A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! (Cringes from blow.) I was just really busy from the end of schoolyear activities and stuff. Please forgive me . . . anyway, here's the third chapter!I should (hopefully) update my other story soon!
Disclaimer: I AM SECRETLY STEPHENIE MEYER! AHAHA! Just kidding . . . don't own Alice or the Twilight series . . .
The morning dawned cold and gray, and Alice pulled the covers over her head as if that would make what had happened last night go away. She remembered what her father had said, his angry words . . . and his promise. She was a part of this family no longer. Her heart shivered at the thought.
And then her mother was at the door, a dim silhouette. She came in quietly, not wanting to wake Cynthia. Alice stared at her balefully, the weak woman who cowered inder her father's slightest word. Who had failed to protect her.
"Wake up, sweetie," her mother said, softly shaking her. "Its time for you to go." Its time for you to go. There was an implied menace in her words.
Alice mutely allowed herself to be dressed, as she hadn't since she was small, and walked downstairs without a backward glance at her mother. It was past the time for reconciliation.
She picked at her breakfast, keeping her eyes down to avoid the glare from her father across the table. Finally he stood and snapped, "That's enough! It's past time to go. People will see."
Alice stood as her mother fluttered around her, twittering things like, "Are you sure you don't want to take something extra? . . . A bite to eat . . . One of your books . . ."
"No," Alice said, firm and more than a little cold. "I want nothing from here."
She sat dumbly in the back of the carriage as the wheels ratted on rough cobblestone beneath her, the silence tearing at her like the edge of a knife. Finally she couldn't take it any more and exploded, "How can you do this? I'm your daughter!"
"No," her father's voice was low but passionate, and it hurt more than she could imagine words could hurt. "No, you aren't. My daughter, Mary Alice Brandon, died today. I only have one daughter."
Alice swallowed against the lump in her throat, trying not to cry. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.
In no time—or had it been an eternity?—they were at the asylum. Alice opened the door on her own and tumbled out, not helped by her father. As if he would.
The asylum was dark and dank, and Alice could already smell the smell of pain and fear. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
She was in a dark cell, in the darkness, trapped alone with pain so great she could barely breathe. The shocks still hummed through her body even after the "treatment," and there was nothing but pain and darkness and loneliness. All alone. Alice wished to die, as she always wished now. Death was the only thing left to hope for.
Alice gasped, stumbling and falling against the wall. A long life in the dark. That was what awaited her. Her father glanced back, impatiently, and she struggled to continue on like nothing had happened. If this was the last time he would see her, she would be strong. Daddy's little girl.
The man at the receptionist desk was obviously bored, with alabaster skin unmarred by a single flaw and unnaturally crimson eyes. An albino? But he looked too handsome for that . . .
Her train of thought was interrupted by his voice, musical even at its driest. But somehow making her teeth stand on end . . . "Name of person you'd like to enter into the asylum?"
Her father came to with a start. "Alice," he said. "Mary Alice Brandon."
The man made out the forms, writing quickly in a flawless calligraphy. "Done," he announced to no one in particular. "You're free to go, sir. Visiting hours are from 1 to 5 on Sundays." Then he turned to Alice. "As for you," he said, gazing at her intently and a little hungrily, "I'm afraid you'll have to stay a while . . ."
Gives you chills, doesn't it? Hope you like it! Hit that lovely little review button and tell me what you think!
