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.
Chapter Two
Tripping over myself, going nowhere.
Entry 3,
Hola World at Large!
Gosh just typing that made me miss freshman Spanish. True, we all barely passed and can hardly speak in full sentences. Yo no recuerdo nada. Sigh. I remember how flustered Danny got when just purely coincidentally the teacher had asked Danny to tell Paulina she was very pretty and he couldn't remember the word for 'pretty'. Which is 'linda', (by the way.) It's really weird in hindsight what you remember. It's the large outlines and the tiny details. It's the blatantly obvious and the tiny unimportant. But life is weird to begin with so I don't know why that surprises me.
I'm on drugs now. It's a pretty little injection of this clearish, amber-tinted liquid. It's some experimental drug to help me sleep. I had a nightmare, which I really don't feel like thinking about long enough to write it down. Besides I'm sure I'll remember it, as much as I don't want to. I woke up screaming around four, maybe four-thirty, last night. Katie was being cranky cause I woke her up. Poor baby. Maybe she needs a nap or a diaper change. Well, basically that's along the lines of the comment I made. That set her off and she said I could go back to bed and have nasty fantasies about my made-up boyfriend.
Anyway, I flipped her off so she hopped up and shoved me. I don't exactly remember retaliating but I'm sure I did cause it escalated into a full fledged, out-for-blood fight. The night nurse had to come and break it up. Poor Katie never stood a chance. Her left eye is swollen shut and, to tell the truth, I really don't feel sorry at all even though I told her I was when I was forced to. But Katie knows that too. Maybe if she wasn't such a prep and could deal with reality I could stand her. Of course, who am I to talk about dealing with reality?
So, I got prescribed some sort of new experimental drug that they invented to work on new drugs from trauma patients. Ya know, like rape victims and disturbed soldiers that are losing there minds. I'm considered a trauma patient now, I guess. Not exactly happy with it, but I can see where their coming from. If it'll get me enough sleep that I can get through the night without waking up screaming, I'm willing to try it. I don't mean to sound desperate, but that's what I'm becoming. Does that sound totally wack or what?
You know, we always made fun of Jazz for being a mini-therapist, and that she was exactly like all those horrible shrinks. Guess what? We were wrong. Not that that's any new concept. We were wrong a lot, but sitting there in that office with that woman reminds me of it daily. That bored look in her eyes makes me sick. At least Jazz was interested. Actually more than that, she was concerned.
Someone just ceased existing and all that lady can think about is what time does she need to pick up her perfect little son and daughter from private school. I'm sure she drives a hummer or some other SUV sucking all the resources out of our valuable environment. Blasted carnivore!
But anyway, I wonder how new this drug is. The night nurse had never heard of it before and she seems to be the medicine nut around here. I'm just kidding. It's just that the majority of meds around here are doled out around lights out. I don't like how they just throw a master switch somewhere and the lights go out without warning.
I don't know why but I always figured recovery homes would be afraid to leave us in the dark for ten hours a night. Where they can't stare at us, can't monitor every move we make. I mean we can't have razor's to shave our legs because we could slit our ankles but we can sit in the dark for ten hours. Where if we were silent enough, we could creep out of this room and to the bathroom and slit our wrist on the jagged part that you use to tear of the toilet paper.
A girl named Ali did that a few months before I was dragged here. She bleed to death before anyone found her. Katie was telling me on my first night here that in that stall you can actually see the grey mortar between the yellow-brown tile turned darker where her blood sat stagnant for hours before anyone found her body. But I chalked the whole thing up to 'scare the new girl' tactics. But I've heard of Ali several times since then.
She was the ridiculed one before me. Everyone is constantly reminding me that if she hadn't killed herself that I would have been off the hook. Not really, I think I could have been her friend. Because there would be no way under normal circumstances I'd talk to girls like Katie. At her old high school she was made fun of but here she had seniority so she turns around and repeats the things that always made her feel so horrible. I hate people who can't learn life's lessons.
So, I'm done writing for tonight. I have to go get my injection soon and I need time to hide the journal before Katie comes back from dropping off her finished American Lit homework and getting her meds. So until next time, World at Large. Let's hope the experimental shot doesn't make me grow an extra head or something. Time to go shoot myself up! Just kidding, someone else will do it for me.
Chapter Two, fun fun. Ah, we are beginning to get plot; even if you can't tell it yet! Hope your enjoying it. Here's a shout-out to my awesome fans: kitty00240, Ryo's destiny, Mr. Delmont, Terrasina Dragonwagon, Stormtracer, Divagurl, Hwoarangsguardie, Janus-Wolf, cheerinchick88, WormmonABC, Sarehptar, Sakura Scout, Spice Of Life, Reluctantdragon, MayB, YAY!!! Chibi Millenia Phantom, The Fuzy Llama, RainbowSerenity, RavenForever, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and StarStar16. Hope I didn't disappoint!