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Freedom

It'd been months. Months that seemed like years to my dormant mind. But it hadn't been years, just one year. Twelve months. Twelve months and I'd proclaimed sanity. Twelve months of convincing and lying and sweet talking. Twelve months of spitting out normal, sane realities into the faces of all of those who thought me unstable. Twelve months and I was finally able to escape the madness of the blank white room, the white clothes that I'd had to wear every single day. Each and every day out of three hundred and sixty five I was stuck in those white plastic uniforms. I'd just been another piece to the room, another padded block, covering the wall, blending into the pale background that'd become my entire world. I'd managed to free myself of the straight jacket during my first few weeks. I'd only needed to wear it when I was "violent." It didn't happen often. But sometimes I just wasn't able to control myself. Perhaps I was going crazy.

I shook my head, forcing away the thought of legitimate insanity. All I cared about now was that I was free. Completely free.

The papers had been signed. I'd been released. Minutes from now the fresh morning air would slip over my face, tugging me back into reality, into the world that I'd been ripped from. Who knew that one single dream could turn your world upside down? I supposed it didn't matter much anymore. I was back. But I was no where near changed. No part of me believed that my lunacy was done for, that what had brought me to this place was fictional. Every inch of me still craved the warmth of Jacob's skin, the cool of Edward's touch. I didn't care what it cost me. I would find them. I'd just have to be secretive until I did so. Keep up my charade of sanity, my air of normality. Keep playing the good girl; keep up the false progress I'd supposedly made over the past year. Things would go fine if I could just act normal, keep my mother and father out of the know.

But that would be hard. I could tell now by the way that my mother's eyes continuously darted from the papers she was clutching in her hands to my smiling face. I knew that she would find nothing there on my features but the smile. I had become all too good at feigning ordinariness, pretending to be fine when I could quite literally have shaken one of the staff members to death for their unhearing ears. No one believed a word from my mouth. Not one spoken word of truth that departed from my desperate lips was met with understanding and conviction. The only choice now was to lie. Lie through my teeth, pray for the best. The lies were all that anyone here seemed to believe. Or maybe they didn't believe me at all. Maybe they were simply pretending to believe I'd made progress, like I'd pretended to make progress. Maybe I wasn't really as good an actress as I thought. Maybe they were just tired of dealing with me. They'd probably much rather play pretend right along with me, feign oblivion in response to my poorly produced lies just so it'd be quicker to get me out of their facility.

It was all for the best, I suppose, if they really were just trying to get rid of me. I'd rather have every single person here in front of me mutedly believe that I was a lunatic behind my back and let me off free rather than have them openly think it and keep me locked in that horrible room. I'd do anything they asked just to touch my face to the outside air, to flex my feet into the wet grass. I'd happily plunge a knife through my chest simply to escape the madness of this orderly place. It was a good thing they never allowed sharp utensils in close proximity with me while I was held captive in their little cage. I was beginning to think that people didn't go into that place already being crazy. The hospital just made them that way. I hoped that Jacob and his pack of wolves would massacre these horrible people in their disgusting white suits when I told him about them.

The thought of Jake had my smile twisting menacingly. I could feel my fingers curling into my palms, ready to attack and defend. I turned to stare down the hall so that my mother wouldn't catch my expression and tried to breathe evenly. I had to get this under control. Of all the things I'd managed to fake, this hadn't been something I'd been getting any better at. I just couldn't hide the anger I felt when I thought of him. It always enraged me, thinking that he'd never truly existed, remembering every moment spent with him, remembering every time someone had argued with me, saying that he'd been just a figment of my mind's eye. Too soon the face of the old woman, Carol, would creep into my mind and I'd hear her dizzying words replay in my mind.

"Jacob doesn't exist. Now, you listen to me. No, keep your hands behind your back. I will call the guards on you. Don't make me have to get you a straight jacket again. Please, Anna. Just listen to me. I know what you're going through. My children, too, had imaginary friends, but they had to grow out of them, just like you have to grow out of them. Edward and Jacob are imaginary. They aren't going to save you, stop saying that. No one can protect you from your own mind. Only you can help you now."

My nails cut into the skin of my hands as I flinched at the sound of her voice playing in my head. I needed to leave. I needed to get away. How dare she tell me that they didn't exist! They did exist. One day she would regret telling me that they didn't exist. She'd regret the day she ever told me that I was crazy, told me that my entire life up to this point had been imaginary. She would regret that. I would make sure of it.

A hand found its way onto my shoulder and I jumped, ready to claw at the tightening grip, my face going pallid. My eyes met my fathers just in time, just as I was about to screech. He eyed me warily, his chin sinking closer to his chest, watching me carefully. I breathed deeply, plastering the smile onto my mouth once more. My eyes stung as I looked up at his head, haloed in the artificial lighting. His face, all but hidden in the shadows, looked terrifying, ominous. The devil buried into a human body, tucked away into the form of a simple man. I shuddered at the comparison.

"Ready to go home?" He said, voice too even to be normal. I blinked at him, shocked by the tone of his voice, normal or not. I hadn't heard the sound in such a long time. I was stunned, too, by the thick lines in his face, the gray in his hair, the slight beard taking place on his chin. He looked so tired, so different. Like life had taken its toll on him in the one year I'd been away. Like he'd been the one to suffer, to sit locked up in a little room away from the rest of the world. But he'd had it easy. He didn't have to stay here, like me. So why did he look so worn? He hadn't even come to visit me. Not even once. I clenched my teeth together, still smiling tightly, and nodded, a late response. My mother trailed along behind us as we made our way to the glass door. He kept his hand tight on my shoulder, pulling back every few moments when I'd start to tip forward.

My eyes were hardly curious as I scanned the new corridors. I'd never seen the hospital before. Nothing but the white room and that scanty hallway, anyway. The first time I'd come here, I hadn't been conscious. It'd happened when my mother and I had been drinking soda one day, eating lunch. Like was usual after the night of my dream, my eyes had been frantically searching the streets through the window, my fingers clenching around the neck of my shirt, anxious and jittery. I'd screamed whenever the phone rang, flinched when the sound of the television wafted through the doorway. I'd fallen out of my chair when the toaster popped, when someone spoke, whispered. I'd been able to tell that my mother was worried, at her wit's end. But I'd never expected her to be capable of what she did to me.

To think that your own mother could spike your Pepsi. Could put an unhealthy dosage of cough medicine into the mix, stir it in, wait for it to take effect. To think that she'd have a nurse, two nurses, waiting in the shadows of the garage, ready to spring, to take action the second I fell out of consciousness. To think that my mother could watch as they dragged me away and threw me into their truck, rushed me to the hospital and locked me away in a white room with a straight jacket on. My own mother. My mom.

My fists unintentionally slammed into my sides. My father gave me a weird look, but continued at a normal pace. I sucked in as much air as my lethargic lungs could manage, trying not to give in to the urge of wrapping my fingers around my mother's neck and heaving. I could not get over the fact that she'd done that to me. I didn't care about her bullshit reasons. I didn't care if she thought that it was what was best for me, that she thought I'd never let them take me if I was awake. How dare she do that to her own child? Renee would have never done that to me.

Or would she have?

Hadn't that been an option, back when Edward left me? Had it not been spoken of? Neither parent had, at the time, wanted to be responsible for locking me away, but, if things had gotten worse, if they had truly felt that I would go insane, would they have done the equivalent? Would they have put me into an insane asylum?

Probably.

I sighed deeply, feeling the old ache make itself at home in my otherwise vacant chest. My eyes focused on the blue skies just ahead, and I had to suppress a groan. It was too blue, not at all the sky that I wanted to see. There wasn't a single cloud marring the perfect silken sapphire cap. It made me frown. Quickly, I rearranged my pout into a wide smile, acting on impulse at the sight of my father's expectant gaze. He stared at me as though he expected me to drop to my knees and kiss the dry earth in front of me. Anger rose inside of me, curling through my veins like liquid smoke, balling my fingers close, forming fists at the ends of my wrists. I hid them in the big pocket of the sweatshirt they'd brought me, still grinning at him. He pulled me quickly to the car, looking around frantically, probably hoping no one would see him here. Who wants to be seen taking their kid out of an insane asylum? My dad was always so careful about his appearance, his reputation, in society. Somebody ought to have told him that life is not a popularity contest. It's a game of war, death, and heartbreak. He'd have to get over it.

I almost wished that someone was there at that moment. That some witness, some rich man from the country club my parents attended, would show up out of thin air, just so that I could call to him, get his attention. So that I could rub it in my parents' faces that they weren't perfect, that they didn't deserve their title of normal, loving parents at all. What parents can speak positively of themselves after having produced a madman, a psycho? I almost laughed at the thought of their reddened faces as we drove away.

They would all regret the day they turned my life upside down. My parents, the stupid people at the hospital…Soon enough, they'd all be sorry.