On The Way Down

Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.

Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.

Prologue

Sick and tired of this world.

Entry 2,

Well, World at Large, it has been a horrendous week. Katie (remember my psychotic room mate) stole my journal so now the running joke of my ward is my imaginary boyfriend. Isn't that a blast? Apparently I'm a psychotic lesbian who dreams up imaginary men in my spare time. Who knew? I sure didn't. I'm enjoying every gosh-darn hilarious moment of it.

So, I am going to stop using my-friend-who-never-existed's name. From now on, he will be known as 'The subject'. Ya wanna know why, World at Large? Because at the moment, it's too painful to hear his name over and over again as the punch line of jokes. It's already hard enough to tell fact from fiction in this loony bin. I'm not going to make it harder for myself.

I know that didn't make much sense. I mean, what difference does it make if I refer to the subject by his name or not? To be honest, I'm not sure. I really didn't expect it too. But no ones going to read this. So how much does it really matter? Does it really matter that sometimes I'm so upset that I cry myself to sleep? Does it matter that sometimes I'm so mad at him for leaving that I can't even think straight, let alone speak? At the moment, I can't see how it does. But in the long run, does it matter?

Not especially, anyway. But that's not the point. The point is that no matter how cruel the other mentally incompetent girls around this dump are, no matter how much what they say stabs at me, I can't let them know. If they know how much it hurts to hear their jeers, they win. And I can't let that happen. Cause every time I do, all I can think is that I'm all that's left of the subject and the subject never gave up. The subject wouldn't ever let anything bet him. So I can't either.

And even though I'd never admit it to any of the other girls, I miss him. I miss the way he smiled. I miss his quirky little grin. I miss the way he said the stupidest things at the most inappropriate times. That way he was always so infuriatingly dense that I wanted to strangle something. (Preferably him.) But, then again, that's all a mute point now.

Smile, life's short and we all die alone. The subject used to hate when I said that. He would say that I needed to stop being depressing, that he dealt with enough death on a day to day basis. That sentence was always followed shortly by that disappointed four-year-old put that he did so well. You wanna know something? I'd never tell him this but he looked exactly the same as when we met when he did that. Ya know, those things that make you feel like 'it's been forever' and 'it hasn't been that long' at the same time. Did that make any sense, at all?

I hate how this has become my life. I hate everything about this sicko place. I hate the way we can't decorate our rooms. I mean, they can't give me a thumbtack! After, all what if I slit my wrist with it. Gosh… I hate the way everything's white and reeks of disinfectant. I hate the way everyone thinks they have a right to know every thought that goes through my head. Heck, half the time I don't even know what the crud I'm thinking. How am I supposed to tell somebody? Yeah right, like I'd want to. I hate the way we have a therapy session twice a day. I hate the way I'm just a case number to some shrink. I know I hate everything. But that head-doctor I'm supposed to talk to tops the list.

The key word in the previous sentence is 'supposed to'. Just clarifying in case you missed it. I don't talk to her. I look around at the floor tiles. They're some ort of ivory-colored tile with black flecks in it. They seem to cover every floor in this place. I bet they got a discount for buying in bulk. Why am I even writing like someone is reading this? I think this place is getting to me.

They're coming to take me away, haha! That was a Doctor Demento song that Tucker used to sing all the time. I wonder; If Tucker and I haven't talked since first grade, how come I know that song? It makes my head hurt to think about it. I wish I could find some picture of all of us together but I kept them all in this box on a shelf in my closet. We called it the "Superstar Box" It was a joke cause we were decorating it and The subject wrote 'superstars' on it as a joke about preppy girls. But when I went to get it, (ya know, to convince myself I'm not crazy) it was gone. I would say that's weird but ninety percent of this stuff is weirder than a stupid missing photo box.

It's getting really late so I'm going to stop writing to myself about nothing I don't already know. I don't even know why I'm writing this down. Maybe I think it'll bring him back. Maybe I think it'll erase this whole missing relationship with tucker. Maybe I'm not thinking at all. All I know right now is I have a geometry assignment that I need to finish. So I may write more later. Maybe.

Who all thought I'd given up on this story? Hehe. I just had to figure out a way to write this that I liked. Now that I've figured that out this should alternate updates with My Immortal. Fun, huh? Anyways, Huggles to: Hwoarangsguardie, Terrasina Dragonwagon, CHEENAMI Danny, Janus-Wolf, Angeliz, Stormtracer, GMGIrl, Nakira Ayame Outsuno, Snow Owl Queen, GMGirl, The Fuzy Llama, Airie, Cat o'thWind, Mr. Delmont, Freed Kyes, moondragon-1001, Ghostey, RainbowSerenity, Moody Maud, CoLdPLaYeR813, cheerin4danny, Medisti, MayB, The Cheryl One, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, HyperKat, Sakura Scout, Spice of Life, RavenForever, and StarStar16. Hope you even remember this story!