"Are you okay?" I ask cautiously, as Rosalie's eyes snap open in the darkness, shining with emotion. A sound of irritation crosses her lips, and she gives me a look that makes me want to run and hide, reminiscent of childhood villains, though I'm not sure Rosalie would ever dress as a witch to give me a poisoned apple and she's far too vain to stop shaving if she wanted to "huff and puff and blow my house down".
"Why wouldn't I be?" Rosalie shoots back, her eyes piercing even in the dark. I watch her carefully, attempting not to offend her further. "I was in seclusion. Not prison."
"What's the difference?" I ask, my words breaking the tension that made my heart pound. Rosalie sits up, her leopard print pajamas visible thanks to a chink of light streaming from the moonlight from the window.
"Ever been to prison?" Rosalie asks. I sit up, too, pulling the covers tightly around my neck like a cocoon to keep me safe. I shake my head, though I think it's most likely a rhetorical question.
"What do you think?" I ask. Rosalie raises her eyebrow, utterly full of contempt for me. Her expression doesn't change as she thinks about her answer.
"I think you should mind your own business," she says callously. Then, as an afterthought, though I'm sure it was her main thought, she adds, "You have bedhead, by the way."
I glance at her, a frown forming on my face. "I'm in bed. So are you. It's very easily explained. And you don't have to be rude, Rosalie. Don't push away the people who care. You don't have that many of them."
"I've got more than you," she preens, and as I watch her, she looks like she isn't really sure she believes it herself.
Okay, that stung. I shrug my shoulders as if I don't care, because I know that the only reason she's doing it is because she's hurting too. "I suppose that's true." I say simply, because there's nothing else left to say. I turn around in bed, closing my eyes and ignoring Rosalie's eyes that I know are burning a hole into my back. I fade into a dreamless slumber, and hope not to wake for a very long time, if at all.
I sit in bed, fiddling with the tiny Alice in Wonderland charm on my bracelet and trying not to think about anything of great importance. Thinking too deeply always made emotions run high, always pushed me too far. My heart would thud and my mouth would go dry as I try to recover the breath that seemed so elusive in that moment. Panicked thoughts would swirl in my mind, screaming at me in an eerily silent room. And I would find myself wishing to not exist anymore. It wasn't death I craved; far from it. I wanted to escape from the life that restricted me so greatly, that even my thoughts could spin so fast inside my mind that I felt dizzy and breathless.
I push even those thoughts out of my mind, the mere notion of that possibility making me feel sick and far too hot. I'm suddenly aware of the heavy rain hitting against my window, splashing down in bucket loads. I'm drawn to the outside once I see the rain, reminded of happier times in the past when the rain meant comfort and warmth that I so desperately crave right now.
I stand up, pulling on a hoodie over my leggings and camisole, not caring that my clothes would be soaked through the moment my ballet flat crossed the doorframe. The walk is short, and I'm soon sitting outside on a bench that is reserved for the smokers, even though it's not strictly allowed. The rain mingles with the tears that are suddenly pouring down my cheeks for no apparent reason, and everything is wrong but the cleansing rain that soothes the burning in my heart. With every breath, this feeling of inadequacy intensifies. With every beat of my heart, I wish that life was different. And with every tear that falls, I wish that I would drown in this sadness.
"Alice, what are you doing?" A voice, muffled by the lashings of rain that hit the ground, calls out to me. A jacket is placed over my shoulders, and it feels warm and smells comfortingly clean and pleasant. An arm is wrapped around my waist, and I look up to Jasper, who watches me warily, like I'm a wild animal. Pity seeps into his features, and as much as I want to push him away, the closeness I need presents itself in his arms, so I let his arm snake around my waist and pull me closer.
He doesn't attempt to move me, apart from a gentle rocking movement that gives me a pattern to follow with my shallow breathing. "Why are you out here? What's the matter?" He tries again. I look up at him pathetically, overwhelmed by both my own feelings and his kindness, a side of him I wish would come out more often.
"Sometimes," I gulp through tears, my hair sticking unattractively to my face whilst he looks like he belongs in a commercial, "I just feel sad." Seemingly reading my mind, he pushes my hair back from my face and nods wordlessly, an eyebrow raising as he encourages me to continue. I shrug my shoulders miserably. "I don't know what to say. I'm just…sad." I sigh, attempting to blink away the tears as I stare up at him.
"You won't be any sadder indoors." Jasper reasons with me. "Why don't we go inside?" I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and bite my lip.
"You don't understand," I say, and I can hear the annoying whine in my voice that I used to tease my younger sister about. The thought of never seeing my baby sister again, the one I so eagerly awaited the arrival of, does nothing but increases my feelings of despair, and I sob harder.
"Oh, darlin'…" Jasper sighs, as he kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes and let him comfort me, actually feeling consoled. "If I don't understand, why don't you try and help me to?" His words are heavy with emotion, and he sighs as if the weight of the world rests on his broad shoulders.
I glance up at him. "I can't even help myself," I tell him miserably. Unable to stop myself, I reach up and trace the freckles on his cheeks that I've never noticed before. Jasper catches my wrist, flinching at my touch instinctively. "Why are you here?" I blurt out, and I instantly regret it as his face falls. For a moment, it's like we're frozen in time as he stares into my eyes, his hand in mid-air, cradling my wrist. And then he breaks the silence with a slow, steady breath through his nose, as if he was meditating. He lowers his hand, still holding my wrist, and intertwines our fingers as he rests his hand on his leg. "You don't have to answer that." I stare at him with wide eyes, as I hope to God that he doesn't start yelling at me. I don't think I could take that; it would push me over the edge. He's the only person I have in this crazy place, the only sane, safe place for me to rest. He looks down at me worriedly, his brow creasing as he stares down. "I never should have asked," I mutter, scared to look at him again and see those dark eyes giving me a look of contempt. "I'm sorry."
He shakes his head at me, and rolls the little charm he gave me in his fingers. "I didn't give this to you so you'd have to feel small around me." He tells me, tracing the "Drink Me" message on the front with his pinkie finger. He sighs, clearly struggling with what to tell me and what to omit.
"But that's what I've just done to you." I tell him, biting my nail anxiously. He pulls my hand away gently, and puts his palm up against mine, his hand dwarfing my small hand completely.
"If there's one thing I don't feel when I'm around you, Alice," he says, a small chuckle escaping from his lips, "it's small."
I laugh, the sound mingling with my cries, and lean onto Jasper. "You don't have to tell me, if you're not ready. I…I understand."
"One day," he promises. I smile up at him, not quite believing him. He smiles sadly, and raises his eyebrow. "You can trust me." He assures me.
"I want to." I tell him, which is as good as it will get at the moment. He seems to understand that this is a compliment, and smiles down at me. And as much as I don't want to, I find myself smiling, too, enchanted by that contagious grin of his.
"Look, I shouldn't have said that, okay?" Rosalie says as she settles herself down at the table in the cafeteria for dinner.
I stare at Rosalie, and for a moment, I'm confused. Then I remember our conversation last night and I narrow my eyes. I glance to Emmett, who sits next to her, a smile, like always, on his face. "I know you're making Rosalie apologise, but you know, she hasn't actually said the words: I'm sorry." I raise Emmett looks down to Rosalie, who gives him only a shrug.
"Rosie," he says, as if they've been over this before, and I don't doubt they have.
Rosalie's eyes narrow at me, and she looks as if she could bite me. "I'm not a dog." I don't respond, I simply smile back at her while she glowers. "Fine," she spits venomously, "I'm sorry. Happy now?"
"A little," I admit. "Still, I hope you're feeling better, Rosalie," I say genuinely, and Rosalie offers me a small, reluctant smile at which point I know everything is okay between us. I look around the room, and I catch Esme's eye as she smiles at me. "Listen, I'm going to sit with Esme. I'll catch up with you guys later." As I gather my tray, Emmett stops me.
"Wait," he says, grabbing my sleeve. "Call her over here." He smiles at me, and I can tell he's thinking about our conversation from the other day. I smile back at him, feeling proud and satisfied that I get to bring a smile to Esme's face. I gesture for her to join us as Rosalie begins to complain quietly.
"Emmett," she says, "Do we have to…?" Emmett ignores her for a moment, as he smiles at Esme, then he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze.
"Yes," he says firmly, a hardened expression on his face as if to say, "No arguments." I watch Esme walk slowly over to our table, graceful as always. I smile at her, and gesture for her to sit next to me. Emmett smiles and waves a small hello.
"Hi, Esme." I give her a reassuringly look, and indicate to Rosalie and Emmett. "This is Rosalie, and this is Emmett," I explain, pointing redundantly as if she didn't know who was who.
"Hello," Esme says, a little shyly, smiling. "How nice to be asked over." Her eyes shone brightly, with tears, I suppose, as she watched the two of them interacting. "Young love is always so sweet," she comments, sounding a little sad. She sighs, "To be young again, what I would give!" She smiles at Rosalie. "I was never as pretty as you were, though. You or Alice, for that matter. I was so pleased when I was married…" she trails off, and shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm rambling."
"You're not," I assure her. "It's nice to hear you talk. Your stories are so interesting." Rosalie sits forward, more interested now that she's been complimented on her prettiness, and I almost laugh.
"You have to create adventures," Esme sighs. "Then you'll have just as many stories to tell as I do." I smile at her.
"I'll bet you didn't spend your formative years in a place like this," I say, smiling coyly. Esme smiles sadly at me, and shakes her head.
"I still lived with my parents. I had a wonderful childhood. But Alice," she pressed on, pursing her lips as she thought for the right words, "You don't have to be anywhere to make a good memory. It's about people and experiences. You're getting better here, and the care is good." In the back of my mind, I thought of Jasper's comment about the orderlies, but I don't mention it to Esme, who looks enthralled by her own memories. "One day you'll look back here, and if you made those adventures – no matter how small or insignificant they may be to someone on the outside – you'll think back with a smile, not a wistful glance."
I'm walking back to my room when I see Jasper coming out of Dr Cullen's office. Though I don't want to, I make myself walk with him. "Alice," he says, nodding a hello. I smile at him, trying my best to appear happy through my nerves. When his walk slows to a halt, I guess that I'm not doing a very good job of hiding my feelings.
"What is it?" Jasper asks, his forehead creasing. He looks preoccupied about something, but I don't question him. He's probably thinking about his session with Dr Cullen. I often leave feeling more empty than when I arrived, and with a lot to consider.
"I want to tell you something." I say awkwardly, as he stands stoically, watching me. He nods, and continues to walk towards the always empty TV room, where he sits down. "I know…I know you're not ready to share why you're in here. But for some stupid reason, I want to tell you why I am."
"Okay," he says, sitting forward. "You don't have to tell me, you know. It doesn't matter to me." I smile at him.
"It's part of me. If you stick around after you hear, then I know you're worth my time. If you don't, and you think I'm crazy…well, then that's just another person who'll stay away from me." I shrug absently, though I do care what he thinks, I desperately want him to tell me I'm not crazy, and that he understands. I feel pathetic for admitting it, but I can't help my feelings.
"Okay," he repeats, and I begin to think that's the only word he knows. "Take your time. I won't interrupt."
"I don't know where to start." I admit, glancing up at him. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders.
"The beginning might be a good place." I roll my eyes at him.
"I guess it all started when I was little. My mother had brought my little sister home from the hospital, and I loved her from the moment I saw her, little Cynthia. I don't know what triggered it. I suppose I've always been…in tune with things. When I was little, I would refuse to do certain things because they felt wrong, or because I didn't want something bad to happen…when my parents made me do them, a bad thing would happen. When I got older, and Cynthia was born, it got worse…or better, I suppose. I started seeing things in my mind. Scenes unfolding that hadn't happened yet. My little sister falling on the rug that hadn't been put down right. I'd straighten it before she fell, or sometimes, I'd just wait to see if something happened." I look up at him guiltily. "I didn't want to hurt her. I just thought it was my imagination."
I sigh. "They got more frequent when I needed them. One day, I got a vision that my cousin would be in an accident. I warned him." I put my head in my hands. "My mother told me not to. I always told her when I saw something, and I suppose she didn't quite believe me. I couldn't let him get hurt though, and I warned him that if he left the house that night, that he might not come home." I take a deep breath to control my emotions. "He left."
"Oh, Alice," Jasper says, wincing at my words. I nod.
"He died that night. Didn't even make it to the hospital. And at the funeral…my aunt, she started screaming at me. She called me a witch. Evil. She told me I'd caused his death." I shake my head. "I didn't do anything, I swear. I was at home all night." I close my eyes. "I was only thirteen." When my eyes open again, they are filled with tears that I attempt to ignore. "Everyone thought I was a witch then. They thought I made bad things happen. Nobody wanted anything to do with me – not even my own father. He believed his sister, and told my mother that I wasn't to be trusted, especially not around Cynthia." I shrug my shoulders, trying to contain myself. "She didn't believe that. She thought I was…odd. She thought I was eccentric, and that I just wanted to stand out. I didn't." I shake my head again. "I wanted to blend in more than anything. My father was so angry. He was always bad tempered. Always had a fist to add to a problem, especially when it came to the children. I never liked him, even as a little girl. But then one day, I saw a terrible thing." The memory made me feel sick, and I felt like retching. I pushed the feeling down and continued.
"I saw my father shooting my mother." I screw my eyes shut and let the tears seep from my closed eyes. "It's a memory I'll never get rid of. I told her. I warned her about it, I did. But she was so in love. She told me to stop being like this, told me to just be normal for once. And then she told me that she would always love me, even if she couldn't believe me this time. Two weeks later…she was dead. I didn't even cry. I couldn't. I knew that it was going to happen, but it was a shock. I thought she'd walk through the door any moment…she never did." I ball up my fists, and let the tears spill down my cheeks. "It was my fault."
"No," Jasper says, as he pulls me closer.
"It was," I insist. "I should never have told anyone anything."
"You were trying to protect people," he insists. I cry harder at his comment.
"You believe me," I sob out of relief. "You don't think I'm crazy." He shakes his head and pulls me even closer, his chin on my head.
"I will always believe you." He says, sounding subdued. "And you can always trust me." He says. And this time, I believe it.
"I do."
A/N:
Hey everyone. I know it's been awhile since I updated…I really only updated because I got a review yesterday which reminded and inspired me to do so…so I spent today writing this chapter, apologies if there are any mistakes. Thanks for that review, it meant a lot.
I'm never going to give up on this story, as far as I can tell now, and I have it planned out, so don't worry about that. I don't have writers block; I have some personal issues going on at the moment as well as exams in May so please don't be upset at the lack of updates that will (or won't) be appearing. It's unavoidable unfortunately. But please do leave a review or write me because I love seeing everything. Sorry for this long note.
Happy Easter.
Caitlin
