Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(7)

“I’m done,” he blurted out, holding up his arms in defeat.

“Why, so, serious?” I taunted, showing him my best Joker impression.

And I nailed it. Big time.

Suddenly, he turned his back to me and headed toward the street.

“Where are you going?” I called after him.

He looked over his shoulder and shot me an irritated stare as I chased after him. “Back to the program,” he dryly muttered.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a buzzkill.”

“I’m tired, Micah. I haven’t slept in two days.” Jensen rubbed his hands over his face, and I was now seeing the dark bags beneath his eyes for the first time. “I just want to sleep,” he added.

“Sleeping is overrated.”

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe for you,” he replied.

“Whatever,” I snapped, turning away and heading in the opposite direction. “Fucking leave, then. They all do.”

“Come with me—”

“See ya, Jensen!”

“Come with me, Micah,” I heard him call out to me.

Although, I played it off like I didn’t hear him. Like he didn’t even exist.

Because he didn’t.

There was only one thing that did.

… Mania.

One minute, you’re lost, and the next minute…you’re found.

You are the sole creator of your own destiny.

A rush of extreme adrenaline kicks in. Your heart accelerates at an unfathomable speed, along with the thoughts in your mind. The anxiety fuels the mania even more.

It hits you at full speed out of nowhere.

You are no longer bound by the limits of your physical body.

You can be anything, or anyone, you want to be. There are no fucking limits. No consequences. No distractions. Everything makes sense… And yet nothing does. Everything has meaning… And yet nothing does.

And still, everything is absolutely fucking beautiful.

Life is beautiful.

You’re running on hyperactive-controlled clarity. Nothing is impossible in that moment. The world is yours to create. To own.

Seeing is art. Hearing is music. Breathing is living.

You are high.

So incredibly high.

You take chances. Risks. Because why the fuck not?

Your illness is not mental.

…You’re finally free.

…

Until… you crash.

And…

…burn.





I’d tried to recall that night, but most of it was still a blur. Jensen managed to make it back to Salem somehow. I, on the other hand, walked around the entire city of Boston until the sun came up. I lost the clothing checks from the state that I cashed as well as the money I made from doing half-assed chores around the program.

I didn’t even remember how I ended up back in Salem the next day. I couldn’t feel my feet. I was completely numb. The staff noticed I was gone that morning and reported me AWOL. The cops were already waiting for me when I got there.

Jensen must have been in school.

I was frantic, and completely unstable at that point. Once in the past, a police officer picked me up, and I was able to sit in the front seat uncuffed.

This time… I was arrested.

It was during court hours, so I didn’t need to be dumped at a holding place like on nights or the weekends when the building was closed. I lost my mind in the holding cell of the juvenile court that day, and spiraled even worse when I told Judge Patrone that he was a prick and to go fuck himself. Couldn’t have timed that mental breakdown better even if I’d tried.

They ended up bringing me to the nearest hospital. After a lengthy psychological evaluation, two psychiatrists determined that I was showing signs of psychosis, and I was eventually admitted against my will.

Another grippy-sock vacation for the books.

Once I was stable, after coming down and crashing hard, and countless therapy sessions and medication tweaks, I felt awful for the things I had done. For the way I had treated people. I felt ashamed, and disappointed in myself, even though it was out of my control. There was so much self-defeat and insecurity coming down from the high.

And after finally regaining my mental clarity, there was one specific person on my mind.

Jensen.

Where was he?

How was he doing?

Would I ever see my friend again?

About three months later, after being placed into a residential program about forty-five minutes away, my social worker showed up without warning and pulled me out of there.

That was the moment my life finally began to change for the better.

I was brought back to Salem, and for the first time in years, I was placed in a real foster home. One of the foster homes that all kids in state custody hoped to one day end up in. Joan, who was never able to have kids of her own, decided to become a foster mom to help troubled youths in need. Bob, her husband, was a hard-working and kind man who did everything he could to make the people in his life happy.

For the first time, my inner child felt wanted.

It was a feeling I’d never had the luxury of experiencing before, and I was on cloud nine. I finally had a home to call my own. Parents that loved and cared about me.

My dream became my reality.

After all those years of experimenting with medications to treat my mental illness, which they had assumed was ADHD at the time, I was finally put on the right ones. It was the perfect combination to treat bipolar disorder.