Lewis had scanned the next dozen of pages and found them all the be nearly the same. Bad days at school and home, dark thoughts, bullying, confusion. It was getting frustrating. Not a single page contained anything remotely happy. There was one deceiving entry that mentioned Wilbur's 13th birthday, but Cornelius had not been able to get off work and show up to it.
Lewis cursed his future self for being so inconsiderate and uncaring. His older self should have known about Wilbur's struggles. After all, if he was reading the journal now, as a kid, shouldn't that mean he should remember it in the future?
Apparently not, because not once did Wilbur mention his father trying to help him. In fact, Cornelius seemed to be a big part of the problem. Wilbur was being neglected, and mistreated, and it just wasn't fair.
One particular page caught Lewis's attention. A smile graced his lips as he skimmed the words on, wondering if things might've gotten better for Wilbur.
Little did he know they would get much, much worse.
How could I be so stupid?!
I left the garage door open.
Maybe it was an honest mistake, but it's not like I could I explain that to Mom and Dad.
Of course the one time it happened, someone just had to steal possibly the most important invention of my dad's. The time machine. And it just haaad to be the blue one too.
I couldn't go to my dad with my dilemma, so maybe time travel was my next best option. The red one was still there.
After snooping around in Dad's filing cabinets, a newspaper from 2007 revealed that the science fair was the answer to my problems. It was where he earned his fame with his first working invention. The memory scanner.
If I could pull it off, the guy who stole the time machine wouldn't get his hands on the invention if I warned Lewis about it (that's what Dad was called when he was younger).
My plan was foolproof. Convince him to keep the memory scanner safe from the guy with the bowler hat. That's basically all I had in mind, because it's all I could guess the time-machine-stealing-creepo was after.
Things spiraled out of control before I could stop them.
The bowler hat guy all but destroyed Lewis's invention and with it, his confidence in inventing. It took a lot more than expected to convince him to try inventing again and when he did, it didn't turn out so well anyway.
Before I knew it, the second time machine was broken too, and the bowler hat guy was still on the loose.
Again, things went from bad to worse as a dinosaur attacked, Mom found out the truth about Lewis, and then Lewis went with the bowler hat guy to who-knows-where. Luckily, Carl and I found him at the old orphanage, and then we stole back Lewis and the memory scanner, heading home thinking that all our problems were solved.
Once again, I was wrong.
I stopped existing. The bowler hat guy took the invention, and disabled Carl, and then, everything went to hell. The future changed, and with it, those who existed in it.
The skin on my body began to tingle and sting, and before I knew it, I was watching my arms disintegrate into dust. I stared at Lewis in disbelief as it all happened so quickly. I managed to tell Lewis that it was up to him to fix things, because I was the screwup, and I'd already messed up enough. He still believed that he couldn't, but as a burning sensation overcame me, I screamed his name and watched everything fade around me.
It was dark, and cold, and it was as if I was aware of everything going on, but at the same time, I had absolutely no clue where I was. There was whispering voices, and I felt cold chills as if something was slowly clawing it's way into my bones. I was being torn apart by the fabrics of the universe, slowly, agonizingly, and bit by bit.
My screams made no sound, and soon there was nothing. It was like awakening from a deep, dreamless sleep. I felt like I missed so much, but when I slowly began to regain feeling, I realized somehow that it wasn't as long as I thought.
Lewis had done it. He'd fixed everything like I knew he would, and I was back on the ground, standing on my own two feet, and wiggling my own fingers.
The bowler hat guy was there. I beat him up, and got scolded by Lewis. Thanks to me, the bowler hat guy (apparently named Goob) was gone, and I'd lost a chance to do some good in the world. Lewis looked so disappointed.
I took Lewis back to see his mom, like I promised. Did I mention that? I lied to him, and then I tried to fix the mistake.
He didn't confront his mom, but he knocked on the door to the orphanage and retreated back to the time machine, where I was watching the whole thing. It's hard to believe that after everything he went through for her, he didn't even look at her face.
Later, when I dropped him off back in his own time period, he explained it was because he already had a family, which I guess made sense. But still, I wonder sometimes if he made the right decision.
I thought the whole mess would be over. It's not.
The dreams that haunt me are painful and agonizing. It's like I'm in that void again; not existing.
There's whispering and clawing and cold darkness. Carl says I've woken myself up from screaming, but I don't remember that. I just remember the feeling of being...gone.
It gets bad sometimes, when I wake up sweaty and nauseous. Carl said that it's normal to experience post-traumatic stress after a scarring experience, but I think I'm just getting what I deserve.
Lewis dreamt that night as well.
It was the same feeling as before, as if he was being watched. Sure enough, the same ghostly, dark figure stood at the foot of his bed, but this time, it was more vivid.
Lewis could make out texture and limbs, and it looked as though the figure wore a cloak. Upon further studying the face, he found it to be blank, except for a smooth, white mask, with two black, droopy smudges where the eyes would be, and a thin tilted line that formed a tragic frown.
More curious than startled, Lewis slipped on his glasses and blinked, but as soon as he did, the figure was gone...
Lewis risked bringing the journal to school if only to read as much of it as possible. He discovered soon that the entire experience they shared must have really screwed Wilbur up more than he assumed.
The entries got sloppier and shorter. Tidbits of dreams and trauma decorated the pages, and often angry scribbles covered up some of the lines. Disturbing phrases like 'psycho,' 'SHUT UP!,' and 'nobody believes me' were plastered at the tops of pages, followed by indecipherable text and scribbles.
To say that it scared Lewis was a terrible understatement.
It went on for awhile, before finally, the pages looked normal again. The date was neatly printed at the top, and then there were normal-sized entries in legible handwriting. Lewis sighed with relief, figuring that the worst of it had passed for Wilbur, and he was able to rationally gather his thoughts once again.
Sure enough, the first thing he mentioned was how he no longer had haunting dreams, and whispering voices, and terrible burning urges to do something regrettable. Puzzling enough, he said that he gave in more than a few times, but to what, Lewis did not know.
Lewis was in the last class of the day, luckily, but he knew his teacher was stricter than most, and so he didn't risk bringing out the journal.
When the bell rang, Lewis was quick to leave the building and walk to the orphanage, not even bothering to wait for Goob.
His mother's car was parked and waiting as always, and Lewis hastily climbed in the passenger side and greeted her, eager to get home to continue reading. The teen's worry for his future son had drastically increased, and the more he knew about his situation, the better he would feel. At least, that's what he hoped.
As soon as he was safely in his room and seated on his bed, Lewis opened the journal eagerly.
There's a policy in our gym class where you aren't allowed to wear jackets or any long-sleeved articles of clothing. Nobody really knows why this is, but you're expected to change out or you'll get a zero for the day. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but it's not worth it.
I didn't consider this, or think it through, because on the day we had gym, I didn't plan ahead.
Coach made me take it off. The black hoodie I'd been wearing nearly all spring was going to have to stay on the side lines while I was humiliated during gym.
Maybe no one would notice...
As soon as I pulled the hoodie off, all eyes were on the bandages.
Not that I expected otherwise, but part of me was saying that it was really just my anxiety, and no, not everyone was staring, but dammit I'm sure that they really were. They were staring.
After what felt like hours of standing there, with anxiety gnawing at my gut, I shamefully glanced down at my arms and knew that I was done for. The cloth white bandages wrapped around my wrists had slipped down, and everyone could see them. All the evidence of the night before.
Somebody said something loudly. I didn't hear it at first, but then there were gasps and whispers, and suddenly everyone was repeating it.
"Wilbur cuts...Wilbur cut himself.."
It was too late now. Gym class had come to a halt as everyone stared. I couldn't even bring myself to look down and readjust the bandages to hide the dark, red cuts that decorated the insides of my wrists. Everyone knew.
Summoning the little dignity I had left, I walked shamefully up to the coach and asked in a strained voice if I could use the restroom. His pitying and angry expression gave me my answer, and after grabbing my jacket and ducking my head low, I bolted out of the gym and ran to the nearest bathroom.
I didn't even lock the stall behind me as I pressed my back to the cold metal door and tried to focus on breathing. I was freaking out and falling apart, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to shake the feeling of being suffocated. I leaned forward and placed my hands on my knees, choking out sobs as I felt ready to hurl.
Falling to my knees, I gripped the edges of the toilet and started heaving, tears streaming down my face as I tried to just keep breathing. Finally, I threw up, and when I'd finished, I curled into a ball on the dirty tile and cried.
The door to the stall had cracked open, and though I was pressing my face into my balled-up hoodie, I managed to spot a few boys trying to peak into and under the stall, their wide, curious eyes trying to get a look at the show...
Someone must have eventually gotten the nurse, because she was suddenly shooing the boys out of the bathroom and sitting beside me, snapping on some rubber gloves as she helped me sit up. She wiped the vomit from my lips because apparently I hadn't even thought to do that myself, and through my embarrassment and sobs, I managed to hear her instruct me to stand up and start walking to her office.
She placed a guiding hand on my back and led me down the corridor, straight to the front of the school where her office was. She told the fascinated onlookers in the halls to go back to class in a harsh and serious tone that I had never heard the kind school nurse use before.
She locked the door to her office when we got there and helped me sit on the pathetic excuse for an examination table. It was just the two of us, and I figured at that point that I'd humiliated myself enough for one day, so I desperately tried to get a grip, taking deep breaths for air to try and stop crying.
The nurse gave me time to compose myself, but she sat in a chair nearby, watching me sympathetically and thoughtfully as I slowed my crying to occasional sniffles. Eventually, she pulled her chair up in front of me and stared at me long and hard, making me look away in embarrassment because I was an absolute wreck.
"Wilbur honey, let me see..."
She used that soft voice of hers as she reached for me hands, but I pulled back and stuffed them in my pockets, angry suddenly. If I let her see, she would be invading on something private. She wasn't allowed to see me when I was vulnerable, so I turned away from her and tossed a dirty glare over my shoulder.
"I can't help you if you don't let me see."
"I don't want help!" I shot back, feeling only a little bit of guilt. I could tell that she really did want to be helpful, but I wanted to fight this alone. No one could do anything to change what had already been done.
"I need to see, ok?" She said gently, coming forward and pushing the sleeves of my jacket up to my forearms. I gnawed on my lip as I allowed her to survey the damage, my eyes unable to meet hers.
"Wilbur..." It hurt the way she said it. It sounded like mom... It sounded disappointed.
"Do they hurt?"
"They're supposed to."
"Why do you say that?"
I shook my head and ignored her question, because I'd already said too much, and her sad curious eyes just kept staring and it made me edgy.
She stood up and sighed, shaking her head as she went to her counter and turned her back, so that I couldn't see what she was doing.
"Are things going ok at home?"
I wanted to laugh, because no shit lady, did it look like things were ok?
"It's normal to throw off your immune system if you're under a lot of stress. Would you say that you're stressed Wilbur?"
I stared at the ponytail on the top of her head and tried to count the number of rubber bands that kept it together. My musings were interrupted when she turned around and faced me.
"Do you suffer from anxiety maybe? How come I found you in the bathroom like that..?"
"I don't have-," I stopped, because denial was the wrong approach. Maybe I did have an anxiety problem. I'm sure I did, because why else would I be here right now? "I don't know.. I think I might, I mean... maybe.."
She nodded and came over to me with a thermometer. She stuck it in my ear and frowned at whatever it said. She didn't say anything, but she scribbled something down on a form and then went back to the cabinet, retrieving what I later learned was a pill.
"Take this, it helps with the nausea and pain."
"How did you know that I'm-"
"It's a side effect of severe stress and anxiety, remember? And you look terrible anyway, I would be surprised if you got sick again."
I shook my head in disbelief at how blunt she was being, but it was better than beating around the bush I supposed.
The next thing I knew, she was putting some kind of ointment on my cuts and wrapping them in clean bandages. I started to tell her that she didn't have to do that, but she insisted that it was her job, and it was the least she could do.
I didn't say anything more after she was done, and instead I settled for staring at the floor and swinging my legs back and forth, nervousness twisting my insides into knots.
After a few tense moments of silence, the nurse stood and went to her phone and picked it up to start dialing. Before I could panic and ask what she was doing, she sighed and said, "I need to call your parents. They need to know about this incident and be aware of your condition."
"No!" I cried, and before I could even think, I was running to her side and begging her to change her mind, telling her that she couldn't tell them, because they didn't need to know, and I was fine!
She stood there, mid-dial, giving me this pitying stare, ready to call home and tell Mr. and Mrs. Robinson that their son was a cutter, and here he was having a breakdown, and they needed to come get him right away.
"I'd rather die than have them know about this!" I blurted without thinking.
That's when she slammed the phone down, turned to me with an unreadable expression, and told me to go lay down until the end of the day. It was fine with me, so I did.
I laid there for the next hour, dozing off from time to time as I waited for the bell to ring, all the while wondering just how I would ever be able to show my face at school again.