A/N This story wouldn't be possible without my fantastic beta MissAlex and a special thank you to my pre-reader Larin20 - Thanks BB's
I would also like to thank Project Team Beta for dealing with my edits, and alchemilla mollis for her help and support with re-writing this chapter.
I own not a drop
Chapter one: Relocation
Wherever I sat - on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok - I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.
- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Three days.
I could keep a friend for exactly three day.
I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling wallowing in my own self pity, letting the memories flood my mind. My half filled suitcase was on the floor waiting patiently for me to finish packing. I stared at my school year book. Familiar faces of strangers looked back at me. I remembered them all, but I doubted any of them would remember me.
I hadn't always known that I was different. Until I was six I thought everybody could see what was going to happen before it actually did. It puzzled me because I knew I looked and dressed the same as everyone else. Okay, I was smaller than most girls I knew, but surely that was no reason not to be my friend.
By the end of my primary years I had befriended almost every child in my school at some time or another. But it only took me three days to lose them all.
I continued to thumb the black and white images on the page.
I didn't have any problem making friends. It was keeping them that was the problem. It would take them only three days to realize that I was different; they would start to ignore me or steer clear of my path.
I would tell them things they couldn't always understand, things I couldn't always understand. The fatal blow to any budding friendship was an episode.
A vision.
Depending on the severity of the vision I'd either faze out — my eyes unfocused and vacant — or I'd fall to the ground and thrash about. They'd panic and run. Worse was when they'd stay and point with a mixture of horror and laughter.
I stopped at Lucy's smiling face. She was kinder and prettier than most. Before she stopped calling and answering her door, she gave me a friendship bracelet.
"I'll miss you Alice" she'd whispered, holding the plastic multicoloured bracelet in her hand. "Say you'll never forget me?" She sniffed as she hooped it onto my wrist. It felt tight, comforting almost.
A lone tear rolled down my face as I recalled the last day of our friendship, sighing as I slid my arm around my waist, bringing my knees to meet my chest.
The stigma attached with being my friend was too much for a child to cope with. It was self-preservation.
So I learned to make the most of my three-day friendships. It became a game to me, to see which friends I could keep, and how long I could keep them. I would neatly write their names in my note book and tick off the days. My enthusiasm knew no bounds, but after awhile it became predictable.
I would take them to play at the park, giggle about boys, and we'd hang around each other's houses. Parents liked having Father Brandon's daughter stay over. I could see it in their smiles and freshly baked goods. In those three days, I would be happy and content, but a black cloud would always hover in the background, threatening to move in.
But I wouldn't allow it to affect me. I would carry on as though everything was fine, and try as hard as I could to maintain my friendship, as if this time, by some miracle, things would be different. It never was, but I learned not to let it get me down. I forced myself to move on and I'd jump into my next friendship with gusto.
"Are you packed dear?" my mother's voice called up the stairs. How I would miss my mother's calm and soothing voice. I made no effort to reply, but with my free hand I turned a few more pages. The rest of the book is blank. This was my last yearbook. That was my last year at school.
After Junior High finished and I was to start Middle School, my parents decided that I should be home-schooled. After all their trips in to see the headmaster and the letters home I don't blame them. The school was never equipped to deal or support someone like me even if they wanted the hassle. So to be home-schooled seemed the only way. My father, Henry, was the local pastor so he took over my religious education while my mother, Catherine, took over the rest.
I remained in my house all day under my parents' watchful eye. I loved my parents but the thought of them as my only company, my only link to the outside world, terrified me. This also meant I had no more opportunities to make friends.
It didn't take long for my visions to affect my relationship with my parents just like it did with my schoolmates.
My parents realized pretty soon that the situation was getting worse. They knew about the mini-episodes, but not how often or how severe they had become. During puberty, my visions became more frequent, longer, extremely painful, and were usually followed by a deep depression that I had difficulty getting out of.
My visions ended up consuming most of the day – sometimes two. It started with the actual vision itself, followed by a migraine, and, last of all, the depression. Mother found it increasingly impossible to educate me, as a lot of my time was spent in bed or bruising my knees in prayer. Mother fiddled with the cross around her neck constantly and placed her rosary beads in my hands every night.
So they took action. I had psychiatrist appointments to keep, a dream diary to write in and a silly hat to wear. They desperately tried to 'cure' me and I loved them for that. They didn't run away and give up on me like my three-day friends had. Well, at least not at first. After the doctor mentioned hallucinations and schizophrenia, they decided they had to do something drastic.
While I hid on the stairs, my parents had a conversation about me. They'd said they couldn't cope any longer, and that prayers were no good. God had abandoned them.
They'd later appeared before me at the bottom of the stairs, shoulder to shoulder, united against me. My mother, dressed all in blue with a stone look on her face, and my father in his dog collar, his jaw clenched.
"Pack a case, Alice," was all he said.
I ran to my room, tears were blinding me but with seventeen years of practice I could get to my room with my eyes closed.
Now, I had to finish what I had started not ten minutes ago. I closed the book and placed it back on my night stand. I won't need that where I was going, I thought nervously.
Gathering my essentials, I tried to packed light, but not knowing where I was going was unsettling. I felt nauseous and on edge. But throughout all this I tried to remember that they were doing this because they loved me.
I was truly sorry I was such a burden to them. I knew they tried desperately to have a child for many years before I came along and now I had failed them by having my disturbances.
Sighing heavily as I closed the lid, I made my way to join them in the living room. I sat down and faced my parents, my case placed on the floor dividing us.
Father told me he was driving me to Massachusetts. I'd never been to New England before, although I'd heard plenty about the beautiful trees that lined the streets, and the crisp ocean air. I wondered if it would all look and smell as beautiful once I was all alone, and whether I would be able to see the ocean from where I stayed. I was distracting myself, I knew that.
My mother kissed both my cheeks and grabbing both my hands, she placed her beloved Rosary beads in my upturned palms. She looked at me, her eyes watering
"Always remember that we love you, my dear, dear Alice."
I blindly turned away, my lip quivering.
During the north-easterly journey, my father told me that I was going to be staying at a hospital that specialized in patients with "mental handicaps". The shock caught my breath and I blew it out slowly through my nose. My hands trembled, so I played with my fingers to keep them still.
"You never know, Alice, you may make lots of new friends. There will be a lot of girls there just like you," he said
I turned my head towards the window, looking for a distraction so I wouldn't feel angry at him for his flippant remark, and sending me away. I didn't need a vision to know that wouldn't do me any good at all.
My father has always found it hard to empathise with my feelings. He's a good father, just unthinking at times.
I sighed and like a good daughter should and turned to him, hiding my anger behind a tight lipped smile.
"Yes, Father, I'm sure I will make plenty of new friends."
With that, I turned my head and returned to the world outside the car window once again.
Two long days later -- which included a stop-over in a rather rundown motel-- we drove through the large rusted iron gates of the hospital, and followed a long narrow drive lined with tall green trees. The entire way I fiddled with my hands.
As the car slowed to a crawl, a hand cupped mine and held them still. I couldn't look up. My brief annoyance at my father had disappeared long ago and now I was filled with something else entirely.
Sadness.
So I didn't look, I just kept my hands still with the weight of my father's guilt holding them down.
My so-called salvation sat high upon a hill surrounded by woodland. Trees obscured the facility but I still felt its presence looming ahead of me. I scanned the area. It was completely isolated – I'd found our common thread. I just hoped that it wasn't the type of tie that binds forever.
My mouth hung open as we came to a stop outside the main building. It looked like a gigantic, gothic castle, and not a friendly one at that. I shivered as I climbed out the car, thankful to be free from my seat, but terrified of what lay ahead.
My father stepped out and retrieved my case from the trunk. He looked at me and I smiled back as butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I looked up at the hospital and shuddered.
This was my home now.
A/N: From now on I will be posting every Sunday :) Thank you to those of you who took the time to review - you made me squee!
