Hide & Seek

Act Two: Scene Two

Psalm dreamt that he was back in his first foster home with the Douglas family. Maryanne and Louis were his 'parents' and to their credit, Psalm couldn't say they were the worst caregivers he'd ever had. Sure, he didn't always have a warm blanket or a pair of socks without holes in them but, they did give him meals. They also weren't technically mean, they just hardly spoke to him at all. It was Rocky, their seventeen year old son who'd made the experience a personal hell.

He was a tall, dark haired and lanky kid who had an odd knack for wreaking havoc wherever he went. Psalm could only assume that when he joined the picture Rocky took that as a sign that the universe was giving him his own apprentice, a Robin to his misconstrued anti-hero Batman.

In the beginning, it was fun. Throwing water balloons at unsuspecting middle aged women was funny and spray painting abandoned buildings offered Psalm a thrill he hadn't felt before.

But, what wasn't fun was Rocky's inconceivable love of fire. Psalm didn't have a memory of the older kid that a lighter wasn't in. He spoke about flames as if they were alive and dancing just for him. It wasn't long before Rocky grew tired of setting leaves and small patches of grass on fire. He used animals next and when that hunger was quenched...

Bile rose to Psalm's throat. He shot up in a trance, harshly rubbing his cool finger over the rigid burn scars on his arm.

I'm not there anymore. I'm not there anymore.

He inhaled deeply, letting the air soak into his lungs. It was odd for the boy to wake up with no shouting to be heard from a sidewalk or an agitating car horn. Just soundless euphoria, for the first time in a long while.
Psalm blinked, letting the cloud of fog melt away from his brain. Blindly, the boy reached out. Unconsciously searching for the backpack he always held in an impenetrable grip during the night. It held his most prized possessions, which just so happened to be his only possessions. A few spider-man shirts,which if you'd ask him was more important than the crumbled birth certificate, social security card and toothbrush.

Also tucked away was a flip phone and a decent pair of sneakers he'd stolen on a particularly desperate day. The saddest part about it was he knew the employees saw him steal the shoes. They just felt bad enough to let him get away with it.

That day had really put several things into perspective.

Psalm shook his head, anyway. The eleven year old scavenged through his bag, searching for his pills. He found the small orange container and cracked it open eagerly, popping three into his mouth. He hummed contentedly and waited until he felt the usual constant pull of anxiety slim down.

His mom was the first one to introduce him to his anxiety medication. Psalm remembered going up to her after the day Tommy Eghart pushed him at recess. They'd gotten into a fight that ended in Psalms lip being busted open and his knuckle stained red with blood. He could still feel the adrenaline pumping madly through his veins, sweeping away any sense of ease in its tsunami.

For once when he gotten home his mom wasn't passed out on the couch with a frayed cloth tied around her arm. Their small box shaped living room was tidy and smelled of fresh linens. Psalm knew the school had called her, it was policy after suspension but he hadn't expected her to care.

Her eyes were a gentle brown tint when she finally emerged from her room with a small baggie of pills in hand. It was as if she'd felt how utterly unsettled he was. From that day forward Psalm took at least two everyday. When his mom was still alive, she'd acquired the pills for him most days. They'd be sitting in a small cup by the door every morning no doubt.

Psalm missed her more than he cared to admit. 

Evelyn.

Her name echoed in his mind over and over just as it did all the time. He didn't want to forget her, the freckles dusting her cheeks or the soft flush in her pale skin. The way she smelled or walked, her brilliant smile.