(Disclaimer- I own...ah. I've got nothing witty to say. nevermind.)

So uh, before anyone goes "WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ANNA?!" just take a second to realize
that her own mother stuck her in a padded little cell for an entire year. she's bound to have gone a little wacko.
:) pleassseee keep reading and reviewing! thanks for the positive reviews so far.
alright. go read. :D

Psycho

I was sitting on the edge of my mother's bed. Staring. I was just sitting there, perched and motionless like a murderer from a horror film, patiently waiting for the moment in which my prey would stir from a long night's sleep. I sat waiting, watching. Even my breath was silent. I watched as her orange eyelids began to slowly disconnect, fluttering softly like the wings of a butterfly. A small smirk marked my face. My head tilted fractionally to one side, gazing intently at her face. I wanted my eyes to be the very first things she saw upon waking. I was so overjoyed by the frightened look on her face when her top lids finally departed from the bottom ones that I could have chuckled. She snapped into focus, not at all groggy in the dawn of her wake. Her breath sucked into her throat and was lodged there. She didn't speak for a moment. Her eyes were large, her eyebrows furrowed, mouth quivering slightly. It was odd that I should feel such an intense enjoyment just at the detection of her fierce panic.

"What are you doing?" She whispered in a small voice. The terror was thick in her tone. It was almost like she was pleading with me. Like she was trying to warn me without actually having proof that I had something horrible in mind. My smirk enlarged, a look of confusion crossing over my brows. I could feel the sparkle of delight in my eyes, could see in hers that she had noticed my twisted glee. Her fear intensified.

I realized suddenly, with a sharp prick of surprise, that, as of this second, I found myself to be stunningly similar to James, my old tracker friend. Well, "friend" wouldn't exactly be the word, but by the friendly tone of his voice, of his expression, much like my own comparatively amiable self at this very moment, I'd say that the word "friend" would fit just fine. I let the smile break over my mouth, showing off my teeth. Her nostrils flared, fingers tightening on the sheet she held snugly under her chin.

"Where is Dad?" I asked her sweetly. Her chin trembled as she thought through her answer. Her eyes contracted as she spoke quietly through her teeth.

"He's in the kitchen." She almost hissed. At this lie, I had to chuckle once. Could she really be this impossibly naïve as to think that I'd fall for her trick? After all, was she not soundly sleeping just minutes before? How would she know where my father was when she wasn't even awake to have been alerted of his whereabouts? She wouldn't know. She was simply saying this so that I'd have a reason to watch myself. So that I'd be more cautious. So I wouldn't do anything irrational. But I knew the truth, and he was not in the kitchen.

She clenched her teeth, the muscles in her neck tightening as she leaned away from me. I continued to laugh innocently. Just like it'd done with Edward and with James, the sweet honey of my voice made for a more impressive threat. The left side of my mouth pulled up into a sloppy grin and I shook my head unhurriedly.

"The kitchen, hm?" I asked slowly, watching each second as her expression became more and more afraid. I was almost bewildered at how blatantly terrified she was of me, but more thoroughly thrilled with my newly declared power. "How odd. I could have sworn I just watched him drive away in the Toyota." I chuckled again, faking perplexity. It amused me more so when her fingers inched to the right of her, searching subtly for the telephone. She was sincerely frightened, acting like I was capable of murder. What was she going to do, call the police? I sighed, getting up from the bed and stretching my hand out to her.

I may have been pissed, but I was not so completely engulfed in rage that I could possibly commit a murder. I found myself disgusted with the two of us, my mother and myself, as she refused my hand and sunk closer to the phone. I'd never intended to truly hurt her, only to frighten her. And I had. It'd worked. But now I felt guilty, like somehow my acting suspicious and menacing was at all worse than her drugging me and having me committed to a hospital. I now knew how Alice felt.

But I hated her more now, my mother. I hated that she thought me capable of such horrible deeds. I scowled at her before doing an about-face and sauntering into the hallway.

"Do you want breakfast?" I called to her grudgingly. I heard her shaky rejection only faintly as I bolted down the stairs. I ignored the stinging hurt her snub had caused me, occupying myself with a bowl of cereal. Before I was halfway through, her footsteps descended down the stairs. I picked up the bowl, holding it to my lips, sucking down the milk so I could get it over with quicker, panicking. I didn't want to be in this house with her for another minute. I was sick of her. Sick of the two of us. Sick to my stomach. I needed to get out. I tossed the bowl to the sink, knowing the plastic wouldn't break as it collided with the steel basin. My mom's eyes widened as the loud clanging noise echoed through the room. Her alarmed glare flickered warily between my hands, looking for signs of a weapon. My mouth fell open in astonishment. I couldn't believe this.

I pushed past her, ignoring completely the fact that she was telling me to stay in the house, and rushed out into the morning air. My tongue was sore from biting it and I flinched as my teeth caught it accidentally once more. I forced my way onto the street in my black truck, glad to have at least this piece of my old life still in tact. I'd had this truck in that…dream. That didn't change. I still had this truck. It wasn't over. I was ready to leave. I was going to find them. I refused to believe for even one moment that they didn't exist. The thought was ludicrous. Absolutely impossible. Unthinkable.

I swallowed hard. Murderer? Me? How could she think that? I would never hurt her, though I may very well want to. I mean, hell, she drugged me. She basically injected me with poison so those atrocious people could get me into that hellhole of a room with ease, without trouble. She had me locked away for a year. She had me held prisoner. All because of what she thought was a dream. But it wasn't a dream. So, in fact, I'd gone to an insane asylum by way of her own ignorance. Because she was stupid…because she was cruel and untrusting to the point of locking her kid up in a tiny white room just so she wouldn't have to face the public with a daughter at her side who thought she had a boyfriend, and really never did. But I did have Jacob. I did. And she wouldn't, nor would anyone else, be able to convince me of otherwise.

I stopped the truck on the side of the empty road when my right wheels sunk into the ditch for the fifth time. It just wasn't worth getting into an accident over. This pain, this grief that my mother had caused me…I would get over it eventually. She didn't matter. None of them did. Only Jacob and Edward. Once I had them, everything would be okay. It'd all pan out. I just had to find them.

I stuck my curled hand in front of my face, resting my pointer finger along the contour of my lips, my thumb tucked under my chin. The fingers of my right hand stayed planted on the wheel, tapping impatiently. Though I knew that I wasn't insane, I felt like I was. Everything was so weird, so out of the ordinary. My personality seemed drastically altered, much more impulsive, dangerously so. In the rearview mirror, I could see my face. I looked anxious, suspicious. Every few seconds I twitched sporadically, looking like a true psycho. I knew that these things were simply happening because of the fact that I was nervous, because I was confused and bewildered by how drastically my life had been flipped into the water. It was like someone had had a death grip on my entire existence, held it firmly under the tides of the ocean, drowned it until it lay still and motionless. Like my life had kicked the bucket, and, in place of that old life, I'd been given new, confusing little scraps of another life. Like it was my sole duty to piece them together, to make a life worth living out of these scraps of trash. I wanted to spit in the face of the one who'd done this to me. But I didn't know who to blame.

I lay my head down against the steering wheel, hoping that I could find solace in the empty space of my car, that I could drift off to sleep and sleep without dreams. I should have known that I wouldn't get my wish, not after all that had happened to me in the past year and a half. It took only two minutes for the car behind me to honk its horn. I was marginally surprised by the sudden appearance of the car, but not enough to look at it. I was not in the way of the road. Surely there was enough room for them to go around me. I stayed there, hoping they'd just continue on their way and leave me alone. It was only such luck as mine to have been stuck on a deserted road with an overly caring person. I understood why the honking continued, realizing that I must look in need of help, but I didn't care. I stuck my hand out the window without lifting my head and waved them forward, around me.

The horn honked a third time.

Sighing in aggravation, I pushed my face through the open window and turned at the waist, crawling into the seat on my knees, facing the oncoming traffic behind me. There was one solitary car. It was red. The sun glinted off the front windshield awkwardly, blinding me for a moment, but the second my eyes adjusted, my heart fell into the bottoms of my feet and my head seemed to fill with heavy, wet sand. My breath flew from between my teeth like a gust of wind. I almost screamed.

Sitting behind the wheel of the car, there was a man. He was tall, it seemed. His skin glimmered mildly in the sunshine, not sparkling, but glistening. He was shirtless. His bare skin, beautiful as it was from this distance, was red. Russet. I kicked the door of my truck open and fell to the dirt pit on the side of the road. The car behind me cut the engine and the man stepped out.

Tears slid down my cheeks.

Jacob, oh Jacob.