-Interlude-

Life is not what it's supposed to be. It's what it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.

- Virginia Satir


Trainwreck

Shock

I raced down the streets of Forks, earning myself a few looks of curiosity from other townsfolk. I hoped none of them had gotten a good look at my face; I didn't want to be an object of gossip, before I started school - where I would, no doubt, be the object of gossip. I couldn't quite bring myself to care though, as I concentrated on putting as much distance between me and the accident, as if it would make a difference to what I'd just seen. I wasn't thinking straight at all. A few stray tears rolled down my cheeks, others pooling in my eyes and blurring my vision. I didn't stop though, I couldn't bring myself to slow down. I just had to get away.

I didn't know where I was going, but I eventually found myself back home, standing on my porch. I ran inside, locking the door behind me. I leant heavily against the wall in the hallway, trying to catch my breath, my shoulders heaving as my lungs attempted to fill themselves with as much oxygen as possible. The tears were flowing freely now, and I wiped my eyes furiously with my sleeve to remove the evidence. I couldn't figure out why I was crying; I felt nothing. I was quintessentially numb, feeling no emotions run through my body. Something was blocking them, my autopilot setting from the store still apparently on. It took a few minutes for me to gain some sort of a grip on myself again.

The house was eerily silent, except for my breathing, and when I quietened enough to listen, there was still nothing. No bird song, no wind, not even the noise of a passing car. Normally I would have basked in the silence, but now, the noiseless quality of Forks was making me uneasy. I didn't like it. It didn't seem right, not wasn't like it was supposed to be. Nothing was how it was supposed to be anymore. I felt as if I was viewing the world in a whole new light, everything was strange and different. Something inside of me had changed, and I couldn't see it being changed back.

I saw the future, I whispered, struggling just to form the sentence. It seemed like I was admitting to some kind of heinous crime. My body instantly rejected the statement, and I could feel the nausea rising from the pit of my stomach. I felt sick, like when you realise you have spent all night studying for the wrong exam. I didn't know how to react, given what had just happened.

How were you supposed to react anyway, when something you had 'seen' came true in front of your eyes?

I walked mechanically into the kitchen and put the milk into the fridge, welcoming the noise of the door opening. I thought about turning the television on, just for some background sound, but decided it would be a waste of electricity if I wasn't going to watch it. I wasn't really thinking about what I was doing, still too scared to act normally. My brain began focusing on one task at a time, something like a young child's mind, giving me just enough logic to attempt to function. It wasn't normal, but nothing was normal anymore.

I wasn't normal.

My throat felt abnormally dry, so I went to grab a glass from the kitchen cupboard. My head began to ache, first a dull pain, but becoming more pronounced every passing minute. It felt like a hangover, or what I imagined a hangover to feel like. I reached out to pick up the nearest glass, noticing for the first time that my hand was shaking. I stared at it, almost transfixed, willing it to steady. It didn't, and it took a little more effort to get the glass and fill it at the sink. I swallowed a mouthful of water, before placing the cup on the counter, and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I couldn't really concentrate on anything and began pacing the kitchen, a weird habit that had stayed with me from childhood. When I was trying not to think about something, I would attempt to keep my mind busy by means of distraction. Distraction wasn't going to help me now, and I slowed, eventually coming to a stop by the breakfast counter. I took a deep breath. I shivered a little, not sure if it was from the cold or something else. I was fighting to think of something, anything to stop me replaying the earlier events in my head. My mind was trying to protect itself, steering clear from the forbidden subject, but all I seemed to want to do was think about it.

I leaned on the counter, shocked to find I was burning up. I hadn't noticed until my sweating palms made contact with the icy cool of the counter. My headache intensified, causing my vision to blur. I had to sit down on the stool beside me, putting my face onto the cool countertop as I did so. It was cold, causing another shiver to run through my body, but it soothed my aching head. It began to ease my dizziness too, and slowly the room came back into focus.

My brain tried to make sense of everything that had happened, but when I tried to think back, I kept coming up with a blank. It was like my mind had built a wall up to block it out. I knew what had happened, but the details escaped me, the wall making it impossible to think straight. My headache came back with a vengeance due to all the overwork I was putting my brain through.

I... I couldn't quite form the sentence, all coherent thought escaping me.

I swung my legs to the side, using my arms to pull myself out of the chair. I felt a little faint, but I didn't feel like sitting down any longer. I was about to continue pacing the kitchen when something glittered in the corner of my eye. I turned my head, looking into the hallway, and caught sight of the picture frame at the bottom of the stairs. I lost all of my feigned composure, the terror and panic that had filled me when I witnessed the accident reclaiming control of my body. I bolted up the stairs, turning my head to avoid looking the fallen frame, and I focused on getting to my room without having a mental breakdown.

Denial

Somehow, I managed to kick of my shoes and hurl myself onto my bed successfully.

I had... I couldn't even begin to think about what had happened to me. It wasn't possible. People didn't see the future. Normal, everyday, boring people like Alice Brandon didn't see the future. I possessed nothing about me that made me special. I wasn't one of those people you knew were made for bigger and better things. I wasn't even destined to be anything. I was a regular girl, or at least I was until I saw the future before it happened.

I shook my head. I hadn't seen the future. Things like that didn't happen outside of movies or science fiction novels. It just wasn't a plausible excuse. There had to be some other explanation.

It couldn't have been real.

The logical part of my brain was up in arms, completely and utterly confused, reduced to repeating 'it's not real, it's not real,' over and over, with reduced conviction each time. I tried in vain to pull myself round, trying to convince myself that firstly, I wasn't going crazy, and secondly, this was all just one big freaky coincidence, or a dream. It could be a dream, I reasoned, one of those continuation ones where you think you've woken up, but in fact you haven't. That hardly explained seeing the car crash before it actually happened. I sure as heck didn't dream that one. I tried to accept it, but, deep down, I knew it wasn't true. I looked for alternative theories.

You just imagined it.

It was a long shot, but I was prepared to go with it. I was probably still dreaming now. I was probably still unconscious, on the floor, and I was living a messed up version of the 'Wizard of Oz', minus the tornado. But how did I feel the cold, or feel my muscles protest as I sprinted home? I had to admit even my active imagination wasn't that... active.

It couldn't have happened.

A realistic rebuttal. I liked it.

It didn't happen.

Flat-out rebuttal. Even better.

You're over-thinking things.

That was probably true. I had enough trouble picking out my outfits in the morning, reasoning for each item of clothing. Not that this exactly compared...

The thoughts repeated in my head, over and over again, until they seemed more believable. Maybe, if I kept repeating them, I'd be able to believe I was telling myself the truth - that everything that I thought had happened, hadn't.

***

I sat down to dinner with my mother that night in silence. She brought pizza, not willing to cook after a long day at the hospital. She had gone in early - extra early - so as to acquaint herself with the running of the hospital, and then stayed extra late so she could organise her desk properly. Order was my mother's friend, a quality that I doubted I had inherited. A tense silence hung in the air as we ate. Initially we had exchanged a few words, the standard 'how was your day?' along with 'did you do much?'. I offered little more than a fine and a no, which quickly ended the conversation. Unfortunately, she saw the milk in the fridge, so I had to briefly mention my trip to Thriftway.

"Oh, there was a crash near there this morning." My mother said offhandedly, trying to break the silence. "A car ploughed right into the side of a van at the junction."

Try denying that.

I lost my appetite. I forced my face to stay emotionless, but inside I could feel like I was breaking apart. The enormity of everything that happened hit me again. It hadn't happened, I tried to tell myself weakly.

"Really?" I asked, feigning noninterest. "Was anybody hurt?"

I couldn't stop myself from asking. I wanted to change the subject, but the words had come from my mouth before I had thought to stop them. I braced myself for the worst.

"Both of the drivers were taken in, but it was mainly cuts and bruises. They're both alright now."

"Hmm..." was all the reply I could manage. I put my knife and fork down on my plate and went to the sink to begin to wash up.

I could feel the nausea rising in my throat again, as the rope that was my denial began to fray. I was slipping off the cliff, back into the waters of confusion that I had been pulled out of. I clung tighter to it. It couldn't have happened, the thought puny in comparison to the other voices in my head. Voices that were telling me that denial wasn't healthy...

"Yeah, accidents like that don't happen every day. Apparently accidents are really rare around these parts."

The rope frayed a little more, and I felt myself getting closer to confusion again. I was hanging on by a thread, clinging to my previous evaluation of the situation for dear life. It wasn't possible.

"About the picture frame...."

I looked into the hallway, noticing the picture frame was gone, so I knew she had to have seen it and cleaned it up. I should have noticed it earlier, but now the comforting numbness of denial was beginning to leave me, everything seemed slightly clearer. I cursed myself inwardly for being so stupid as to leave the evidence in full view of the door. My mother was silent behind me, and I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

"Well," she asked, her voice infinitesimally harder. "Explain that please."

The rope snapped at those words, the thought of explanations becoming too much for my overworked brain, and I tumbled back into uncertainty.

Anger

"It fell," I managed, knowing that it wouldn't be a satisfactory explanation. I couldn't quite turn around to face her, as I knew she wanted me to, as I wasn't sure of exactly what my face would betray.

"Oh,"

"I'm sorry," I added, but my voice lacked the proper emotion to make it seem convincing.

I quickly excused myself, my mother looking at me oddly as I claimed I was tired, after rearranging my room. She didn't say anything though, but I was certain she was suspicious. I took the stairs a little too fast to seem as tired as I claimed I was, racing back to the sanctuary that was my bedroom.

Why was this happening to me! I thought angrily, resisting the urge to scream. I ripped my jumper over my head, throwing it against the wall.

I slammed my palms down on the bed, grabbing a fistful of my duvet in each hand. I just wanted to lash out, hit something, anything. My body was shaking as I leant over my bed, as I steadily got more and more frustrated, as the facts became clear; I didn't know what was happening to me, and it sure as heck wasn't normal. I kicked the bed frame, looking for some sort of release from the anger, but it didn't come.

I felt unhinged, and my anger grew as I began to question my sanity. Maybe this was what it felt like to go insane.

I wanted to scream, to shout, to let the whole darn town know exactly what I was feeling. It was so unlike me, and for a moment the realisation scared me. I wasn't a violent person. I didn't lash out. My mind begged to differ, thinking I had fair reason to be annoyed. I had already been dragged halfway across the country to a sunlight-forsaken town in the middle of nowhere and now, on top of everything else, I was some kind of future seeing freak! Didn't karma hate me enough? What could I possibly have done to warrant this kind of punishment?

Its not fair! I summarised under my breath, injecting as much venom as I could into a whisper.

I allowed myself to flop onto my bed in defeat. I ran my hands over my face, resting my finger tips on my temples. I sat still for a moment before the urge to hit something became too strong again. I lashed out at the first thing I came across, my pillow becoming my punch bag.

Despair

The tears came later. Anger gave way to despair somewhere around eight, and my body was wracked with sobs. I wasn't sure when my emotions changed, but sometime whilst I was hitting my pillow my punches became weaker, until I gave up completely, my strength leaving me, and I collapsed on my pillow. My shoulders shook as everything I had tried to suppress came tumbling out in the form of tears. I pushed my head further into my pillow, curling up into a ball, in an attempt to conceal the noise. I didn't want my mother to hear me. I couldn't face trying to explain anything.

I felt my whole body begin to shiver, and grabbing the blanket from the foot of my bed, I wrapped it around myself tightly, continuing to stare at the bare wall in front of me. For the first time in my life I felt really alone.

I must have cried myself to sleep, because when morning came, I couldn't remember stopping. My cheeks were sore and tear stained, my hair felt like a mess, and I was hugging onto my pillow for dear life. I lay quietly, hoping that if my mother was awake, she wouldn't come to check on me. Her concern would only make me feel worse. I felt emotionally drained, the turmoil of the previous day taking its toll on me. I was pretty sure I could sleep for a week and still be tired.

I lifted my head, ignoring the ache in my neck that came from lying awkwardly last night, and looked at my clock. It was nine, much later than I thought it had been. My mother was at work again today, so I had the house to myself. I sighed, rolling onto my back and stretching my arms above my head. My stomach rumbled, and I groaned. As fun as it would be to lie in bed all day, my body seemed to have other plans for me. One of those involved eating. I hadn't had much yesterday, and my stomach demanded nourishment.

My shower was quick, my stiff neck making it near impossible to wash my hair without discomfort. I shut of the water in defeat and wrapped myself in a towel, looking glumly at the mirror before me. The figure I saw looking back was a stranger. The person didn't seem like me anymore. Her hair stood out at all angles, and dark, bruise-like shadows hung under her eyes. She looked defeated. I couldn't even bear to look. I shut my eyes and brushed my teeth.

Eventually I made it downstairs. My feet were bare as I walked into the living room, back in my pyjamas. I really didn't feel like getting dressed today. My limbs felt like lead weights, and it took an extra amount of effort for me to walk. My whole body was stiff, my shower doing nothing to soothe my aching muscles. I flopped awkwardly on the nearest sofa.

It was a weird, I noted, for me to be this down. I was supposed to be Alice Brandon, the girl who always was always smiling. Optimistic, energetic and fun, all words that didn't describe me at this current moment. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling like the smallest shock could break my fragile psyche. I had only felt like this once before in my seventeen years of existence, so it wasn't as if I knew the feeling well. It was the sick kind, the one you felt in the pit of your stomach, when you knew the world wasn't right, and yet there was nothing you could do about it. It was the kind of crushing feeling, something pressing down on your chest, sucking your energy from you and leaving you unable to breathe properly. It was claustrophobia, when everything seemed too small, and a sense of hyperawareness, when even the quiet rustlings of the wind seemed too loud. It was awful.

I was a freak. There was nothing else I could say about it. I was scared, and alone, and I was a freak. A few tears slipped from my eyes, but no torrent followed. I had obviously reached my quota of tears last night. What am I supposed to do? I asked out loud, knowing I wouldn't get an answer. I didn't know what was happening to me. I felt powerless, remembering how the 'vision' took complete control of my body - leaving me completely helpless. It was a scary feeling, knowing you had absolutely no control over what was happening to you. My head began to hurt again, a dull ache across my forehead, but I ignored it, pushing the feeling away.

I lay back on the couch, a familiar wave of exhaustion washed through me. I was still tired, so tired. I knew I shouldn't be contemplating sleeping this early in the day, but I couldn't help it. Throwing my sleeping pattern off wasn't going to solve any of my problems, but instead of fighting to stay awake, I welcomed the comforting blackness of unconsciousness. At least there I was safe from my thoughts.

It's hopeless, I thought, closing my eyes, completely and utterly hopeless...

Acceptance

My eyelids fluttered open to the bright light of midday. I'd fallen asleep, and now felt oddly placid. I was extremely stiff as I attempted to move from my position, making a mental note to avoid sleeping on the couch in the future. The claustrophobia and the fear seemed to have gone from my body I found, as I stretched my arms above my head and rolled my shoulders. I sighed heavily, feeling slightly more energised than I had done before I sat down.

The clock struck noon, and although I really didn't feel like eating, I forced myself into the kitchen to have a sandwich. I sat at the kitchen counter, and made myself eat it. It didn't take much effort, after the first bite I realised just how hungry I had been, and ended up devouring it, barely giving myself time to taste it. I put the plate in the sink, and flicked on the tap for a few seconds, allowing water to wash over it. I leant over the sink and looked out over the garden. I had a few things I had to figure out.

Ever since I was little, I'd been a very rational person, thinking things through and requiring an explanation for everything. "Why do leaves turn brown in autumn?" I'd asked my father at three. He'd called me inquisitive. By ten I had already fixed the sewing machine I had received for my eight birthday more times than I could remember. I liked knowing how things worked. Explanations and order were what I lived by. This personality trait had worked fine over the years, until now.

How did you explain the unexplainable?

I always had a plan. I had spent most of my young life knowing exactly what had to happen, what I needed to do to get what I wanted, and now that had hit a major speed bump. The Mount Everest of all speed bumps. I was still struggling with coherency, my thoughts random and jumbled again. They flitted from one subject to the other to avoid me replaying what had occurred over in my head. My ability at distraction was flawed though, so I caught glimpses of everything, a car, the crash, the images replayed in my mind before I could direct my thoughts elsewhere.

What had happened? I forced myself to think about it. Struggling through the mental barriers I had placed in order to shield myself from the truth, I made myself replay the events in my mind and settled on the only conclusion that explained everything.

It was a fluke, just one of those things that happened sometimes. It had to be. The stress of moving must have made me extra perceptive, causing me to 'think' I saw the future, when I really just noticed more than usual. It made sense, I supposed. I knew I wasn't crazy. This was probably the only other rational explanation that didn't involve flat out denial. Yeah, I thought, nodding my head, it was just one of those one of things.

Normality (kind of)

I felt as if I were lying to myself, as I pushed 'it' aside and dismissed it as nothing. It was an odd feeling. Normally, when I figured something out, I would feel as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. This time, however, I felt as if the weight were poised above my head, waiting for the opportune moment to fall and crush me again. It was definitely an odd feeling. I felt as if I wasn't quite right in my conclusion, like I was missing something. I shrugged it off, putting it down to my messed up sleeping pattern from the previous few days. Everything was alright for now.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window with dismay. My poor pyjamas were on their last legs, the seams of the pants beginning to fray and the colour starting to fade from the top. That had to be remedied, I thought, adding new pyjamas to my mental list of things I needed to buy if I ever escaped from Forks for the day. I supposed I had better change, my mother only worked till two on a Sunday, and she'd be suspicious as to why I wasn't dressed yet.

Something on the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall caught my attention, and I began reading my mother's messy scrawl with chagrin. My first day was tomorrow. Great. My life just keeps getting better and better, I muttered.


Disclaimer: I still don't own Twilight. Wish I did though...

A/N: Dedicated to mz(.)spiffy, for her encouraging words. Thank you.

It took a lot longer than I thought it would to write this. It seems a bit disjointed, but I tried to capture the confusion she would be feeling. This is my least favourite chapter so far, it doesn't seem right, but I had to get this finished in order to continue with the rest of the story. I'm halfway through the next chapter, and this time I mean it when I say it'll be up in a few days.

Review please?

Ostentatious Querida =]