A/N: Whoot for the Queen of Inconsistent Chapter Length! Worship my superior inconsistency humans!
Joking aside, consider the disclaimer disclaimed [I own nothing but the plot and original ideas] and, yes, though you may have your doubts, this chapter IS needed. Everything serves a purpose in this piece, even the jerkface Professor. Okay?
Gaz's car hummed along the highway. She was still playing chauffer for me. I was scrunched into a tighter position than the tiny vehicle usually required. My knees were drawn up and my head rested against the window. My scalp still hurt from Zim's tugging on it a few days ago.
I should have felt happier. The voice was gone and there was no more paranoia to contend with. My head was my own. I still didn't feel well. The depression was in my way, despite my meds. It was nice to quit taking the anti-psychotics, though.
"Where'd you go after school last Tuesday?"
There was that tone again, that caring tone. I disliked it in an intense way (because hate's a really strong word) even though the question was still slathered with venom. Why did she care? I didn't understand!
"Zim's back, Gaz."
She gave me a sidelong glance. "You were with him?"
"Yeah. Look, sis, could we please stop talking now? I want to conserve my boundless energy for Dr. Morrison."
She dropped me off about a minute before my scheduled appointment time. This meant I wouldn't have to endure the waiting room and the strange looks from people who were there for other reasons than mental illness. Oh thank God for small blessings.
xXxXx
"So, Dib, how are you today?" Dr. Morrison paused to cock his head at me before taking his usual seat.
I was lying on the cotton ball couch with my feet slung over the back, kicking at the air, and my head hanging upside down. "You know, I harbor an intense dislike for that question, Doc. Ask my why I'm sitting like this. I know you want to."
He chuckled and asked.
"It serves two purposes. Three, if you think about it. First reason: my back is achy from those wretched skool desks and this makes it feel better. Next: I feel like I need a change of perspective lately because I'm just not happy and I wish I were. Finally: I'm turning my frown upside down." From my position the grin I gave him was sure to look wacky.
"Would you like to sit up?"
"Hello no! I'm stayin' like this until feel better or its time for me to leave. I have a suspicion that it'll be time for me to leave before I feel much better though," I swung my head back and forth, dusting the carpeting with my hair. Where had all of this energy come from? I was practically a zombie on the ride over! "As for how I feel today, Doc, I feel like anarchy. No one is in control of my head. Uh… my… uh… Dad has been doing some research on schizophrenia. He found some sort of compound that seems to work on me. It made my narrator go away."
"Is that why you feel out of control?"
"I suppose so. It's nice not to have anyone in my head having crazy mood swings and telling me what to do. …But I kind of miss it. I had someone to talk to all the time. Now I don't."
"That's natural for someone in your situation. However it isn't as though that part of you is gone- the emotions that created your "narrator" still exist, they have just re-assimilated with the rest of your consciousness. What prompted your father to look into mental illness?"
"God he's such a jerk. He thinks he can just be a parent now! As if the last 17 years of neglect hadn't happened. I can't stand that man, truly. To answer your question, I had a really nasty hallucination. There were these monsters that had been watching me for a long time and they finally came after me. I thought they were going to kill me… It wasn't much fun."
"Has anything like that happened since you started this new medication?" He sounded skeptical. This was his way of questioning the great Professor Membrane's work. Ha. If only he knew the truth about my instant-cure. I'd be wearing a real straight jacket then.
"Nope. I'm just depressed. Well, I'm not right now, but for the last couple of days I've been feeling very apathetic and generally unhappy. I can't figure out why and I don't know what to do about it."
"First of all you're going to want to talk to your psychiatrist about your new medication-"
"Yeah, because pills fix everything-"
"- And perhaps you should get more involved in skool. You could try joining a club or something. This is your senior year after all- you'll want to make it memorable."
I chewed my lip. "Maybe I will. I'll think about it." That translated into a big fat "No way!" but I wasn't about to tell him that. He was smart. He'd probably figure it out on his own.
"Have you made any new friends?"
"Not really. No. None. Nobody talks to me, really, but that's intentional. They're all such idiots- I don't want to associate with most of my peers."
"Most of them?"
"Pretty much all of them."
"Is there anyone who is an exception to that?"
I blushed. Damn my pale, computer-screen-bleached skin! "There's this one kid… but he's crazier than me. It'd never work out. Ever. Not in a million years."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that, not me. What makes you think you two have no chance together?"
"He comes from an entirely different planet, Doc. It just would not work."
"So, what, he's not someone your family would approve of? Is it a class thing?"
I snorted and swung myself upright again, reveling in the head rush. "Yeah, you could put it that way. I'm gonna go now, okay? Gaz will be unhappy if I'm late coming out."
He nodded, "Alright, Dib. Have a good afternoon. How's next week for our next appointment?"
"That sounds good. I'll be here." Slowly but surely we'd been working our way down to weekly appointments. That made Gaz happy because she saved more money on gas with fewer visits. It made me anxious and independent.
xXxXx
The following Friday I stomped into the kitchen and chucked my backpack into the sink. It proceeded to vomit books and ink from shattered pens. The coach had finally gotten around to physical fitness testing in PE. The process not included not only tedious exercises (I dare anyone to beat my chin-up record: 47) but an agonizing weighing process as well. I'd gained another 10 pounds. I was fighting hard to keep from breaking something.
There was a laugh from the corner. "Being disobedient, was it?" Tak sat on top of the kitchen table with her legs folded and a bag reading "Shí" in front of her. She was playing with the lacing on her shoes in a rather childish manner. It was kind of cute.
I wonder what the combination of "Xenophilia" and "Homosexuality" would be? "Homoxenophiliality"? That sounds good.
"Why'd you get Chinese?"
"You sister has recruited me in the effort to fatten you for sacrifice to the Tallest." Her deadpan delivery made me wish I could pretend she was joking. However, the few snippets of information I'd read over her shoulder while she read Irken news on her laptop rendered that rather difficult.
Irk was in the middle of a severe snack shortage and was a war- actual war, not an invasion- with another unnamed military power. This has resulted in a nasty economic recession and unrest in the masses. The plebeians were angry- they had neither bread nor circuses to keep themselves occupied with. I'd even seen a few images of Meeklings (the term, I assumed, meant something like "teenagers"- despite the total lack of age in the race- as opposed to "Smeets" for "children") dressed fashion that I'd seen in steampunk or cyber clubs. The rest of the, were at the opposite end of the spectrum, wearing their pinkish uniforms with pride and piously devoted to religious worship of- get this- not the Control Brain, but the Tallest.
Absurd, no? The latter seemed to be the case with Tak nonetheless, if her parading of the Irken flag (stickers of it were in every window of the house) and strange statements about human sacrifice were any indication.
"I'm not hungry." I turned sharply and exited, not waiting for her to reply.
Once in the safety of my room I ripped my boots off and kicked them under the bed. Devi squeaked at me from her perch on my bedpost. Her claw-feet tapped against the metal impatiently. Through my self-loathing there was a tickle of satisfaction- it was kind of nice to feel missed. I picked her up and set her on my shoulder then plopped down on my bed.
I'd managed to keep my room clean (which means in a state just below biohazard level) and I'd finished reading through my encyclopedia set three days ago. I was thinking of starting the complete and updated version of the Oxford English Dictionary, which was, in its entirety, fourteen volumes of tracing paper filled with words in print so small that a magnifying glass was required to read them. I'd bought it as an impulse-buy before my suicide attempt.
Devi crawled up the side of my head and snuffled in my ear.
"You'd better not be planning on eating my brain."
She whined.
"Yeah, they eat cow brains, Devi, not human brains. If you really want to try it I'll take you out to a farm one day and put you on a cow. You're not allowed to eat my brain- I need it for school and paranormal investigation."
A few squeaks and clicks.
"Don't remind me," I sighed, exasperated. My studies of the paranormal had been running suspiciously low, my interest in it waning in favor of collecting as much knowledge about everything else out there that was "real". That was why I had read the entire encyclopedia and was moving on to the world's most complete and huge dictionary- I wanted to stay grounded in reality.
I laid back and Devi moved to my chest. I stroked her fur. "I think I just had an epiphany, Devi. I lost my grip on reality first to the paranormal then to schizophrenia. (I mean, yeah, aliens are real, but the Chupucabara? Bigfeet? Who was I kidding?) That serious lack of control lead to even more angst so I decided to die."
I let out a breath and stared at the dots on me ceiling that were faintly glowing- somehow some light had managed to enter my room throughout the course of the day. "Wow, thanks, little mutant. You're more useful than most would think."
I set her aside and grabbed my new laptop. It was a shiny shade of espresso and had little swirly-gigs on top of it. It was a pretty contraption and was also the best that money could buy. I had equipped with amazing speed, Gobs of memory and, naturally, security that even the CIA couldn't hack through. Oh, yeah, this machine would be greatly appreciated and well used.
I logged onto my Gesichtbook page and started playing Ranchville.
A/N:
Dearest Readers-
Justmacy's compy is still out of commission so it is up to I, the invincible Invader Nae, to keep up the story.
...and I'm scared to death! I need some feedback darlings- Please let me know what you think? Good, bad, ugly? How can I improve? (And, yes, this is the last filler chapter for a while... so we all hope. ^^;;)
Love and Genetic Mutation,
Invader Nae