Insomnia
Chapter 12
I stared at my reflection, trying and failing to flatten my spiky hair almost obsessively. Standing still was too difficult a task, I had discovered, and I was running out of things to do to keep myself moving. I had smoothed my shirt so many times that it sat so perfectly against my form that I might as well have taken an iron to it.
It was still beyond me why I was getting so worked up about this. I didn't need to look good - it wasn't like I was going to a conference or out on a date. I was sure people slumped into the office looking like they had just rolled out of bed. And yet I didn't care. Something inside me cared. Wanted to prove something.
In a way, it was almost like I was trying to beat my parents. If I could prove to this psychiatrist that I was normal, or as close to normal as someone like me I could be, then I would have won this battle. If I could just make this work, maybe, just maybe, I could be myself again. I wanted so badly to go back to the way I once had been, but at this point I didn't know if I could - I had become too set in my ways over the years.
Honestly? I believed Jasper deserved better. I wanted to be myself not only for me, but for him. I couldn't be the way I was if I was going to be allowed to love him. If I was playing by my own rules, anyways. I didn't want to hurt him, too. Bringing others down with me was not acceptable.
"Ugh! I give up!" I cried, my hand dropping to my side defeatedly. There was no getting my spikes to lie flat. I had known that my attempts would be in vain from the start, but that hadn't stopped me. I needed to keep myself busy, or I would begin to panic.
Weren't psychiatrists and therapists and the like supposed to help their patients? I hadn't even met this Dr. Campbell yet and he was already causing me more stress than could possibly be healthy.
It wasn't his fault, I knew, that my life was turning out the way it was, but who else was there to take it out on at this point? Try as I might not to blame him, I knew that I still would. It was unfair to place blame on this innocent man, yes, but when had I ever been fair? Had he never gone into this business, my parents never would have called up and booked me my first round of appointments. Had he never gone into this business, my parents mightn't have found anyone to treat me.
And that was how irrational my hatred of this man was.
A part of me knew that I would be far more miserable living in Biloxi than I was in Forks. In Biloxi, I would be confined to my house most of the time, I was sure, as my parents would be monitoring my every move as they had done for the weeks leading up to my move to Washington. It had been a rare occasion to be left alone in a room with Cynthia when one of them was home. If they were going out, they had always tried to bring Cynthia along, claiming that she was 'too young' to stay home with just her sister for company, an excuse that I had only just managed to keep myself from countering with the fact that I had been staying home alone with her since before it was legal for either of us to be doing such.
Yes, in a way my life in Forks allowed me to be more carefree and happy than I could have ever been in Biloxi. No matter what I told myself, I still felt the ache in the pit of my stomach: I wanted to go home.
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror and slowly made my way towards my bed, where my purse lay. I didn't know why I was bringing it, as I wouldn't be buying anything and I didn't need a place to put car keys, seeing as Aunt Kathy would be driving me to and from my appointment. I really wished I could drive myself, but I was without a car, or any way to save up for a car; try as I might, I couldn't find a job, or anywhere to apply for a job, for that matter. Forks was a tiny town, and tiny towns didn't tend to have a lot of job opportunities.
Grabbing the thick strap of my purse, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment. I could do this. I could. I had survived worse. Far worse. This psychiatrist couldn't make me tell him anything, I reminded myself. There was no forcing information out of me. I could just sit there in stony silence until my hour was up if I so chose.
My feet dragging with every step, I eventually found my way downstairs, where I waited nervously at the front door, uneasily rocking back and forth, alternating my weight from my toes to my heels.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth-
Aunt Kathy's appearance interrupted my almost hypnotic movements. Blinking, I jerked back to reality, hardly hearing her cheerful, "Ready to go?"
I was numb, blocking out any emotions threatening to make themselves known. It was probably better this way - if I could just stay in this zombified state, I would make it through this appointment without snapping. That's all I needed to do.
The ride there was quiet, mostly thanks to me, I was sure. It was more than likely that my aunt had said something and not received a response, me being too busy trying to keep any unwanted emotions from rearing their ugly heads.
I broke the silence only to instruct her to drop me off in front of the little convenience store a few blocks away from Dr. Campbell's office. My parents had, surprisingly enough, kept the Webers in the dark about why I was in Forks, exactly. They knew I was here to get something that was unattainable in Biloxi, yes, but my parents hadn't told them what it was. Maybe they did have some ounce of goodness in their hearts after all, though I was reluctant to believe that. It was more likely that they didn't want to admit that they had a 'mentally unstable' daughter to anyone that didn't absolutely have to know.
If I'd just kept my mouth shut, no one would 'absolutely have to know'.
Once my aunt had driven safely out of sight, me having assured her that I would be fine and would call her when I needed to be picked up, I more or less ran the entire way to the office, enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping through my hair, leaving it a disarrayed mess. My previous determination to look my best for this faceless psychiatrist had been all but forgotten - what did it matter, anyways? He already thought I was crazy, what harm could walking in soaked to the core and looking like I had just stepped out of a tornado do?
Well, there went my whole 'emotionless' approach. Strangely, I found that I didn't care. Nothing mattered right now except that the moment I had been dreading for months was mere minutes away. All I knew was that I had to believe that I could pull through this.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the wooden front door of the building, the sign in front of which I hadn't even bothered to read. I didn't need reminding of where I was going.
The moment I stepped inside, my cold dread returned.
I couldn't do this. Couldn't I just leave, turn around and act like I had the wrong building and never, ever return? I was an adult. I could legally do whatever I pleased.
But I knew that, really, I couldn't. That was just a title, a saying. Backing out of this would make me a coward, would mean that all the months I had spent worrying had been for nothing. Turning back now would just make me the person I had been in Biloxi once more. I couldn't be that frightened, awkward, cowardly little girl anymore. I just couldn't. Something in me would break if I allowed myself to return to that state.
Determination welling up inside of me, I somehow managed to make my legs carry me to the front desk, where I, though reluctantly, the coward inside of me still fighting for control, gave the kindly looking receptionist my full name. She directed me to the waiting area, which, I noticed, was empty, much to my relief. I didn't want to see what other kinds of people this man treated.
The clock on the wall seemed to be playing games with me. Sometimes the seconds ticked by quickly, far too quickly, and at other times they dragged by, each passing second feeling like an entire lifetime. I was beginning to wonder whether it was really me who needed this time with the psychiatrist - the clock seemed to be suffering from multiple personality disorder.
Finally, the receptionist poked her head around the wall separating the waiting area from the front foyer and told me that Dr. Campbell was ready for me. I didn't trust myself to say anything, so I simply nodded and stood, my grip on my purse so firm that my knuckles turned white.
It took all of my concentration just to make it to the door that I had been directed to by the woman, and once I reached it my hand froze to the doorknob, my inner coward refusing to go down without a fight, screaming at me to turn back.
Shoving my own protests aside, I twisted the doorknob and shoved the door open, surprised when a blast of warm air rushed to greet me. I had half expected the welcoming sense that the front office held would completely disappear once I was past this door, instead the style turning into that of an old insane asylum, where the patients were locked in cold, dark cells. But, no, the walls were painted the same shade of brown and there were pictures of flowers and other too-happy things lining the walls, which I completely ignored as I ascended the stairs, too focused on keeping myself calm to take notice of anything outside my own head for more than a split second.
Soon, far too soon, I found myself standing before the door with a plaque engraved simply DR. L. CAMPBELL. I sucked in a quick breath and closed my eyes, pushing open the door and giving myself no time to rethink my actions.
When I reopened my eyes, I was facing a room decorated similarly to the rest of the building - squashy brown chairs, a fireplace, caramel-brown walls, wooden furniture. It didn't look at all like a place where insane people would come to be treated. Instead, it reminded me of a place where you might find a family enjoying a quiet afternoon indoors.
After closing the door, I took a few hesitant steps towards the desk that a man that could only be Louis Campbell sat behind, his misty brown eyes appraising me.
"Hello, Mary Alice." His greeting was warm.
Automatically, I corrected him. "Alice. Just Alice."
"My apologies. Well, hello, Alice," amended the psychiatrist, his gaze unrelenting. I wondered if he expected me to respond. Friendliness was not something I was feeling at the moment. I didn't care how impolite I was being.
Eventually, it became obvious that I had no intention of responding. "Why don't you take a seat and tell me a little bit about yourself?"
I was careful as to what I said. Every word was cautious, and I was constantly on edge. Literally. I sat on the edge of my seat, anxiously awaiting the end of my this. The doctor seemed to sense my unease and kept the questions basic, asking what kind of school I had gone to before I had come to Forks and who my friends had been. The way he jotted down my responses unnerved me.
I should have expected the somewhat predictable question about my sleeping habits.
And yet I hadn't.
Why was it that I always seemed to miss the obvious?
My response was so curt that it was almost defensive. "I don't sleep."
"And why is that?" inquired Dr. Campbell.
I was on my feet now. Time was almost up - I could afford to miss a few minutes of my session.
"Because people like you and my parents have driven me to behave that way," I snapped. "I don't know what they've told you, but I'm not schizophrenic, or whatever they think I am. I can fix my own problems."
Without waiting for a response, I spun on my heel and wrenched open the door, feeling oddly satisfied at the soft click it made as it shut. A dramatic exit would have been unnecessary to the point of ridiculousness. I didn't need to make myself appear any more melodramatic than I already had. In more than some ways, I hated myself for being so exuberant. Why couldn't I be one of those people who just shoved their problems aside and ignored them and was content to live that way? If I could just get a grip on myself once in a while, I wouldn't bring all these problems upon myself.
As I tromped through the rain, my phone began to ring in my purse. I practically ripped open my bag, in no mood to speak to anyone, and rummaged through my things until my hand came into contact with the device.
I didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who was calling. One of my parents would surely want to ensure that I had actually bothered to go to my first appointment. Were they really dense enough to think that after Saturday's disaster that I would answer any of their calls?
And so, without further hesitation, I hurled my phone into the darkness that stretched ahead of me.
If only I could have solved all my problems so easily.
I was intentionally dragging out the writing process of my Biology work again.
I added as much detail as I possibly could, thinking and rethinking my answers through before putting them onto the paper, trying to ignore Jasper's concerned gaze. He knew what I was up to. I didn't want to think, let alone talk. If I could just keep myself busy, I wouldn't have the time to worry or reflect upon anything that had happened lately, or ever.
As it did every day, the time came that I could delay the end of my work session no longer. I set my pencil down with a sigh, resting my chin on my arm, drumming my fingers on the table in a complicated rhythm that required almost as much thought to keep up as my work had.
After several minutes of this, Jasper finally placed his hand on top of mine, stopping the rapid movement of my fingers. I twisted to look at him. "Can I help you?"
"Alice, you've been like this all week," he said, "and I have absolutely no clue what's wrong. It's actually sort of painful not knowing."
"It's my own fault," I muttered, scowling. "I'm just being overemotional, as usual. It's really nothing."
Jasper sighed resignedly, knowing that he wasn't going to get a straight answer out of me. I felt bad for keeping things from him, and even worse for causing him pain, but over time I had learned to keep my mouth shut about my emotions, and, even though I knew Jasper was only trying to be helpful, I was reluctant to open up and talk about anything. I wanted to handle everything by myself, a desire that would get me into trouble one day, I knew.
"Okay." He nodded slowly in acceptance. I silently thanked him for not prying. "But," he added, "don't think that I'm just going to let you be upset like this. We need to do something to get your mind off of things. Go out of town or something."
I raised an eyebrow, unable to help but smile. "Are you asking me out, Jasper Hale?"
He ran a hand through his hair embarrassedly and said, "I, um... yes. I guess I am."
The bell rang, and almost instantly more than half of the class was stampeding out the door, Emmett Cullen in the lead. I stood from my chair, scooping my books into my bag in one sweeping motion.
"Saturday night. 7:00." I grinned, stretching onto my tiptoes to tap his nose. "And don't be late!"
