68. A Fuck Toy

“What about the furniture?”
“I broke them all in anger.” Dakota admits, in a low, distant voice.
My lips part in a silent gasp as I quietly absorb his words while staring at the stark walls, wondering how lavish his room would have looked before destroying it.
“Even the bed?” I ask. The mysterious aura that surrounds him intrigues me to know more about him.
In response, all I receive is a low hum, which vibrates through his chest to mine.
I couldn’t help but imagine how much strength and immense fury he must have propelled to break a sturdy wooden bed. He has some psychotic level anger issues!
“You must be laughing at me.” He utters in a low, almost broken voice.
“What?” I blink in confusion.
“That Dakota Black, is in fact scared of darkness.” He whispers depressingly, while his chest vibrates with heavy sadness. “He is a coward, who sleeps with lights on.”
“What? No.. I would never-” I protest, but his deep pained voice cuts me off.
“Even you mocked me before. You made fun of my name and I know you must be laughing at me right now, seeing the pathetic state of my room.”
His words puzzle me even more, because that is clearly not how I feel at all.
“No.. Dakota.” I correct him, trying to turn around but he hugs me tighter, not letting me face him. His chest presses harder against my back and I feel how furiously it is pounding.
*It is thrashing like an earthquake!*
“I would never laugh at your pain. I know you are going through something and I would never, ever make fun of your trauma.” I assure him sincerely, yet the furious thumping of his heart doesn’t slow down, revealing the inner turmoil hidden beneath him.
“Dakota..” I call his name softly.
I wait for him to respond, but all I can hear is his heavy breath fanning at the back of my neck. I draw my fingers towards his hand, which clutches my waist like his last thread of sanity, and I touch him gently, offering comfort.
“I know it is hard to live alone, without a family. But see, you should be so proud of yourself for building yourself up from the scratch, without anybody’s help.”
I hope my words encourage him, yet he remains discouragingly silent. Could it be possible, that underneath that heartless domineering facade, there is a man who is more heart-broken than I am?
“And honestly, everybody has flaws. I myself am a flawed person. At times, I feel this overwhelming feeling of anxiety kicking in whenever I try to talk to people.” A wave of vulnerability washes over me as I whisper the buried parts of my soul.
“I myself feel so damaged. I have no friends, no social interactions, I hardly go out of my room because the outside world terrifies me. I am so scared to have another bad experience as the last one broke me completely.”
My voice cracks with sadness, feeling pity at the little girl in me, who still struggles to overcome the ingrained traumas she has endured.
“I see people around me, so carefree and extroverted, and I wish.. I wish I could be like them. There is so much I want to share, but whenever I try, all I feel like I am drowning in my social anxieties. Then panic kicks in and I feel unable to reach out, even for help. I know am not normal. Hell, I am not even myself anymore, but a product of anxieties.”
I pause, feeling the tightness in my chest. I close my eyes, letting the tears spill over, feeling them trail a path down into the pillow beneath.
“But it’s okay now.” I take a deep, shaky breath and stare at the plain walls of his empty room.
“I have realized that everyone has a dark side, demons they are scared to face. So it is completely fine if you are scared of darkness.”
A sudden need to console him takes over me and I gently squeeze his hand, offering my support.
“We are all flawed, aren’t we? Our imperfections make us human. They remind us that nobody is perfect, and there is nothing to be ashamed of.”
A deep sigh escapes me at the release of pent-up emotions from my locked heart and suddenly, I feel light, as if a heavy rock has been lifted from my chest.
I can’t understand me. The pain that had been buried deep, spilled out in the presence of a man I thought I despised more than anyone else.
Dakota lies behind me silently, just like the room. His soft breathing gets to my head like a lullaby and just as I am about to close my eyes, I hear him speak..
“I am not normal either.”
He quietly whispers, so hush as if he is talking to himself.
“I hear voices in my head.” He continues, his voice so low, it’s barely audible, almost lost in the silence.
“What voices?” I whisper back, calmly.
“I..” I listen as he draws in a deep, tremulous breath that seems to carry the weight of unspoken fears.
And it startles me to see this man, who is always brewing with confidence and arrogance, now cowering in nervousness.
“What is it?” I ask him. What is it? My anxieties also questions anxiously.
*If there is something that making him this nervous, then it must be a very serious thing!*
“I hear voices..” Dakota mumbles in a daze, “Like someone is inside me. Someone who is watching everything I do and someone who wants me to act as he wishes. And sometimes, that someone takes over me and becomes me.”
A chill runs down my spine, as his words slowly settle into the deeper parts of my brain. I always sensed something was wrong with his head. But I never thought it would be this terrible.
“Dakota..” I hold on to my breath as I whisper my worst fear. “Do you-you have Schizophrenia?”
My heart is beating fast, lashing in and out as I wait for him to deny me. Please tell me I am wrong! Tell me I am delulu!
“Not really, just borderline.” His words contradict himself, confusing me more.
“In medical terms, it is called Schizoaffective Auditory Hallucination.”
Spider crawls down my neck in absolute fright at his confession. I am so darn afraid to even ask what is it!
“I hear growls, sometimes strange animal noises and then whispers, which at times turn into roars. Fuck! It’s so scary to be able to hear these things in my head, when no one else can hear it. It still frightens me.”
Oh. My. God! My eyes, mouth, ears, all wide in a spine-chilling shock.
“Do you hear them all the time?” I remain calm, and ask him even calmly, though my insides are thrashing panickingly.
“No! I wasn’t always like this. I.. Fuck Emara!” Dakota growls frustratingly, sounding like he is on the verge of exploding into a million tiny fragments of wrath. But then I hear him take a deep, unsteady breath of calmness, before he reveals..
“I don’t remember having sex with you, nor hiding your clothes, or any of the nights with you.” His heart pounding fiercely against my back.
“It was.. not me.” He whispers, almost defeatedly.