"No." I shook my head, trying to clear it. It only half worked, but I could still smell the blood.
"You said you still had nightmares. Do you still have the hallucinations?" I closed my eyes as the images all came rushing back at once. Standing in the hospital, at the foot of her bed. Seeing her bloated body, the blood leaking from her mouth. If she had drowned then why was there so much blood? Beep. She was trying to save you, you know. Beep. I didn't mean to. Beep. This is all your fault. Beep. I didn't know this would happen. Beep. If only she had just let you kill yourself. I wasn't trying to kill myself. Beep. Was I? Maybe I was. Beep. I think I might have been. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
When individual beeps of a heart rate monitor became one.
I'm sorry. We did all we could. She's gone. Rest in peace Casey May Scott, heaven has another beautiful angel. The funeral, everyone dressed in black. Girls who called her names and wrote nasty things about her on the bathroom stalls crying, makeup running down their faces. She was such a good friend. They all say. What a gorgeous girl she was. Says the boy who told her she was fat. She had such a bright future. Says a teacher, who six days prior had told her she was the dumbest student he had ever had the misfortune of teaching. My turn. My turn to speak. My turn to place my flower. To say goodbye to her casket.
No. No no no. Ryan you can't stay here all night. No. Ryan it's time to go. No. Ryan come on now. No. Ryan you're making a scene! No. Ryan she did this for you. No. Ryan is this how you want to repay her? No. Ryan put down the knife. No. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan.
"Ryan?" I opened my eyes, only slightly surprised to find that I wasn't back at the hospital, or the cemetery, but instead in Ms. Morrell's office. Where I was the whole time. There's a part of my brain that registers that what I'm seeing, hearing, feeling, isn't real. But the emotions that are associated with it all are too strong for me to process that when I have an episode. Afterwards I know it's not real. Sometimes.
"Sorry?" I asked, squinting my eyes to focus better.
"Have you been hallucinating lately?" Her voice was mild and patient, like a mother with her child.
"No." I said, looking her in the eyes. I had learned how to lie believably after I realized it was necessary unless I wanted to be institutionalized. I wasn't confident about much, but my ability to lie my way out of compromising situations was something I was admittedly proud of. But there was something about Ms. Morrell that disrupted my self-assurance. I felt as if she was dissecting every word that came out of my mouth, assessing it, analyzing it. It was a bit unnerving, especially since I knew I was essentially on trial for being a psychopath.
"Alright. So why don't we start from where you are now, and work our way back. You just moved here to Beacon Hills, correct?" And this is where things get complicated.
"Yeah, last week."
"Okay. Why did you and your family decide to move?"
"My parents thought it would be good for me. They felt that our old town 'harbored too many bad memories.'" I couldn't help rolling my eyes.
"And you don't agree?" She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands.
"No. Not really. I can't just 'escape the bad memories' by moving across the country. The bad memories are always going to be with me. People keep telling me I'm not crazy, but then they list all of my psychoses. They shove antipsychotics down my throat, but tell me that I'm not responsible for my brand of crazy. So does that make me actually crazy or not? I see these "bad" memories every time I close my eyes. They happened to me. Moving across the country isn't going to change that."
"Fair enough." Her smile was warm, and I felt the knot in my stomach loosen just a bit. "What exactly happened to you?" I sighed. This was where it all got complicated.
"I only remember parts. I was having a really bad day, so I went out to the lake by my house. I always went there when I needed to think. Everything was falling apart, things were happening that I couldn't explain, no one believed me and I just…I jumped in."
"Into the lake?"
I saw it again, clear as day. The lake I had practically grown up on. A place I had always associated with peace and serenity, swimming in it as a little girl, having picnics with my parents when we still got along, camping out there every summer with my friends. And somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, it turned into a place where all of my worst nightmares came true. I could still feel the chill of the water against my bare arms, as I waded into the center. It sent a shiver through my body that seemed to start within my bones and travel up my body. I looked at Ms. Morrell, but words failed me, so instead I just nodded.
"What happened then?" I studied her expression for some kind of emotion, shock, disgust, anything, but came up short. It wasn't until then did I realize she wasn't taking notes, or writing anything down unlike any other psychologist I had been to.
"I sank." I stated dryly, eyeing her skeptically. There was something very different about Ms. Morrell, and I wasn't sure if it was something that worked in my favor or not.
"Did you know how to swim?" Her face remained placid and calm, somehow making the conversation a bit awkward.
"Yes." I swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with the entirety of the situation.
"Did you try to? To get back to the surface?"
I felt my heart rate pick up, my vision blurring slightly. Suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in on me, and my fingernails dug into the armrests of the chair I felt I was sliding out of. I heard my heavy breathing in my ears, but that was about it. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, including myself. My head felt heavy as I moved it side to side, watching as objects blurred as they moved through my field of vision. Ms. Morrell was speaking, her eyebrows pulled tightly together, but no sound registered in my head. All I heard was ringing, as I squinted to focus on Ms. Morrell's mouth, feebly attempting to read her lips.
I shook my head, holding up my hand to her. Shh, the voice in my head pleaded. Stop trying to talk please. Just stop. I picked one of the posters behind her head to focus on, a colorful one that said SELF ESTEEM in big block letters. I blocked out everything that was not that poster, noting the way the words curved upwards and downwards, the blend of colors in the background, the way the edge was slightly torn. I felt my ears pop and everything rushed back into focus all at once, making me gasp.
"Ryan?" Ms. Morrell kneeled in front of me, her voice calm and collected. But that was the only thing calm about her. She looked panicked, worry lines creasing her forehead.
"I'm okay now." I sighed, trying to keep my voice even.
"I think that's enough for today." She smiled gently, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze, before standing up and opening the door for me. I tried to reciprocate the smile, but only half of my heart was in it. I followed her out and noticed Lydia staring at the empty seat beside her, looking frustrated.
"Are you ready Lydia? Ms. Morrell called from behind me, as I smoothed down my hair and made my way over to my mother, now sitting in one of the plastic chairs. Lydia huffed agrily, before standing up and storming into Ms. Morrell's office. I blinked a few times, not sure as to what had just happened.
"How was your session?" My mother asked cheerily.
"Can we go?" I threw one last glace towards Ms. Morrell's office, the door now shut as Lydia took my place in the armchair.
"What did you do this time?" she hissed under her breath, snatching her bag from the seat next to her and hurrying out of the office after me.
"Why do you always assume I've done something?" I sighed angrily, climbing into the car. My mother climbed in next to me, shoving the key into the ignition with more force than necessary. "Shit," I muttered, suddenly noticing the absence of my bag.
"Excuse me?" my mother looked at me sternly, one eyebrow raised.
"I left my bag inside. I'll be right back." I explained, getting out of the car and running back up the steps into my new school. After retracing my steps, and finding my bag with the guidance office receptionist after reasonably leaving it in Ms. Morrell's office, I sat down against a row of lockers in the empty hallway. I checked my bag to make sure everything was still in there, before closing my eyes and massaging my temples.
I had tried so hard to make things work with my mom. All I had ever wanted was a close relationship with my parents. No one ever really understood how much it hurt me when I would see all of my friends going shopping with their moms, or going out to dinner with their moms, or even just having a god damned civil conversation with their moms. My mother was too critical of everyone and everything, and while she thought she was helping me, all she ever did was destroy my self-esteem and self-worth essentially. My father acted more like a child than an adult, and only became a parent to lecture me and scream at me when I messed up. I was completely alone in my family, and now with Casey dead and all of my other friends back home in New York, I was completely alone in the world too.
I felt another panic attack coming on, but fought it down, rummaging through my bag for my water bottle. By the time I finally felt the coolness of the bottle at the bottom of my bag, my breathing had quickened and I could feel my ears getting hot. I yanked the bottle from my bag, fumbling with it and dropping it, watching it roll across the floor. I groaned and began crawling towards it, too lazy and afraid I'd fall over to stand up. I followed it to the end of the hallway, muttering curses under my breath until it finally was halted by someone's shoe. Decidedly not a woman's shoe. I froze, the embarrassment from being caught crawling down the hallway after a water bottle evident in my bright red face. He was clad in leather, and everything about him was dark. He was either the total bad boy in school, or an escaped fugitive. The slight five o'clock shadow led me to believe it was the latter. He bent down, picking up the bottle and handing it to me, a small smirk on his face.
"Thirsty?"
A/N: Hello there! So being as this is my first Teen Wolf story, and basically the first story I've published in a very very long time, so long that I barely consider my other stories to even be stories, I would just like to thank you lovely people for reading this! And thank you all especially for reviewing! Keep the reviews coming, since I haven't written in so long they're really helpful and I'd love to know what you guys like and don't like so far! Thank you! :]
-Briana