Disclaimer: I have nothing but my pretty Adam Brody shrine. Scented candles and everything, lol…nah I aint that crazy, Fox is the ruler of the OC.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, and turned me into this review addict that I am now. I appreciate it. I hope you all like this chapter, I'm trying to get to the plot as quickly as I can without ruining this. Ooh, and to my betareading chicadee, you rock girl! Without you there would be no madness.
Lost In Babylon
Ch 4
Just tell me what to say
I can't find the words to say
Please don't be mad with me
I have no identity
All that I've known is gone
All I was building on
I wanna walk with you
How do I talk to you?
Please come free my mind
Please come be my mind
Can you see my mind?
Won't you come free my mind?
I gotta find peace of mind Lauryn Hill
"Baby, it's okay…" heavy tumultuous eyes were trying to catch her gaze, and for some reason she couldn't make herself look at him. She couldn't make herself stop cringing at his touch. His touch…she paused, and noticed how familiar he seemed. He seemed solid and kind, with unruly hair to compliment the disorder in his deep dark eyes. She wanted to smile at him so badly, yet her heart shook harder against her ribs when she tried to convince her body of his worthiness of that simple gesture.
"Don't cry," he whispered under his breath, and his large hand covered hers. His face was wavering, becoming blurry and then focusing again, it made her feel so dizzy yet she couldn't look away.
"I'm here with you. I'll take care of you." She felt the need to smile at him when he said that, as a feeble reward, almost believing the sincerity in his tone. Yet there it was again, her chest was just too full with concrete emotions, making her sink further into herself.
"He'll come back right?" she asked in an almost pleading manner, trying to ignore the scene replaying in her mind. Twisted metals, the cruel fervour of the flames…sometimes it even felt like she could feel the heat coming off of it.
The world fell apart, fell down with a crash, and glass shattered everywhere. She looked down at her hands, and the small shards of pain slid down underneath her skin. No matter how frantically she clawed at her wrists…at her palms…they were still there. Gleaming bits of dirt and diamonds were sticking to her with conviction. Twinkling back at her despite the sudden darkness, they lay burrowed deep inside her, making her bleed from the inside out. She really didn't want to be reminded anymore.
"No, he's gone…" it echoed around her. No comforting words, no soothing touches…just echoes and echoes of what she didn't want to know. What she didn't want to remember…
A primal wail was heard from somewhere deep down inside her. A cry like nothing he had ever heard. She turned around then, a little startled herself, and knew he had run scared of all the demons he'd seen bleed out of her. He'd figured out her secret, her tortured treasure chest of pain.
She knew he wouldn't return. He wouldn't hold her hand any longer. Severed from herself, her wounds were left open and regret was her only friend.
"She had another episode last night." The other man nods knowingly, asking some sort of question with his eyes. "It was more frantic than the usual ones. It must have something to do with the time of the year and all."
I fix my eyes on the wall opposite me, trying to blend into the scenery so they won't notice me being there. Who am I kidding? They never noticed me…just because they were dressed in white coats they figured they were the only ones who were around. Just because they had nametags to remind them of their roles, they acted like the rest of us were fools.
Who is she? I want to ask him, but my eager eyes catch onto the name written blandly on the back of the folder in his hands. I didn't know I came in chapters, or had episodes of any sort. Instead, I busy myself by rocking back and forth, leaning on my heels and then back to the balls of my feet again. It was a soothing rhythm, a familiar set sedative, and one I had perfected while I listened in on people.
I've always had a tendency of hearing words that weren't meant for my ears, catching moments that I wasn't supposed to be a part of. It made me feel part of a whole, part of the white-coated masses that roamed the sickly green halls of this place. And I try to seek out these moments as much as I can, to remind myself of me. The "me" that doesn't need drugs to smile. The "me" that wasn't completely disjointed and lost.
"Did you speak to her about it?" One brute asks the other, while they both tug proudly at their uniforms. Perhaps to remind each other of their status, or of their sanity…either way it only makes me want to start a fire of white lab coats, but I bite my tongue and repress any unhealthy urges these two might stir up in me.
Solitary hole, voices inside my head quickly remind me, and I check myself, rocking back and forth again. Steadying everything underneath my skin, while staying invisible for as long as they'll allow me to. My ears perk up when one of the men scoffs.
"Dr. Van Dale doesn't like us overstepping boundaries, Chuck!" the man says in a way that has Chuck cowering in what must be shame. "He'll talk to her at their next session. She probably doesn't even remember." The spiteful tone in which he spits this out leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, and I try my best to ignore the heat rising up into my cheeks because of it.
The pudgy thing named Chuck glances back at me, registering my presence as his eyes glaze over a little. He doesn't even flinch. "Run along darlin'," he murmurs, but I continue my slow paced rocking back and forth…back and forth, while my feeble malfunctioning head is trying despite everything to wrap itself around the words still floating in the air between us.
I see the familiar shape of my doctor coming around the corner towards the entrance of the common room. He catches my eye, a bitter melancholy erupting from his blues that makes me want to hide from him all of a sudden. It's time for him to sweep up the debris inside my mind, and I think he knows it'll be exceptionally harder today. People have been tinkering with all the loose bits in there all day.
I follow him, mutely, somewhat relieved because those idiots forgot to check if I really did swallow my pills. I spit them out in the palm of my hand, and smear them on the hem of someone's shirt, forgetting to be concerned for what the consequences might mean for them.
Dr. Van Dale opens the door for me, and my stomach sinks at the sight of all the files he is holding. This was going to be one of the longer sessions. I can already feel the slow syrupy words smothering me with their sticky unimportance.
He sets a few stuffed folders down on top of his dusty cabinet, and tries to carry the rest of them to his desk. One or two almost slip out of his grasp, but the old man manages to keep his balance and hold onto all his documents. Yet, one lone paper defiantly flutters down onto the floor, beckoning me to reach for it. He doesn't seem to notice and I feel the need to hide it from him so I place my foot on top of it.
The old man turns his back to me, a very silly thing to do since I can feel the boundaries of my madness stretching further and further with every second. Fearlessness grabs me and I curl my fingers around what turns out to be a picture. I try to read the spidery cursive on the back but my eyes won't focus for some reason. Maybe I'm just nervous, the thrill of getting caught or the fear of what I'll find. I flip it over, and my eyes feel dry and tired as I take in the image.
Curly haired boy, I'm breathing harder now, unable to control the crescendo of nausea or confusion at the pit of my stomach. My fingertips take on a life of their own, tracing and caressing the smooth surface, trying to touch the sandy beach, trying to learn the smiles…the shine to her eyes. My eyes… I realize unexpectedly, my mind clicking in all the right places. Or wrong ones, I can't see the benefit of seeing so much happiness while all I know are these walls.
I hear the old man shuffle into his seat, and drop the picture shamefully. Don't ask, I beg him silently, don't notice what I've just seen…don't make me notice either. God, don't make me remember all of that...
