Title: Split-Second Decisions
Summary: You can't fix what's not broken, but it can certainly be saved. Alice can attest to that. Alice Cullen, pre-vampire status. Woo.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
Note: This will be "dark", "disjointed", and have a blatant misuse of italics. Based on Alice's stay in the asylum, and yes, I did make her a little crazy.
Scribble, scribble. Scrabble, scrabble. The colors flayed, spreading out and slipping down the white-white-white of the walls—a different color would have been better, more appropriate, but they gave her the padded room—why? Necessity. Maybe. She didn't need—or want, that sounded better—the constant isolation, but if she couldn't move her arms, then she couldn't hurt herself and that was the main goal, really. Protection from self-mutilation, not… well, the voices in her head, because they didn't like to hurt the princess. The glass slippers sparkled, or—trick of the light. Yes. Sparkle. Glitter. Sparkle sparkle. Gleam.
She couldn't wear glass slippers—in there—wasn't allowed. She could talk; she talked a lot. About a lot of things. To herself. No one liked to listen. And if she talked too much or too loud—unacceptable. Fill, prick, plunge. Shut the trap, close the mouth—
Sleep.
Except, well, nightmares. The bad kind, with claws and sharp teeth and red eyes and when the doctor came, so did the question—"Are willing to cooperate now, Alice?"
With what? Him? Or… should that question have come out in reverse?
"Are you willing to cooperate now, doctor?"
"What you have seen is not real."
But then, neither was he. Not a real doctor, at any rate, because who did he save? Not her. He let her glass slippers get tarnished—well, not in there, but they were certainly taken away and—
The colors flayed, spreading out and slipping down the white-white-white of the walls.
A shift, a jolt—"And how are you today?"—but the bad dreams stayed. Like rust or the obvious scorch of acid or, or. The padded room. The padded walls. The fill-prick-plunge because—again, nightmares. Teeth and claws and red eyes and strength—frightening, terrifying. No one believed her, but she believed herself.
White was amenable to cold gray. Dark alleyways. But don't think—she never thought. Not about that. Which is why she spoke; split second decision that could have… but if vampires weren't real—(and what a thought that was, because she had seen one and it had tried to eat her and no one even cared) then it was just her mind playing tricks on her and that was preferable to vampires being real. To the doctor, at least. Not to her. She preferred vampires being real even if it was—frightening. Induced numbness. Sedative. Not the vampire, but the intent behind his actions—or what his actions lead her to do—Confessions? What was there to confess? Vampires, certainly, but—ahem. Glitter, sparkle. It hadn't always been dark.
But there were other things, too. Like starbursts across the sky—or worse, which was to be expected—and the soft whisper of déja-vu, only in stronger doses. Like the sedative, but more… pronounced. Except, exhilaration? Adrenaline. She shouldn't have been able to escape—not the psych ward, but him—yet she had. Possibly. They said it hadn't happened, but she remembered. Especially the confessions. Damnable things, those confessions. Shattered like glass slippers. The glass still sparkled, but, um, broken. What good were broken shoes?
Probably as good as a broken person, only her broken arms had healed ages ago, even when the threat of vampire echoed about in her head as clearly as the déja-vu, but worse. Nightmares. Not just the teeth and the claws and, well, the vampire, but the white-white-white that wasn't hospital-white, but psycho-white and yeah, she'd seen it, but she hadn't believed it. She only believed herself. Had to—
—plunge—
Prick, pull.
Sedative.
In her veins.
(It tried to eat her.)
"And how are you feeling today, Alice?"
"I think he can break down walls."
("Not good.")
Sparkle, sparkle. The waiting game. Like—hands, tied behind her back, but wrapped around her ribcage—that he broke—but, well, the colors. Splattered, sparkling iridescent. Like diamonds. Hard, rough diamonds. Diamonds cut glass. Glass glittered.
Shoes.
She lost her shoes that night. Maybe—and this was just conjecture—losing her shoes had been a good thing, because she could remember bleeding in them. Red blood, like the color of his eyes, but he had tried to eat her. She had been bleeding. No one believed her. (It hadn't happened, they said.) She believed herself, but—
Colors. On the walls. White-white-white. Too white. Bright lights, only—sedative—her voice was getting too loud. The déja-vu, except it was worse than déja-vu because it had to be getting clearer so maybe it was clairvoyance. But no, no, no. No. Too supernatural. The supernatural doesn't exist. Track down the prey because, um, yes it does. She was the prey. Almost. But—chase. That's better.
There wasn't that much blood in her shoes.
She didn't even bleed.
(Wasn't even there.)
(It hadn't even happened.)
(Yet.)
"You've been screaming a lot, Alice. Would you care to tell me why that is? You do realize that you can only get better if you want to get better. Good behavior—"
"Will I be safe here? I think he knows how to find people."
Acute paranoia. Like, tch, okay, so, understandable. But—he tried to eat her. But hadn't. Completely well within her rights to feel that way. Her bones still ached sometimes, but split second decisions had saved her life. Deja-vu came in handy. She had remembered, probably through a dream (in the dream) that he was not to be messed with. Who had red eyes anyways? Vampires? Vampires were supernatural—super natural. Like, too natural. Super natural. Still natural, somewhere. Predators? Predators are so natural, just—stop thinking about the vampires.
Sparkle, glitter, gleam.
She never self-mutilated, not once. The scratches on her arm didn't draw blood, but scrabbling away from the attacker while she tried to break that titanium grip caused her to scratch her own skin to shreds. Still no blood. Didn't even bleed—he wanted to make her bleed. He broke both her arms. She thought she screamed, but being too loud wasn't allowed. He might have broken her jaw, only—she could still talk, so no. He probably wanted to—yes, yes, that made more sense. He wanted to break her jaw but couldn't, because—well, people were coming. Just—vampires?
Hysteria.
Psychosis. Self-mutilation. Acute paranoia.
"She saw herself being attacked by something that was not there."
Go through the ringer. Be what she's not supposed to be—sane? Oh she was sane, but even though vampires were super natural, they were still supernatural and—
"Vampires do not exist, Alice. Please learn to be more cooperative in the future."
The colors flayed, slipping down the white-white-white of the walls.
"I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die."
"You are not going to die, Alice. There is nothing here that could possibly harm you."
"He wants to kill—eat—whatever, me. He'll find me. He won't stop. And you—well, you won't get in his way, will you? He'll hurt you, just to do it. For the fun of it. His eyes are red. He's so frightening. He tried to eat me."
"Alice—"
"—let's indulge you, just this once. Someone is coming for you, to possibly hurt you. Why would anyone want to hurt you? Better yet, what's his name?"
Sparkle, glitter, gleam.
There was blood on the walls.
But—not. So not. Still—well—white-white-white. Too white. Bright white. Blinding white. Too blinding, bright. Brighter than bright. She hated the white. Color—like, flayed—across the wall would be better. Just not blood. No one deserved to be hurt, especially because of her. She could leave, but the fill-prick-plunge of the sedative into her veins kept her still because she screamed too loud. Can't be too loud, but the princess was terrified and the voices in her head weren't voices but déja-vu. This has happened before, remember? Reminders because, if she could dream it, she could conceive it. Achieve it. Achieve escape? She escaped by lucky chance. Just scream—funny how it wasn't allowed anymore—but isolation to prevent self-mutilation. And the psychosis. And the acute paranoia.
Let him try and kill you, too. He'll say he never fails to catch his prey.
The predator stalking the prey. The food chain. Certainly not the bottom, because she could eat animals, too. But he ate humans; what did they not understand? No, it wasn't cannibalism, because in order for him to have been a cannibal, he had to be human. He was not human. Just supernatural. Beyond natural. Vampire.
"We will not be able to continue to do this, Alice. You have become less and less cooperative as time has progressed—"
"I don't think he wants to kill me."
A pause. The first. "Oh? Then if he doesn't want to kill you, what does he want to do?"
"He wants—"
"What is his name? You still haven't given me that."
Prepared for death. Certainly, she could die. She didn't particularly want to, but—colors. On the walls. The déja-vu whispered in her mind—remember this? No, but—"I've been waiting for this moment."—
"Hello Alice. How are you doing today? I know you don't recognize me, but I'm your new psychiatrist. My name is—"
"I see things that aren't there."
"Really? Such as?"
Blood in shoes she never wore. That was the path—the path—except, well, decision made. Changed it all. He would still find her.
Nightmares. Déja-vu. Cold hands trailing against the starbursts on the walls—don't waste the blood, silly girl.
"Vampires."
"Vampires."
"Yeah… he's going to find me. And kill me. I know, I saw it."
She can only believe in herself.
"Well, Alice—"
The white-white-white staccato beat. Nightmare in the head—delve deep down. She hadn't even worn the shoes. Dream versus reality—or déja-vu, because—
"I believe you, Alice."
"I believe in many things."
"Especially vampires."
"Most definitely vampires."
Starbursts. Glitter, sparkle, gleam. Light refraction—white-white-white, but starbursts. Diamonds. On his skin.
"So pretty."
"What's his name, Alice? The vampire that wants to hurt you?"
"I don't—"
Cheery handsome man. Not—well, sedatives gone. He believes her. And she knows, because he pats her head and tries to give her more food, to gain some weight, but—too thin. Too pixie-like. Too human. His eyes—black—but he handles it. Different from the white-white-white that needs to be painted in color. Just not blood. He retains control.
"Would you like to know the name of the one who kills you?"
"It's James," she said, for once.
"I know him."
"Because you're a vampire."
"Because I'm a vampire."
Closing in. Decision made. What decision? Hers—not likely. Because, well—glass slippers? Broken. Not a princess anymore. Family—gone. Sister… goodbye. She abandoned her, too. And the doctors… one after another, after another, after another—
"I'm going to die, Mom. Someone's going to murder me. I've seen it."
Psychosis? No. Self-mutilation? Out of terror—premonitions—makes sense. She saw too much. Acute paranoia?
"He's going to try and drink my blood."
"Understandable. He is a vampire, after all. But—Alice. I don't want you to die."
Fill, prick.
Plunge.
Pull.
Not fair—traitor—but, well, screams. Again. Colors on the wall—premonitions. Her own death—her own!—but, different. Because… no glass slippers. No longer a princess. The one doctor that believed her. Disturbing and frightening and—"I'm going to save you Alice."
He found her.
He's coming.
Starburst. Color—white-white-white—black eyes. Red eyes. Control or, well, lack thereof. Hunt. Prey. Predator. Psychosis. Premonitions. Not crazy—
"I believe you, Alice."
The colors flayed, spreading out slipping down the white-white-white of the walls.
Arms brittle, from being human. He could have broken them, but he didn't. He could have snapped off her jaw—he would have wanted to.
He didn't.
He could have found her, but the decision had been made—asylum.
"I promise I'll save you, Alice."
Fill, prick, plunge, pull—to take away the pain. Please don't scream.
Hands—cold, so cold—reassurance. Won't hurt, except—teeth that bite. Sink into flesh. Nothing at first and then—
Black. Cold-black-cold. Hot-white-hot. White-black-white.
Fire, hot, burning—
"He will never have you now."
Savior.
Save her.
Saved.
Agony. Fire—burning. Thirsty. Black. Again and again and again.
Agony. Pain.
Stop it now, end it now, please just end it now.
Fill, prick—broken. Shattered. Won't work, because the agony was there. More than the blood in her non-existent shoes or the non-existent breaks in her arms because it never happened and—
She never happened.
Ever.
Still, she burned.
And then—nothing.
Everything.
Alice was alone.
Her throat burned.