I Am Not OK Read online

  I AM NOT OK

  K. LUCAS

  Copyright © 2022 by K. Lucas

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-958445-00-6

  Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9850093-3-0

  Hardback ISBN: 978-1-958445-90-7

  * * *

  Cover Design by Pretty In Ink Creations

  Editing and Proofreading by My Brother’s Editor

  For my son

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Thank You!

  Acknowledgments

  Also by K. Lucas

  About the Author

  1

  Ed

  Now

  I am OK, I think, taking a deep breath. I exhale slowly, adding to the thought—everything is going to be alright. I think it again, willing myself to believe it, continuing the thought over and over in my mind. If I think it enough times, I’ll feel it eventually.

  I lay on the top bunk, numb. The ceiling stares back at me, also numb. A dirty white that makes me feel old and used up. I bring my hands in front of my face. The blood has stained my skin. I’m not sure whose it is. No matter how many times I’ve scrubbed—it’s still there. I wonder if it will be on me forever.

  The hours blend in a haze. I don’t know how long it’s been since they died. I’m not sure I really care but it’s all that seems to be on my mind. Them dying. Images of blood-soaked carpet flash before my eyes. I clench them shut, trying to block the memories out. There are so many blank spots. Why do I have to remember this?

  I tell myself there’s only one thing I care about now—making sure Em is okay. This is all my fault and I’m locked up away from her. She needs me. How is she going to manage with me in here? Is Doug going to take care of her? I could almost laugh at the thought. Almost.

  I’ve been waiting for her to come see me. She hasn’t. After what happened, I don’t blame her, but I need her to. I wish we were the kind of twins like in the movies, where they share a sort of psychic telepathy. What I would give to be able to summon her to me with my thoughts.

  A guard passes my cell with loud footsteps, making his rounds. He stops to stare at me. “In the mood to talk today?” he asks.

  I say nothing.

  He waits for me to speak. Then he moves on. I won’t say anything to them. Not until I speak with Em first.

  When the court-appointed attorney meets with me, my silence infuriates him. “You need to speak to me, Mr. Daniels,” he says, trying to contain his anger. His eyes flash when I don’t answer. It’s funny, but I don’t have the urge to smile. I want to ask him about my sister, but I can’t. Not yet.

  “If you don’t tell me your side, I can’t defend you,” he continues.

  I stare at a spot that stands out on the faded white walls. It’s brown. I wonder if it’s a spot of old, dried-up coffee, or maybe someone’s blood. I think about other brown things—food, feces…

  “Are you listening to me?” my attorney demands.

  I swivel my head back to meet his gaze.

  “Don’t you want to defend yourself?”

  When I turn my neck again, back to the brown spot on the wall, he sighs in resignation. “Probably for the best anyway. I don’t think there’s any getting you out of this mess unless we go with an insanity plea.”

  Insanity. The word rings through my mind like an unwelcome bell, making me flinch. I hate that word. It frightens me.

  They take me back to my cell, where I’m thankful to be alone. It’s all I’ve ever wanted really, and I’m glad to not be with a group of others.

  This is where you’re going to be for the rest of your life, Ed. Get used to it.

  I picture myself in ten years, then twenty, reading a book by the barred window. I won’t have to speak to a soul if I don’t feel like it. If others want to cause trouble, I’ll let them kill me. It might not come to that if they let me stay alone. I wonder if people can volunteer for solitary confinement or if I have to do something to make them put me there.

  Images of the knife come unbidden, dripping blood. Piercing screams fill my mind. I hold my hands over my ears, clench my eyes shut. I pound my hands against the sides of my head, trying to get my brain to process a different thought. Any other thought.

  I am OK, I remind myself. Everything is going to be alright—as long as Em is okay.

  2

  Ed

  Then

  I am OK, I think, inhaling as deep as my lungs will allow. Everything is going to be alright, I add to the thought, exhaling slow and steady.

  “One more time,” my therapist says.

  In… I am OK, out… Everything is going to be alright.

  “Good. Now, how do you feel?”

  As I look into her robotic gaze, I wonder, Do you even remember my name without looking at my chart? “Better,” I say, giving her a small smile.

  “Breathing exercises can be a great tool to help get emotions under control. Have you ever looked into or tried yoga?”

  My face scrunches at the thought. I’m unable to envision myself doing yoga, although I realize how popular the exercise is. “I prefer to walk,” I say.

  She nods. “Walking is good, too. It’s important to get at least thirty minutes of daily exercise. It will help tremendously.”

  I give an inward sigh, checking her recommendations off in my head. Breathing, exercise—check, check. Is any of this really going to help? “Okay, got it.”

  Her eyes dart to the clock hanging above my
head. She’s calculating the minutes we have left—how much longer she has to sit here and listen to my boring life, my boring problems. I take a slow, deep breath inward, listening to the tick… tick… tick… as the seconds pass.

  “Do you want to tell me about your job?” she asks. “Where do you work?”

  There must be more time left in our session.

  “I work for All-Star Electric.”

  Her eyes light up. “Oh, an electrician?”

  “No. Call center.”

  And her eyes dim again. “That must be stressful.”

  Hence, why I’m here. “Yes. It can be.”

  “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Significant other?”

  “No.”

  “How does it make you feel to be single?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I think about how to answer. What kind of question is that anyway? “I’m not sure,” I start. “I mean, I don’t particularly want to be single. It’s not like I’m against marriage. It just hasn’t happened.”

  She turns back to glance at her computer monitor. “You’re twenty- four. Is that right… Edward?”

  Ed. “Yes.”

  Her eyes flick to the clock again. “Well, it looks like our time is up for today. Practice those exercises we talked about, and I want you to think about some things that make you happy. We’ll talk about it next time.”

  As she rises from her chair, I stand to shake her hand. “Thank you,” I say, trying to be polite, even though this has been a total waste of my time. I wonder how many repeat clients this woman actually gets.

  When I start my car, the clock on the dash reads 5:59 p.m. I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. She couldn’t stand to listen to me for another minute. My chest feels heavy. I try to take a deep breath the way she instructed but it doesn’t seem to hold a candle to the feeling burning inside.

  I shift the car into reverse. I rack my brain, trying to decide where to go next. There is no place to go. I don’t want to go home, and I don’t start work again until tomorrow morning. I’m sure my sister would love for me to visit, but that’s not going to happen, either.

  The car seems to drive itself as I find myself traveling through streets only vaguely familiar. I flip the visor down, blocking the sun from burning my eyes. The next thing I know, I’m sitting on a bench overlooking the Puget Sound.

  Red and orange rays light up the water and the horizon. The sunset is beautiful today. I breathe slowly and deeply in… I am OK, and out… everything is going to be alright. I try it a second time but am unable to finish the final thought before I feel nauseous. I lean forward on the bench, putting my head between my knees, before trying again. In… I am OK, out… Everything—

  “Hey, are you okay?” a stranger’s voice calls. I look up with wide eyes, my face heating from embarrassment. I glance around for a moment, not seeing anyone. Then I realize there’s a woman at the other end of the field, by the playground. She’s looking at a child who fell. Not talking to me.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m done making myself look like a fool, even if I’m invisible to everyone around. I get up from the bench, ready to head back to the car, but I stop short. Why not go for that walk?

  The walking path is staring at me, daring me. I don’t feel like it; I don’t want to. It’s going to be dark soon. I think about going home, then I start for the trail.

  3

  Emmie

  Then

  My phone is ringing again. She won’t stop calling. I sigh before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Emersyn, have you heard from your brother?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard—grating my spine the whole way down.

  “No, not today. Why?”

  “He’s not home yet. I thought he might be with you.”

  “Why do you always think I know where he is?”

  Her laugh is condescending. “You’re his twin, silly. You usually do know where he is.”

  Just because I’m his twin, it does not make me his keeper. “Have you tried calling him?”

  “No,” she sighs. “You know he never answers his phone.”

  Only for you, Mom. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably out with friends from work or something.”

  She laughs again. “You know Edward doesn’t have any friends.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Anyway, let me know if he shows up, will you? I’m worried.”

  “Mom—”

  “Love you, honey. Bye!”

  She ends the call before I can get a word in to defend him. She’s always doing this—trying to check in on him like he’s a child. My brother is a twenty-four-year-old grown man, and our mother treats him like a ten-year-old.

  I know it’s driving him insane. I can see it in his eyes when he’s around her. I need to try harder next time. I need to say something to make her understand what she’s doing to him.

  I make my way back to the kitchen to finish making dinner. While I’m eating, I check my messages to confirm Eddie hasn’t tried contacting me. There’s nothing. Sometimes I wonder if he loves me as much as I love him.

  Maybe I’m bugging him as much as our mom is. I think about sending him a text to check in, but I don’t want to be as bad as her. I open my messenger app to start typing. Hey Eddie, thinking of you! How’s your week going?

  The words stare back at me as I read them, reread, and then reread again. I delete them and type again. Hey Ed, how’s it going? I know he hates when I call him “Eddie.” But that’s what I always call him and maybe I’ll come off the wrong way if I don’t call him that, even though I know he hates it.

  I delete the message again, to start over. Should I just not text him at all? I toss my phone onto the couch and walk away, message left unsent. I’ll call Eddie tomorrow. It will be better that way, and I’ll be able to tell by the tone of his voice if he’s lying to me.

  As I lie awake, trying desperately to fall asleep, I toss and turn with excitement and nerves. There’s a secret I’m keeping from my family—one that will change all our lives.

  I’m worried about how to tell them. Daddy can be really old-school and I’m not in the mood for a lecture from him. Mom will be thrilled, I’m sure. But Eddie—I’m worried about him the most.

  I don’t want my happiness to bring him lower and I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen. I don’t want this to come between us, so I have to tread lightly. It’s what keeps me up at night and has for the past week. How am I going to tell him?

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand after I’ve just flopped onto my other side for the twentieth time. Sighing, I turn over to reach for it.

  Hey beautiful, the message says.

  I don’t even try to fight the grin that appears on my face.

  Hey, you, I text back.

  Three dots appear, and then a new message. Up late? Sorry to wake you.

  No, I just can’t sleep, I reply. Too excited!

  My phone starts ringing. I answer, “Hey, I thought you were working.”

  “I am, but I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you good night.”

  I’m glad he can’t see me grinning from ear to ear like a schoolgirl, cheeks bright red, I’m sure. “Good night,” I say.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I was a little sick today, but fine now.”

  “I wish there was something I could do to help,” he says.

  “You can hurry up with your shift and come home to me.”

  “Girl, you know I’m counting down the minutes until I clock out.”

  I laugh. “I know.”

  “Uh-huh, you better. Good night for real. I’ll see you soon.”

  Butterflies in my stomach now, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get to sleep. There’s something about that man that I just can’t get enough of. My smile falters when I think, I hope Eddie loves him as much as I do.

  4

  Emmie

  Now


  I feel like a failure. I wasn’t able to help him. I didn’t do enough. I could have tried harder. It didn’t have to come to this. The thoughts make me want to scream, want to pull my hair out. I throw my books off the bookshelf, my lamp across the floor. I swing the cupboard doors open in the kitchen, and toss out dish after dish, relishing the earsplitting sound of the breaking ceramics.

  “You could cut yourself on those,” Doug says.

  I look over at him, wondering if he’s warning me or telling me.

  “This is your fault,” I whisper.

  “Don’t blame me.”

  “I do blame you!” I cry. I want to throw something at his head, but I know I’ll miss. “You left me!”

  He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move.

  “Leave me alone!” I scream.

  He stares at me with a blank expression. He won’t go anywhere. Not until he’s ready.