You Shouldn't Be Scared

    Okay, so ya know everyones scared of something. But its usually meaningless and doesn't affect everyday life; mine does though. And do you know what I'm scared of ? Something you don't expect a seven-teen years old to be scared; of the bogeyman.
     They lie when they tell you he doesn't exist- cause he does. The thing is his name isn't bogeyman nor is it El Cucuy. His name is fear. And I should known this I've met him.
     My name is Ivory. I'm seventeen years old. Everyone's scared of something. And I'm scared of the bogeyman. I'm seventeen - not a kid, anymore. The bogeyman doesn't exist. Its all in my head. I have to lie to myself everday, and ignore what happens in the night.


1. Another Friday

" Okay now repeat, what you repeat everyday, Miss. Hathaway." Mrs. Greene requested- with the tone of a demand. I kept my eyes to my unknowingly rubbing thumb against fingers- in a snapping motion. I let out a sigh. " My name is Ivory Hathaway. I'm seven-teen years old. Everyone's scared of something. And I'm scared of the bogeyman. I'm seven-teen- not a child anymore. I shouldn't be scared; the bogeyman doesn't exist. Its all just in my head," I repeated- nonchalant. I'm Ivory Hathaway- seventeen year-old. Everyone is scared of the bogeyman . . . They just don't know it. I should be scared; the bogeyman does exist. Its not all in my head. What's in their head is crap. I thought to myself. Every Time I had to say it- those awful words. They say if you're told something enough times you finally believe it. I guess thats what they're trying to do- make me believe I'm crazy. But I guess there is no point in reasoning with fools. It was routine, and routine was boring. Every week, that, old hag schedules me for Friday night at five o'clock, which is bullshit if you ask me. But obviously it doesn't matter- what I think. Cause either way: I still have to see her. And I know for damn sure, I'm not crazy: I actually see him. I took in the view of the small crappy room, full of posters of depression, anorexia, and abuse. I looked at the ugly, brown, love seat- I was sitting on and boy did they need a new one. I looked up at her desk, that was placed facing the piece of junk I was sitting on. She cleared her throat. I looked into her cold blue eyes. " Could you repeat that" " As I was saying, Miss. Hathaway our session is up. The same time next week. But um- Have you been able to sleep," she disclosed. " No," I answered so simply. She let out a sigh; knowing she wasn't getting anything out of me. Mrs. Greene is probably gonna give up on me as her patient. . . I would've too if I were her I probably would've gave up sooner. She might even suggest I see a psychiatrist or a mental facility. She showed me out. Walking out of the office and into the main hallway: I tried to remember where the elevator was located. I looked down the hallway for the elevator, that led to the parking lot. And spotted it between a small clinic and a nail salon. My therapist's office was located in a building, that used to be a small mall. They gutted everything out and made it look like in indoor swapmeet, that just didn't sell clothes, and bigger stations. They only, for some reason, had small companies and services. But they kept the large underground parking lot, when they were renovating it. I shoved my finger against the button. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. I hadn't been paying attention when I checked, so I forgot it. But by that time the door was opened; I didn't check the time again. It didn't even matter- I had no plans and my mother is a workaholic over in europe, now. She was working over here. Then all of a sudden she got a new project in europe. She left me here supposedly I'm ‘trustworthy enough to be left alone’. I know thats not the truth; she just doesn't want to deal with her delusional daughter. I looked into the mirror on the back wall of the elevator. I pulled my black hair into a quick ponytail with the hair band on my wrist. I stared at the reflection in the mirror. I looked so different from what I looked like two years ago- before he came. Dark circles had formed under my grey eyes, that were once a lively ocean-blue. The dark circles looked worse than they were, because of my pale skin- sickly pale. I looked drained and dead. Ding, had alarmed me that it was time to go. I spotted my red, 1970s, Cadillac impala. And walked over to the front door. Pulled my keys out of my bag. I fumbled around in the poor litted lot, for the keyhole. " So, why do you have to see, that old hag every week. And not come and play with me," a male voice was seductive. Tensing up at the sound of his voice. Dropping the keys in the swift movement of his hand on my arm. I scanned the floor hoping to see it in the poor lighting of the floodlights. " Looking for these," he chuckled, as he showcased my keys. " Give them to me Fear! It's not funny! " I demanded- gutsy. Fear scared me for three reasons. He is already dead. Second, He can do anything. And third, he has a temper. . . A horrible one at that. " Aww Ivory, you shouldn't talk to me like that or there will be consequences," he threatened. I could feel the lump forming in my throat; quickly I swallowed it. Glancing the other way and back to my arm," May I please, have my keys?" I begged. " They're inside your stomach, " he replied- as nonchalant as possible. Glancing to his hand; adrenaline swallowed me whole- the keys weren't there. " What do you mean, " I echoed. I searched his face for anything. But a smirk was plastered on his chiseled alabaster face. He moved his hand closer. Inch by inch my heart speed as he got closer to my stomach- scared of what he might do. I flinched hard to the point of tears; waiting for pain that was soon too come. His hand was soon ripping skin. And with each tear I could hear made me sick to my stomach. He was tearing a hole through my abdomen. And I could feel the skin tearing and the burning sensation of his fingers rubbing against open flesh, and torn muscle. It was so painful. I couldn't even feel the blood; I could only see it. Blood wasn't just rolling out it was gushing out in rivers. My eyes started to roll back, as if i were having a seizure. Sweat was already starting to form from my body, creating a moist blanket over my entire body Things started to get blurry and i was barely able to see his finally . . . my keys covered in a red, gooey substance that I came to realize is my blood. And my eyes soon closed after. I let the sweet cold abyss take me in its sweet embrace. To only wake and face tomorrows sweet pains.  
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