Wow, it's been a long time! But I have a good excuse, you know; I've been very busy, and then Darkest Introspect (by neo savvy) was updated, and I was hysterical with delight, and suddenly felt as if I should be ashamed for having posted a Crane story in the first place -- came close to deleting it. But no matter, I have gotten over my self consciousness, and I have the next chapter.


Chapter Eleven

That my parents refused to see me is a devastating blow to say the least. Dr. Crane tells me in our next session that he called them, and they said they weren't ready for a face-to-face confrontation.

"You made them think it was a confrontation?" I say incredulously. "How could you do that? No wonder they didn't want to come!"

"It was entirely their choice; I didn't coach them in any way," says Crane coolly.

"Oh sure," I snap. "I know you don't want me to get better, but this is low. I need to see them."

"I understand that you would like to see your parents," says Crane in a let's-be-reasonable voice that's so like him. "But if they choose not to come, I can't force them into it. You'll have to be patient; give them some time. You're their only daughter. Seeing you in this state is damaging."

"Shut it," I say angrily, "please. Spare me the lecture."

"Well since it's evidently bouncing off your forehead..."

"You don't get it, do you?" I shout. "I need to see them! Everything was leaning on that visit! And you let them get away! Do you have any idea how royally this fucks things up?"

Crane stares at me through the Glasses, and I have the (insane) urge to walk over and rip them off of his face, maybe take some skin with them. A whole handful. I'd like to dig my hands into the flesh of his cheeks and pull, pull until his blood is on my hands.

Look, I'd say. He bleeds.

Though somehow, I doubt he would.

This is utter insanity.

"Why did you want to see your parents, Hallie?" he asks. "Really."

"They know me," I grumble, wrestling with my sudden bloodlust. "They know who I am."

"Don't you know who you are?"

"I have no fucking idea," I say ferociously.

"You don't know anything about yourself?"

"No! I don't even think I have a self anymore!"

"Then who am I talking to?" asks Crane, leaning back in his chair to listen.

"This...person," I say stupidly. "This person who's taken me over."

"The Small Part?"

"No, the person who's learned to cope with her." I sigh. "I lost myself. A long time ago. She took me. Ash brought me back for a little while, I think, but never enough for me to learn how to do it for myself. And now I'm gone again, and I'm just this mindless, painful robot who does nothing but think about the bitch that sits in the back of my mind."

"The Small Part couldn't have taken your Self, Hallie," says Dr. Crane with a chuckle. "Surely you must see that."

"Illuminate it for me."

"You really don't understand your own situation very well, do you?" he says. "The Small Part hasn't taken your Self because your Self wouldn't have let her. This new person that you say you are must have done it."

"I don't get it," I say grudgingly.

"This new person that you are buried her," he says. "Every time you were your Self, the Small Part disappeared. Ashley Carr brought her out of you, and she kicked the Small Part away. Every time you give up on your Self, away she goes."

"That's not fair."

"It's true," says Crane.

"Then what about Ashley?" I ask, shuddering at his name. "I told the Small Part to leave and she came back and killed him. How do you explain that?"

"You sent your Self away."

"No, I didn't!"

"You did," says Crane serenely. "You gave her to Ash."

I can't say anything to this, because suddenly, it makes sense. My Self was the one who could beat the Small Part back with a broom, but every time I gave her away

(I thought I could be better with SP's coaching)

or buried her in my mind,

(I didn't want to think about anything from before)

the Small Part easily invaded. When I chose to surrender my Self to Ash, to depend entirely on him, I lost myself to someone else, and the Small Part took over and did what she did best.

"Why does she kill?" I ask. "Why would she do this to me?"

"Socio and psychopaths don't need reasons," says Dr. Crane. "I suppose that's what she is."

"And how the hell do I get rid of her?"

"I diagnosed your condition as paranoid schizophrenia and chronic depression," said Crane. "There are medications for these, but they haven't been keeping the Small Part at bay." He smiles. "You're on your own."

I sigh. Isn't that the way it always works out?