I freaked them out more.

All of them take a step away from me and then my attention turns to the floor and there I'm face to face with a horrible sight. What I did on that floor is the invisible scar in my brain that for years no one has ever been able to see. Now it's out in the open, raw, ugly and a disturbing silent scream.

Crap.

*

PROVIDENCE, RI

Have you ever had those moments where you sneezed, and everything was right for one brief flicker of a second? That all the pressures and burdens of the world just came bursting out of you and you felt a relief like no other.

Well.... I need that right about now.

Why?

Because I'm sitting in the Dean's office waiting to accept an award called, drum roll please....

Expulsion.

Dean Webster's brown puffy eyes, that resemble an old bloodhound's stare right at me. His face is set in stone and ruby red like he's always overheating. My eyes leave him and search for something that would possibly make me sneeze.

Maybe if I will it, it'll come?

Not likely.

"Miss Wilkinson, I would like your attention please."

I give it to him, but not without running my mouth, because that just wouldn't be me. "I'm sorry. It's just... you weren't saying anything so what was the point?"

Dean Webster's face reddened to the point I feared he would have a heart attack, ending with me as the responsible party. You see, I have a condition called severe foot in mouth. I can't help spewing out the thoughts that come into my brain.

I have no filter. Honest to God. It goes in, then right out.

Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. It's not like I try to be fresh. Most of the time, I'm sweet and bubbly with a pinch of spice.

"You're being released, Miss Wilkinson."

Nice way of putting you're being expelled.

I want to punch him right in his pudgy bloodhound face and rip out the wisps of white hair combing over his too pink bald head. I don't say a word though and head for the door.

"We aren't done, Miss Wilkinson."

"I'm sorry, you just 'released' me. What else is there to discuss?"

"Your mother left you some money and personal items. You're going to have to leave your uniform on the bed and I hope you'll be able to figure out where to go from here. We only wish you the best. You must understand..." He pauses then stands and walks around his desk holding his right hand up ready to give a lecture in the way only teachers do. You know how they pinch their forefinger and thumb together and bounce their arm up and down as if they're making some momentous point that will forever change your life.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how your mother has disengaged herself from you since you've been admitted here. We can't have these episodes hurting and destroying our property anymore. You've cost us a great deal of money."

If they'd let me freely paint more this wouldn't be a problem

"Because of that I feel like it is essential that I... guide you in the right direction." He stops and stares right at me. "Find yourself people you can rely on, who can help you. Mental breakdowns aren't something you should take lightly. Despite my prejudice against you, you are an incredible artist with an extraordinary amount of potential. I haven't seen raw talent like yours. But know, many great artists have suffered with either bipolar disorder or some form of psychosis. If anything, they used it to their advantage. However, with you, I'm afraid it will end up destroying you along with your potential. There's no shame in needing help."

Crossed. The. Line. Flew right over it and obliterated it.

My hand clutches the door and I throw it open. "You can take your guidance and shove it right up your—"

*

"I said butt." I breathe out in a low whine.

"I canbelieve you've been 'released.'" My roommate threw up quotation marks and shook her head in disbelief. "What're you going to do now?"

We stand outside by the auditorium as I paint and Josie soaks up the sun. People pass by mingling while some guys throw a Frisbee around jumping oversteps and backpacks.

"Not sure. Honestly, I'm not surprised. It's been coming. Nothing can be done now. It's a done deal." I shrug and go back to my finger-painting. It's the only thing that can help me calm down at this point. I mean come on. I just kissed four years of hard work down the drain.

Josie leans her elbows on the railing looking away from the river. She tilts her head back, her super long bangs splitting at the center of her forehead.

She needs to get them trimmed.

"I know I need to." Flicking some of her bangs out of her eyes she says, "Wow, I can't believe you're going to be free from this place."

Not taking my eyes off of the image that's starting to come together I reply, "Yeah, I have no idea where I'm going to go though. My mom is busy with her new family and has given up on me. I haven't seen my dad or sister for fourteen years now." I lift my shoulders in nonchalance.

Josie picks at her nails that have been bitten to the quick. "Sorry but what's your family situation again?"

I sigh as my blue latex hand stretches over the weird painting I'm conjuring up. "My mom and dad divorced. Don't know why. My mom took me, and my dad Amber. We never saw them again."

"Maybe you should go to them?" Josie begins biting at her nails again. Such a nasty habit. "I know. Can't help it."

A guy crashes into me causing me and my painting, which was of a very obese version of the Dean, to face plant on the concrete. He falls back, does a fancy roll then hops back up on his feet... all to catch a dumb Frisbee.

After tossing it back to his friend his eyes zoom in on me as Josie helps me up. "Hey, Psycho Freak, why don't you and your demonic paintings get the hell out of here already?"

I don't look at the pathetic knock off version of Chris Evans. Instead, I place my painting back on the easel as Josie picks up my paints. Finally giving him my attention, I dazzle on a sweet smile. "I'm sorry was I in your way? How about this? Why don't you go play somewhere else, like I don't know a place with a high volume of traffic?" Before he can answer I do it for him. "Oh, wait, that's right. You want all the girls walking by to ogle at your awesome display of second rate Frisbee skills. Cause you know, Frisbee is the new Football." I pause and swing my hand around to the few females who are around and not paying any attention to the little tossing game. "Panties sure are dropping for you."

His nostrils flare. "Why are you still here, psycho witch?"

I would question how this guy even knows me, but I already know why. I kind of have a reputation here for being the psychopathic art oddity.

"Well, Mr. Oxygen Thief, it's none of your business. So why don't you and your friend run along and try catching the Frisbee in that traffic we talked about."

Josie chokes on a laugh, but tries hiding it in. Bless this girl for not caring about what will happen to her reputation if she hangs out with me. Of course, she's a little different herself.

He cracks a grin. "It's a shame you have a broken brain, babe. If you didn't you'd be hot. Arguing with you kind of turns me on."

Looking over at Josie I roll my eyes. "If only we lived in a society where slapping an animal wouldn't get me on the list of America's Most Wanted," I state indifferently waving my hand in the air for dramatic effect.

He scoffs, shaking his head but his grin is still in place. The sunlight hits his eyes and they're slightly glazed over.

Great... he's high.

The guy with him I've noticed around campus before. He's the quiet type, and barely looks at anybody. But when he does, he always seems out of it and oddly calm. As if doped up on weed or some kind of drug.

There's no skunky smell coming off the guy in front of me, so it must be something else.

Frisbee guy dashes off throwing me an inappropriate hand gesture as I yell, "I hope you find a brain back there."

Josie sighs. "Sometimes I wonder if you're made of titanium alloy." She stands dusting off her butt. "I'm going to get some Jell-O. You want some?"

"Nah."

She leaves, and I try to find it in myself to be sad about possibly never seeing her again, but I don't. Josie and I talked but we never became close, which worked for our living arrangements.

No deep friendship, no fights.

My eyes divert back to Dean Webster's scary looking portrait. A snort escapes my lips as I realize that my painting looks as if I'm trying to curse him. Stretching my limbs up in the air and arching my back, I kick off my white shoes letting my bare feet touch the cool concrete and think about my next stage in life.

There's no way mom will be happy with the idea of me moving back in with her and Chip. He hates me and she's pretty much made her choice. It hadn't been a hard one either. She's been fed up with me and my tendencies for a while.

I doubt she'll even answer the phone.

The longing to get far away from all of this is overpowering. Truthfully speaking, after the initial anger faded, I'm relieved to be leaving this place behind. I want to experience a new and raw world. One that's not sheltered or controlled in the ideals of liberal arts.

And if I'm being honest... I'm lonely. So, I think I should finally visit my dad and sister, build a possible relationship with them... and maybe even try to get some answers to these episodes.

I think it's time to revisit my past.

~ Living Red