Chapter 11
The awe has not worn off yet.
It's been a while since Jason gave his silent nod and got up and left, and I'm still stunned. I am definitely not me. Or am I? Who was that talking to Jason? Me?
I know all the after-school specials say it's normal for teenagers to have to find themselves, but this is ridiculous...
Maybe I am schizophrenic....
I shake the idea off with another passive-amused laugh. Part of me knows I'm in some deep crap-- but the other part of me doesn't give a rat's ass.
Look at that-- I've diagnosed myself: Jekyl and Hyde complex.
In some ways I do feel bad......I take it back-- in a *lot* of ways. I don't want to be mean. I don't want to feel this selfish-- but it's like a boil-- unless I lance it, the poison's going to go deeper to invade me. Of course that means freaking everyone else out in the meantime...
So do I pop it.... or not?
This is why I can't 'wake up'..... There's just too much to deal with... too much to think about--
I hear the door open, and I tense.
Time to explore yet another facet of myself: Emily the actress.
It takes some concentration, but I manage to work myself into a depressed state in a short amount of time. This feeling does not feel foreign to me-- this feeling that breathing is just too much work-- something that makes me do the inevitable, something I might not really want-- to live.
I can hear my thoughts like a voice in my head-- and I don't like what it's saying. It makes my throat burn with bile and I quickly chastise myself for losing focus so quickly.
I guess I should stick to one-dimensional Hollywood.
It's only now that I realize my visitor has yet to speak, and I feel my body go cold.
It's him.
The nervous burning in my stomach changes to anger, and I come *way* too close to opening my eyes and screaming at him. His once cherished visits have turned into torturous endurances for me. His "love" is a weapon I've turned on myself-- a blunt object I seem to be repeatedly bashing myself in the head with....
Hell, maybe that's good-- maybe I can just knock all the romantic brain cells out of me.
Maybe I can just knock myself senseless-- I always thought that'd be kinda fun.
Lucky takes my hand, and I will the goosebumps to not appear on my arms. The backs of my eyes burn now-- unshed tears I refuse to set free. I've never been this frustrated in my life. I don't want to feel breathless at his touch-- I want to be just plain pissed. He's blown in here like some freakin' knight in shining armor, made me fall in love with him, and then revealed himself like the pig he is--
The pig I *reaaally* want.
It's like I've been awarded a million dollars-- yep. One million dollars-- all mine-- in cash-- on a hook-- 50 feet above me. Just dangling there. It sure does look nice from down here-- TOO BAD I CAN'T REACH IT DAMMIT!
I stop the corners of my mouth from turning up in a smile. I guess I am driving myself insane.... At least I think that's what the psychiatrist would say when the little voice in your head starts sounding like something out of "The Exorcist"....
"Em...."
The mere thought of a smile slides from my mind at the sound of his broken voice rasping my name. His voice shouldn't sound the same-- it shouldn't after everything he's put me through-- what he's turned me into-- and it doesn't--
It sounds sweeter.
"Oh god..."
His voice cracks, breaking away with desperation, and I feel my hand being lifted. A moment of sheer confusion takes me over until I'm hit with a whole new wave of shock and my heart stops in my chest.
Slowly, tentatively, he nestles my hand into his cheek.
Out of my control, my face scrunches up until I fight to set it straight again. The burning at the back of my eyes is back again with a vengeance, flooding over, creating an ocean just under my eyelids.
For a second, I can see over the cliff-- a view I've been fighting ever since his first appearance. Do I let myself fall? Will I be pushed? Or can I jump? It's a long way down-- Can I let myself trust that he's feeling it too? That he's just as lost as I? I was so sure he was in the beginning.... but letting myself go over that would mean trusting myself--
Not really an alluring option from the girl who's inner thoughts chuckle like a demonic clown....
Or I can stay back. Stay on the solid ground. Tell myself that I've misinterpreted this all-- it never really existed. The garden, and the lake, and the valleys, and the life below were all an illusion. Sit myself in the rocky dirt on top of the cliff and wait to die.
To jump or not to jump: that is the question.
The awe has not worn off yet.
It's been a while since Jason gave his silent nod and got up and left, and I'm still stunned. I am definitely not me. Or am I? Who was that talking to Jason? Me?
I know all the after-school specials say it's normal for teenagers to have to find themselves, but this is ridiculous...
Maybe I am schizophrenic....
I shake the idea off with another passive-amused laugh. Part of me knows I'm in some deep crap-- but the other part of me doesn't give a rat's ass.
Look at that-- I've diagnosed myself: Jekyl and Hyde complex.
In some ways I do feel bad......I take it back-- in a *lot* of ways. I don't want to be mean. I don't want to feel this selfish-- but it's like a boil-- unless I lance it, the poison's going to go deeper to invade me. Of course that means freaking everyone else out in the meantime...
So do I pop it.... or not?
This is why I can't 'wake up'..... There's just too much to deal with... too much to think about--
I hear the door open, and I tense.
Time to explore yet another facet of myself: Emily the actress.
It takes some concentration, but I manage to work myself into a depressed state in a short amount of time. This feeling does not feel foreign to me-- this feeling that breathing is just too much work-- something that makes me do the inevitable, something I might not really want-- to live.
I can hear my thoughts like a voice in my head-- and I don't like what it's saying. It makes my throat burn with bile and I quickly chastise myself for losing focus so quickly.
I guess I should stick to one-dimensional Hollywood.
It's only now that I realize my visitor has yet to speak, and I feel my body go cold.
It's him.
The nervous burning in my stomach changes to anger, and I come *way* too close to opening my eyes and screaming at him. His once cherished visits have turned into torturous endurances for me. His "love" is a weapon I've turned on myself-- a blunt object I seem to be repeatedly bashing myself in the head with....
Hell, maybe that's good-- maybe I can just knock all the romantic brain cells out of me.
Maybe I can just knock myself senseless-- I always thought that'd be kinda fun.
Lucky takes my hand, and I will the goosebumps to not appear on my arms. The backs of my eyes burn now-- unshed tears I refuse to set free. I've never been this frustrated in my life. I don't want to feel breathless at his touch-- I want to be just plain pissed. He's blown in here like some freakin' knight in shining armor, made me fall in love with him, and then revealed himself like the pig he is--
The pig I *reaaally* want.
It's like I've been awarded a million dollars-- yep. One million dollars-- all mine-- in cash-- on a hook-- 50 feet above me. Just dangling there. It sure does look nice from down here-- TOO BAD I CAN'T REACH IT DAMMIT!
I stop the corners of my mouth from turning up in a smile. I guess I am driving myself insane.... At least I think that's what the psychiatrist would say when the little voice in your head starts sounding like something out of "The Exorcist"....
"Em...."
The mere thought of a smile slides from my mind at the sound of his broken voice rasping my name. His voice shouldn't sound the same-- it shouldn't after everything he's put me through-- what he's turned me into-- and it doesn't--
It sounds sweeter.
"Oh god..."
His voice cracks, breaking away with desperation, and I feel my hand being lifted. A moment of sheer confusion takes me over until I'm hit with a whole new wave of shock and my heart stops in my chest.
Slowly, tentatively, he nestles my hand into his cheek.
Out of my control, my face scrunches up until I fight to set it straight again. The burning at the back of my eyes is back again with a vengeance, flooding over, creating an ocean just under my eyelids.
For a second, I can see over the cliff-- a view I've been fighting ever since his first appearance. Do I let myself fall? Will I be pushed? Or can I jump? It's a long way down-- Can I let myself trust that he's feeling it too? That he's just as lost as I? I was so sure he was in the beginning.... but letting myself go over that would mean trusting myself--
Not really an alluring option from the girl who's inner thoughts chuckle like a demonic clown....
Or I can stay back. Stay on the solid ground. Tell myself that I've misinterpreted this all-- it never really existed. The garden, and the lake, and the valleys, and the life below were all an illusion. Sit myself in the rocky dirt on top of the cliff and wait to die.
To jump or not to jump: that is the question.