#and honestly that's whatever but if you could stop projecting that same contempt on everyone for one minute. like i'm just trying to exist.

[icedille]

suicide plans postponed. i'm going to murder people actually

[ddaenghoney]

SERIES: HALLOWEEN BETWEEN MIDNIGHTS

Chapter 30

On October 1st, you attend a Halloween party in an abandoned house rented by some friends. As scary as the idea of cult owners is, nothing could have prepared you and BTS(regular people) for the mayhem and terror that follows until October 31st.

This is an INTERACTIVE fic. At the end of each part, readers will be able to vote to decide what happens next. Analyze everything(except the time) carefully. Choices decide romance, friendship, and deaths; and yes, ANYONE can die.

In other words, please read at your own risk; anything goes in this story.

Start here | Previous part 

“Can you do me a favor?” Jeongguk’s eyes found yours as you asked in barely a whisper. His brows dipped in confusion, glancing to Taehyung at the counter ordering a coffee. When he found you again, your hands were pressed in front of your face. The timid smile was somewhat mischievous.

Within a matter of two hours Jeongguk looked at the begrudgingly familiar trees swaying around the house he had hoped to never cross in front of again. “Is it really necessary to see if the book is still there?”

You tested the doors, finding it stiff behind the caution tape. Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to where Jeongguk stood at the base of the little stairway up onto the wooden porch. The leaves surrounding his ankles colored the scenery as beautiful as fall should be, despite being on a property devoid of pleasantness.

“I just want to make sure it’s done, Guk.” He shoved his hands deeper into the large coat pockets,

“Yoongi told you he wouldn’t go, huh?”

“I didn’t ask.” You frowned, pausing as your hands fell to your sides stiffly. “I didn’t want to make him come back here after what happened to Jimin-” “What about what happened to all of us?” His head cocked, trying to meet his gaze to yours as you avoided it in favor of the ground. He sighed when you didn’t reply, turning his shoulder. “Let’s try the cellar then.”

The police hadn’t done much away from the main structure of the property, leaving the cellar gate rather easy to shove open. You both avoided speech as you went through the halls, your eyes stayed fixated on following Jeongguk’s boots. You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it before you managed to. As Jeongguk dipped around the corner of the first hall, you paused, catching the door to the room you and Yoongi were locked into. The room where Jimin’s body disappeared from without a trace.

“Guk,” He turned back, already ahead by five or so steps. “Let’s,” Your hand reached for the brass handle as you spoke, ignoring the twitch in your fingertips, “Try here first-”

“No-” Jeongguk’s hand covered yours as you gripped to open the door, tugging the door against its frame to keep it shut. “Y/N, that room-”

“It’s where you got the book from-”

“We left it in the other own though.” He countered, wedging your grip away to confine it within his own, nervous palm. When you found his eyes, your lips cast down at the worry. “It won’t be there.” A moment of consideration passed before you spoke, resigned,

“The cops didn’t find the book either.”

Jeongguk would rather blame the police’s plain stupidity on everything than consider that this wasn’t over. He recalled Taehyung’s insomnia, and the hysteria when he would wake up and forget who Jeongguk was. When Taehyung rashly spoke to them with contempt uncharacteristic and avoided contact for the duration of October. Jeongguk thought of your irritability with your shoulder, and the rubbing motion you adapted against the skin even though you hadn’t complained about it for weeks now. He remembered the pure fear in your eyes like you were uncertain about who you were-- where you had been in unaccounted time periods.

Jeongguk thought about how his ridiculous idea for a party at an abandoned house was the source of the problems his best friends had to deal with-- at the loss of one who he had been close to for years. He thought about the evening a few days earlier where you all ended up passed out in his and Taehyung’s dorm room, having completed a grueling project. And it felt normal again.

Jeongguk stopped feeling worried about everything, until now. Until he was brought up in front of the room that held a book Jeongguk’s name was somehow scribbled into and Jimin lost his life over. His grip on your hand trembled as he led his other to add into the ball as well,

“Please,” Your lips tightened at the defeat in his tone. “Let’s just go home. Please. I don’t want to know if that book is still there.”

Your heart dropped at his expression, the hunch of his stature that appeared so fragile. Contrasting his usual, upbeat demeanor, Jeongguk clearly evoked all of the guilt he felt from the events that transpired. You knew he was worried, but if that book was still there then was it really over?

You glanced to the shut door, inevitably reaching your hand to Jeongguk’s forearm. His eyes popped back to yours. You did want to know if the book was still there, but his resentment of the idea felt compelling as well.

With your elbows stiffened, you perched your head a top your hands. Looking nowhere in particular as you sat on the table in the shade of many swaying trees. The sunset had already dipped behind the horizon of the dormitory you were beside. Your phone hadn’t vibrated since you last sent a text, making your cheeks puff in wonder of whether he got the message or not.

“You look like a squirrel.” You hadn’t needed worry at all as Yoongi strode off the cement path, kicking leaves aside in a light-hearted manner. You straightened as he put a hand on the table, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see you,” You stated simply, brushing hair from your face as the wind kicked. Yoongi nibbled the inside of his cheek at your statement, waiting quietly for whatever you had to say next. “What?”

“Huh?” His eyebrows perked, “Wait, was that really all?” A flush of rose bit against the back of his neck despite the season being well into fall. You resisted grinning, but couldn’t stop a smile.

“Is that not enough?”

“No-”  He shut his mouth quickly, rubbing the back of his neck as a pout began. “You just,” He sighed, shrugging to hide the embarrassment, “You texted me half an hour ago-- I didn’t think you’d still be waiting here if it wasn’t important.”

“So it’s not important-”

“Angel,” He rolled his eyes, grinning at your teasing especially as you couldn’t contain an amused giggle. “It’s getting cold, let’s go in.”

The emptiness of his dorm room still made it difficult to avoid frowning. Opting to lay face first into Yoongi’s bed instead of dwelling, you simply sighed into the pillow, hugging it against your chest as you curled over to face him. Yoongi sat into the school owned desk chair, his fingertips tapping slowly on the bare desk beside him,

“Comfy?” He smiled softly, watching you nod with a thrumming beat behind his chest. “I don’t mind you being here for no reason, honestly.” He dragged his tongue over his lips in thought, contemplating whether it was worth bringing up. “But really if anything’s bothering you, you don’t have to keep it from me.”

“Yeah, I know.” You said softly, sitting up with his pillow still clutched in your lap. Your eyes strayed around, “Guk and I went to the house.”

“Why?” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, the rhythm of his fingers stopping.

“I just wanted to see something, but we left basically as soon as we got there.” You looked up at him, “I know it’s over, Yoongi, but I felt like I needed to go and make sure, okay?”

Yoongi quieted, rationalizing your reaction in his thoughts. Certainly, he didn’t want to go back and would’ve disagreed if you had asked him originally, but not everyone copes the same way. And if anything you went with Jeongguk, not by yourself. Yoongi may not like it, but it wasn’t up to him, reasonably.

“Okay,” He started carefully, uncertain of where to go. “Then does it feel over?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged, “I don’t have as much trouble falling asleep at least.” Yoongi nodded his head softly, sock clad feet wheeling his chair towards the side of the bed. “I know it’s over, but I guess I feel anxious about it all still.” You rested the pillow against your lap, letting your arms lay over the top, “I still feel weird about lying to the police, but they wouldn’t have believed the real story.”

“I wouldn’t if I hadn’t been there.” He attested, reaching for your fiddling hands so as to try and relax them within his own. You let him, hitching a breath in the back of your throat. “But we’re all here for each other at least.”

You frowned, turning your hands in his to entwine the fingers. “Until you leave, yeah.” You sighed, feeling his grip tense around yours and the frown you expected to see when you looked back up. “I’m not mad about it anymore-- like I told you, but I’ll still miss you.”

Yoongi released your hands. The chair bumped against the desk as he stood from it and sat beside you. “It’s just an hour away at least-”

“Yoongi,” You smiled gently and shook your head, “I’m still gonna miss not being able to just walk across campus to find you, but I guess that it wasn’t always going to be like that anyways.”

“If you called me needing me, I’d come though.”

“Who says I’ll need you?” You bit back laughter as his arms trailed around your waist to drag you against him,

“You can’t just let the moment be cute, can you?” You smiled against his hoodie. His fingers created soft streams along your back, as his chin settled atop your head, “Then pretend to need me so I can have an excuse to come visit. Jeongguk wanting me to help tutor him in math isn’t enough.”

“He’ll be so sad.” You said with a dramatic pout, arching your head to look up at him. He shrugged dismissively, but you were sure he’d miss all of you as well. “You don’t need an excuse, and I don’t want to need one either if I want to visit.”

“I guess that’s fair.” He nodded, arms further constraining around your body, revelling in being able to hold you for the next two weeks. You bit your lip, pulling away only enough to look down at him. Yoongi’s eyes quirked expectant of you to speak.

“You remember what I said to you weeks ago? When we had that argument about you leaving.”  He sighed, stretching his neck as he nodded,

“I’m the worst for not telling you-”

“Not that, dork.” You bit your lip, “But kind of now that you mention it-”

“Then what?” He poked your side, gumbs peeking as you squirmed from the tickle.

“About you making me fall for you when you were just going to leave.” His smile vanished, leaving a frown behind and slightly hurt eyes. “Wait,” You trailed a thumb along his jaw, ending the path to press gently against his cheek. “I wanted to apologize for saying it like that.”

“You don’t need to,” Yoongi’s eyes diverted, “I should’ve told you a lot sooner.”

“But either way I shouldn’t have made you feel like crap.” You admitted smiling as you shrugged, “And saying I fell for you sounds cliche in retrospect.” You felt his hands stall along your sides, his eyes narrowing,

“Definitely cliche.” He nodded, biting back a smile as you pat your hand against his chest. “But I love you so I don’t care.” Your eyes widened, a smile growing wider at the bluntness, nearly laughing as he tried to feign being calm. A blush was already stinging his cheeks.

“You love me?” His hands squeezed your hips from your teasing, “I didn’t know-”

“Angel.” He sighed, head falling back against the mattress, “Just say it back so I can kiss you.”

“I’m sort of over people making me say things, you know.” He slid his hands up higher, tugging against you against his chest. “Seances and such.”  He rose an eyebrow, head shaking gently at the joke,

“Lame-”

“I love you.” You said smiling as his lips pursed back together. “You’re blushing-” But he ignored the teasing in favor of pressing his lips against yours. Hands pulled you tightly against him. Yoongi allowing the contact to linger as you broke for a breath, resting his forehead against yours. You just smiled, gently running your fingers through his hair, finally at a loss for words. He smirked softly, pecking once more as he muttered sarcastically,

“Did I put you in a trance?”

“Stop.”

[gaiabamman]

Linked, chapter two!

Thank you so much for all the feedback, guys, you rock! Based on your feedback I did change chapter one a bit. Nala is now eighteen (not sixteen) and I did explain a couple of things better <3 ( @hazelwritesbooks​ still working on the blurb, thanks so much for your comment ^_^)

Read chapter 1 here

Reblog, reply, or message me with comments, criticism, and suggestions <3

Warning: not proofed yet! Feel free to point out typos, but there will be a few :(

This material is copyrighted! Feel free to reblog but abstain from other naughty things ;)

The banging on the door resumes. I jump to close the pantry, while Ma wipes her hands on her simple orange dress. The only window in the shop faces the street, right beside the door. I jump to my cot and close the cupboard.

I hear Ma opening the door, and a kind male voice stating, “Ma’am, I need the girl in the cupboard.”

The cupboard opens, but I know no one touched it because Ghost, the Ghost, the Master of the Capital’s Cursoi unit, is at the door, and Ma and Seria are facing him. I am in fetal position clutching what’s left of Gray’s Anatomy to my chest, when Lethal and Drama walk in after Ghost. Beside Lethal is Zera, tall and gorgeous with her green eyes and smooth blond hair up in a ponytail. If the gossip has it right, she’s the one that erased the crowd’s memory at the parade.

Oh. My. Lars.

Seria squeals, hands to her bright red face. She cannot be happy. Can she? It’s almost as if she sucked all the life from Ma, who backs one step, her arms on her sides, and a determined look on her face, as if she could protect me from the four Cursoi who just invaded our home.

I make no sound. I don’t move. Ghost’s blue eyes take in Ma. He smiles, tilting his head and speaks, “We mean no harm. We are here to help.”

I know he means the words for me as much as Ma.

Seria moves closer to Lethal, who stays motionless, like a bonking ancient statue of perfection. It’s almost as if Lethal and Zera are paused, waiting for instructions. I’ve never heard an order spoken to Cursoi. How the Merc do they operate?

Ghost steps forward, causing Seria to stumble backward and fall on her ass. She doesn’t move, and he adds, “Nala, you are one of us. You belong with us. Come.”

“Bonk you!” I answer. How does he even know my name?

My retort gets everyone’s attention. Zera’s green gaze moves to me with what could be mistaken for interest. Lethal has the biggest hazel eyes I have ever seen, and I’m pretty sure he just concluded I’m dumb.

Who wouldn’t want to discover they’re Cursoi? Me. Right here. Bonk them all. Kill me now. I want to change the world. I want to start a revolution! I’m no loyal soldier!

Drama says, his voice deep and rich, “You might be able to do whatever it is you wanna do, but with us. A million times better.”

If only he knew. But maybe he has a point. Could I infiltrate the Cursoi?

Ma says, “You could be a curer, Nala!”

Ghost’s pale blue eyes study me. “Don’t be afraid. We mean—”

“I don’t want to become Cursoi,” I interrupt. Lethal scoffs, the son of a nymph. Seria and Ma are frozen in place.

Ghost answers, “Nala, you are Cursoi. You don’t become one.”

“And work for Crash? Thank you, but no thank you.”

Lethal rolls his eyes, and I hate him a bit more. I guess the expressionless facade is only for parades. Contempt wafts off him in spiteful waves. Instead, did I just catch a smirk play on Drama’s gorgeous lips? Bonk, he’s hot up close.

His smirk opens in an ill-concealed smile.

What the Merc? What’s so funny?

Ghost says, without any less kindness, “Well, this is not playing out the way I thought it would, Nala, but you either come with us, or we’ll have to terminate you, which would be a real loss for everyone.” He gestures at Ma and Seria, but I know he means the whole planet. Cursoi are sacred.

My eyes lock with Lethal who, no doubt, would do the honors. Not one ounce of pity crosses his bonking angel face, not dread, not annoyance. He’s here to do a job, and he will.

I close my eyes, pretending my eighteenth birthday never happened. I reopen them and look at the Cursoi staring at me. I feel ridiculous, crouched in my cupboard.

Tears are streaming down Ma’s face. Seria is still with her ass on the floor, one hand on her unscathed knee, mouth open, eyes on Lethal. I scoot out of the cupboard, and jump to the floor, ready to infiltrate the bonking Cursoi.

“Fine,” I say, without shedding a tear.

“Do you need to pack?” Ghost asks, the ignorant, tactless jerk. I shake my head. I’m wearing the only clothes I own, and clutching Grey’s Anatomy, my only possession. Ghost adds, “Leave the book, Nala. Anything you’ve ever wanted to learn will be at your disposal back home.”

Back.

Home.

The words don’t make any sense. I swallow my tears, and leave my life behind. I don’t laugh just because I am too busy trying not to cry. I step out of Ma’s lab and Zera lingers inside, likely erasing any memory my family ever had of me.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. At least they didn’t arrest Ma. At least Ma won’t miss me.

Two more Cursoi are waiting in the alley, leaning against the mossy wall: Kino, dark as night, who likely opened the cupboard I was hiding in through telekinesis , and Dime. I have no idea what Dime’s skill might be, and his nickname is a bit cryptic. His blue hair stands up at all angles and several flat gold rings are pressed around the ridge of his right ear. His skin is incredibly white, making his eyes seem almost black and completely unfocused.

Ghost nods at him and we are gone.

                                                            ***

One second I was outside Ma’s lab, and the next I’m in the biggest foyer I have ever seen. It’s a huge room with cream-colored walls and an imposing fireplace off to the left, burning logs. Why in the world would they burn wood? And where did they find it? My spite reaches record highs. I have still no bonking idea how we got here.

A gigantic wooden staircase covered in red velvet starts in the center of the room and splits half way to meet again on the first floor hallway, where many doors, all side by side, face the balustrade. The banister is the same rich mahogany of the stairs and the mantle. There is only one door downstairs, opposite the fireplace, and it’s closed. The floor is pink marble.

Selling the materials in this room would grant my family food for life. Trad-food for life.

It seems strange that despite the lavishness of my surroundings there is no personal touch, no ancient paintings, no holo-pics or projections. The place is completely anonymous.

Drama murmurs right behind me, “It’s okay to ask questions.”

Really? No one spoke to me yet. No one paid me any mind. I wipe my eyes, and shake off the shiver his murmur caused me. It seems quite inappropriate given the circumstances. I remind myself that I do not like him. I hate Cursoi.

Lethal, Dime, Kino, and Zera file up the stairs utterly ignoring me, but Ghost calls, “Dime! You stay, remember?”

The guy musses his blue hair, nodding as if he had just recalled something. “Oh, right, right, right.” He walks back down while the others disappear behind three of the many doors facing the stairs. Ghost and Drama are still beside me.

“Um, okay,” I reply. “How did we get here?”

“Dimensional travel,” Ghost answers. “It’s Dime’s skill. He blinked us here. Dime is short for dimension.”

Dime turns when he hears his name and smiles, but honestly he’s kinda spacey, whistling, hands behind his back.

I nod as if what Ghost said made sense, but Drama’s amused smile tells me he’s onto me.

“Why is this guy still here?” I ask, nodding at Drama, who grins apologetically.

“You need him and Dime to—”

“And where is here?” I interrupt him, more and more unnerved.

“Nowhere,” Ghost answers with a deep sigh. “It would be too dangerous to have all Cursoi in one place: too easy of a target. Dime created this parallel dimension for us.”

Again, Dime grins, moving his head to music only he can hear. I cannot believe he was still at the parade. He looked so hot on the holo-pics, but in real life he’s a bit goofy.

Ghost adds, “Only Cursoi can access this dimension. You’re safe here.”

I was safe home too.

I’m positive I did not speak my thought out loud, yet Drama says, “You wouldn’t have been safe at home for long, Nala. You healed your sister today. It would have been a matter of time for you to become a very easy target.”

How does he know that?

Ghost nods. “You would have been abducted, likely experimented on, and ultimately—” He stops when Drama shakes his head, eyes wide. Ghost puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump, terrified. “Calm down. Let’s get you to your place. You need to rest and start training as soon as possible. You have a lot to catch up, and I want to see what you can do.” I nod, feeling lonely and hopeless. “Drama, Dime: take over. Do you mind?”

Drama answers, “Not at all.”

Dime is lost in thought, staring blankly ahead, frozen. Ghost calls, “Dime. Dime!”

Dime starts. “Oh, yeah. What?”

Ghost shakes his head, and Dime’s gaze focuses as if he had heard something only his ears could capture. At least he’s not threatening like Lethal or…confusing like Drama. I hate how self-assured my hot kidnapper looks. His eyes are constantly on me.

Dime and Drama move, and I follow them up the stairs, Ghost behind me. The hallway ends against the wall on both left and right. The only thing up here are about thirty doors. Ghost disappears into one of them, and Drama, walking ahead of me, says, “Nala, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

Says the kidnapper and pillager.

Drama rolls his eyes. “We did not kidnap you, you should have been here all along, and the materials you see were not pillaged from Earth. Dime conjured them. They cannot leave this dimension.”

“Wait a second!” I yell.

He turns, and I almost walk into his chest. Almost. He smells like the sea, which completely evaporated centuries ago. Yet, I’ve been at several beaches through virtual reality at the museum.

His broad smile makes me feel…like nothing bad could ever happen. I force my brain back into my skull and ask, “Drama, how the Merc do you know what I think or feel?”

Drama shrugs. “It’s my skill. I’m an empath. Do you know what’s an empath?”

“Yes, Drama. I’m poor, not stupid.”

My mind is racing with all the information he could have gathered from my unaware brain. Did he figure out I want to infiltrate Cursoi? Does he know I think he’s the hottest thing on Earth? Dime leans against a wall, waiting, lost in his own world.

Drama says, “Don’t be angry. It’s common for less, uh, affluent people to lack time and money for education.”

“I’m self-taught. And what do you know about less affluent people anyway?” I’m standing in the middle of the hallway, legs apart, hands on my sides, feeling like I might just unleash all of my unhappiness on the closest empath.

“Point taken. I apologize. Anyway, this will be your place.” He waves at a door, and I stare at it.

All the doors are right beside each other. Are Cursoi stowed in coffins when not in use?

Drama must sense my perplexity, because he adds, “Dime and I will make you a place, uh, Dime?” Dime, who had walked down the hallway stops and turns around. Drama adds, “We’ll make you the place you don’t even know you needed. Are you ready?”

I shake my head, staring in his huge brown eyes. I swallow. “Uh, just how much do you feel of my emotions?”

“Ah, it might get pretty specific,” he answers, embarrassed, running a hand in his long disheveled, black, tight curls.

My mouth dries. “How specific?”

He says, “Well, you think Lethal is a piece of dung, which is refreshing. You hate soldiers, and have very original ideas on how you will spend your time here.”

I blanch, outraged. I don’t know if I’m more appalled by the fact he knew I’d kill them all if I could, or the fact he does not seem alarmed in the least.

Drama adds, “Also, you, uh, find me very attractive.”

Flustered, furious, appalled. I think I might just have discovered that my skill is disappearing into steam, but apparently I am still here because Drama adds, “You’ll get used to it. I mean, not my looks, I hope.” He looks away. “If it makes you feel better, I think you’re pretty attractive too.” He smiles.

Really? How’s that even possible? Now I might have dispersed completely.

Drama calls, “Dime? Dime, you there?”

Dime turns to us, “Oh, hey, yeah.” He looks at my face, which  still feels on fire, and asks, “What happened to her? Did Lethal get in her pants, already?”

“Oh, bonk you!” I answer.

“Huh?” Dime tilts his head with a playful glint in his black eyes. “I like her already.”

Actually, I like him too. Much easier to deal with him than any of the Cursoi I met so far. Drama leans in to whisper in my ear. “You like him. You find him less intimidating than—”

“Stop it!” I hiss, trying to shake him off.

Dime stares at us, while Drama shrugs and replies, “I know you liked it, the whispering, I mean.”

Dime arches a blue eyebrow and asks, “Are you two done? Nala, if you want to merge with Drama, I don’t even need to make you a place.”

Merge? What the Merc is he talking about? “Oh, shut it,” I reply, opening my door, the eleventh on the right from the staircase, as I just counted.

At first I think I’m staring at a white room, but when I step in, Drama catches me from behind and I realize I would have fallen into…nothing. I am very aware of his arm, tight around my waist, and I am delighted I went to the common baths last night. My heart is spasming.

When he doesn’t release me, I pry his arm off me. “Do you file for sexual harassment in this place?”

Dime laughs out loud, then pauses. “Oh, wait. You were serious?”

Drama chukles too. “I guess you don’t know much about Cursoi. Do you?Can’t wait to teach you.” He says it in a way that should have totally creeped me out yet somehow thrilled me and pissed me off at the same time.

I do my best not to stare at him.“Right. So, what do we do?”

Dime offers me his hand. “One hand to me, one to Drama.”

“Are you serious?”

The corners of Drama’s mouth twitch in amusement. “Yes, but that would have been a great idea. In fact, before you give us your hands, why don’t you take your clothes off?”

“Niiiice,” Dime says.

Their one-track mind should set off all sort of red flags, but it just feels natural to joke about sex with them. I almost kick Drama, when one door opens and Lethal walks out in nothing but a white towel around his waist. His hair hits his shoulders and we are left staring at his muscular back.

Drama sighs. “And there I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Hey, he’s eye-candy.” A pang of longing for Seria makes a hole in my heart.

“He sure is.” Dime sighs.

I continue, “But that’s only one more reason to hate him. I’m more of an underdog type of person.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended,” Drama replies.

Dime rubs his face in his hands and says through his fingers, “All right, guys, work first, then merge.”

“Merge?” I ask. The two stare at me, clearly at a loss. “Nevermind. So, do I take my clothes off?” I lift the hem of my threadbare tunic, then peek at them. Both Dime and Drama are staring at me with bathed breath, and I burst out laughing. Who knew. I’m a natural at dirty banter.

Drama shakes his head. “I knew you were joking! I should have known!”

Dime offers a hand. “Yeah, I betcha all the blood left your brain to go other places. Come on.”

I do my best to keep up my nonchalant face when I put my hands into theirs, but there is something comforting in knowing that no matter how much I pretend, Drama knows exactly what I’m feeling. There’s no need to hide. He winks at me, likely agreeing.

I’ll get used to it, one day.

“Close your eyes,” Dime says.

“No more pranks,” I chide.

“Well, there’s no need really, it’s more for the surprise factor.”

And so, I do.

                                             <><><><><><><>

Stay tuned for chapter 3! If all goes well, I’ll post it on Saturday ^_^

[mrmarknewman]

Road rage: It’s all in your head

Two cars arrive at a stop sign at the same time.  Both start into the intersection.  One driver speeds through, while the other jams on the brakes, avoiding a collision.  This driver feels insulted, offended, diminished.  Who the hell does that other driver think he is?  He nearly killed me!

This scenario, and countless others involving merge lanes, contested parking spaces, and aggressive rush hour traffic, are set-ups for road rage.  The aggrieved party feels a flash of anger and hostility, and may swear aloud within the confines of his vehicle.  He may “give the finger” in a way the other driver may or may not see.  He may grumble to passengers about the lousy drivers in his town.  Sometimes the response is louder and more direct: yelling at the other driver, or even giving chase.  At the extreme, enraged parties physically retaliate with weapons, or by using their cars as battering rams.

What’s going on?  In a practical sense, the initial harm is often trivial.  A moment’s delay at a stop sign would be ignored under other circumstances.  The real trigger is what the behavior says about the perpetrator’s attitude — or more precisely, how it was interpreted by the “victim.”  Did the aggressive driver proclaim his time was more valuable?  Did he disregard or disrespect the other driver?  Was it a power play, a demonstration that “I can do whatever I want, and you’re powerless to stop me?”  Was it contemptuous?  “I don’t have to wait for the likes of you, you’re beneath my consideration.”

Actually, the offended driver doesn’t know.  One reason road rage is so prevalent is that the outsides of motor vehicles are inscrutable.  We can’t read the nonverbal cues of other drivers.  A car with a mean, aggressive driver who couldn’t care less whether you live or die looks very much like a car with a driver who honestly thought it was his turn to enter the intersection, and who would be mortified to know you were offended or frightened as a result of his actions.  While you were cursing and giving the finger, he may have been wincing and muttering “Oops, I’m sorry!”  But that was inside his own car.  You didn’t know.

Road rage, therefore, is nearly always self-generated.  It’s all in your head.  Do you tend to think of others as mean-spirited opportunists, ready to take advantage of you, disdainful of your wants and needs?  Or do you give strangers the benefit of the doubt, assume they meant no harm and didn’t aim to insult or diminish you?

Either attitude is contagious.  I recently visited a country with polite drivers.  I never felt stressed even if it wasn’t clear whose turn it was at an intersection.  It didn’t matter; we were all content to defer to the others.  In contrast, when traffic is dog-eat-dog, and when our self-worth rises or falls with our ability to cut through it efficiently, then everyone else is a rival and an obstacle.

None of this is unique to road rage.  Yesterday I was in a supermarket express checkout line, “15 items or less.”  (Um, “fewer.”)  Ahead of me another shopper was packing up three bags of groceries.  I stood there steaming as she slowly ended her cell phone call and took her good old time to pay the $63 she owed.  I rehearsed angry comments in my head: “I guess even people who can’t count still need to eat.”  I didn’t actually say anything.

Later I wondered what exactly irritated me so much.  I could have been equally delayed, yet completely untroubled, by any number of things.  It wasn’t the wait itself, it was my perception of the perpetrator’s attitude.  Apparently the supermarket’s rules didn’t apply to her.  She was self-important and inconsiderate.  Looming even larger psychologically was her attitude toward me.  I imagined she didn’t care about me at all.  My inconvenience was not her concern.  I felt disrespected, not taken into account.

These situations happen all the time.  A patient of mine recently shared how angry he feels when his teenage kids fail to turn off lights after he’s reminded them repeatedly.  We agreed it’s not the trivial increase in his electricity bill that bugs him.  It’s his perception of their laziness, their disrespect towards him and his values, perhaps their willful defiance.

In all these settings, indeed throughout our lives, we react to interpersonal transactions taking place in our own heads.  Occasionally our perceptions of contempt and disdain are accurate.  Sometimes brats, narcissists, and sociopaths really do put themselves first, and either don’t care about us or actively seek to hurt us.  But more often we’ve concocted a story.  We’ve been insulted, pushed around, treated like dirt.  And in response, we self-righteously strike back.

How can we escape this hall of mirrors?  Most simply, we can remind ourselves that our assumptions about others may be mistaken.  We may recognize that we tend to assume the worst in people, and take this bias into account.   There’s no need to assume evil intent when sheer stupidity — or momentary confusion or misunderstanding — can account for the behavior.

More psychoanalytically, we may reflect on our unconscious wish for care-taking and nurturance from others, and the anger that results when real life inevitably falls short of this yearning.  Such insight may spare us from projecting our own anger onto anonymous others.  And more philosophically, with years of meditation and discipline we could learn to detach our egos.  Slights from others have no effect upon the Self.  I believe this is one small aspect of Buddhist enlightenment, but don’t quote me.

Meanwhile, on that long road to enlightenment it doesn’t hurt to drive defensively.  And take a few deep breaths.

Steven Reidbord is a psychiatrist who blogs at Reidbord’s Reflections.

Image credit: Shutterstock.com

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