Chapter Four

My first group therapy meeting was on the anniversary of my parent's divorce. I could pretend I don't care, that it doesn't effect me, but there's no point. You already know I care enough to keep track.

The moment my father divorced my mother he divorced me, too. He wanted nothing to do with my life or my upbringing from that point on. He would have put me up for adoption if he could have gotten away with it without looking like an asshole.

The therapist asked our names. Then he asked our ages. Any medication we took. Our hometown. Our parent's occupations. Tallies, that's what we all are. A number. A pathetic portion of a statistic. How many crazy people have a cat named Kitty?

A lot.

Then he got started. I picked up on translation quickly. 'Who would like to share their feelings?' That meant, 'Who would like to put their problems out to be criticized by people with worse problems?' 'Why are you here?' means 'How come you didn't succeed in killing yourself the first time?'

Maybe I'm not exactly accurate.

"Jade." I looked up, at my new therapist. "You seem tired. How did you sleep last night?"

I stared at him, but not in his eyes. "I didn't," I muttered.

He stared back at me. Into my eyes. I reached in my bag and put my sunglasses on. I didn't want him to see my soul.

"Why is that?" he asked, pretending to care. I'm an actress, I know when other people are acting.

Because I'm scared to dream. Because I don't want to watch my body decompose. Because I don't want people inside my fortress, because the only person I can trust is myself, and that's all I'm ever going to need. I don't know where she got a key, but I want to weld the lock together and trap myself inside forever now, because it's safer that way. And I would, if she wasn't already inside.

"Just...," I started. "Not used to my new bed yet, I guess."

The reality of my situation never hit me. I never really knew what was going on. I wouldn't accept it. If I did, I would have to confront myself. And I'm done with that.

Tori Vega came to visit everyday. We didn't communicate until a week had passed. We would just sit there, thinking about our own issues. Maybe the same things, I don't know, I never will. All I really know for sure is it gets easier with her around – thinking.

I was the first to say something to break the silence – my voice was gravelly and rough. I hadn't talked much in a long time. No less than I usually do, of course. But it was a different type of silence. Absolutely no one cared what I had to say.

I asked what happened.

Her eyes darkened. The ash in them wanted to be lit up, but it was too difficult. How could you even do that? The fuel's gone.

"You tried to kill yourself, Jade," she said calmly. "That's really all there is to it." She stood, as though she was going to leave.

"Wait!" I yelped desperately, sitting up. She paused, glancing back at me curiously. "I couldn't have...," I whimpered. Sometimes it's hard for me, coming up with things to say. It's so much easier, reading from a script. I wish things in life were scripted. I wish, just one time, I could find the right words on my own.

I could see her eyes getting wet. "They found you bleeding out from the wrist, holding a pocketknife," she whispered. "If you didn't try to kill yourself, what the hell happened, Jade?"

"I... I don't remember," I sobbed. She shook her head and turned to head to the door again. "I can't remember anything, Tori!"

She paused again, but this time she turned on me, fuming. "Well maybe you beat yourself, too, okay? Maybe you gave yourself amnesia, maybe you should figure these things out before you talk to people about it!"

I shrank back. It felt so... pathetic. I needed her to understand, I needed her to know I didn't do it, even if I did. How fucked up do you need to be to not know yourself well enough to be sure you wouldn't commit suicide?

Her eyes softened, taking in my vulnerable state. "I'm sorry, Jade. I just can't deal with this right now. I care too much." She walked over to the door again, opening it partially. Then she closed it, walking over to me again.

She placed a kiss on my forehead, lingering there a while, then pulling back to look in my eyes. "I love you," she whispered quietly. "Get some sleep, Jade."

And then she was gone for good, the door was closed, and I was alone again. Left with my thoughts, which were more jumbled than ever, and my mouth gaping open like a wound.

A/N - Awwww... I think.

Thank you very much for the very kind reviews! Actually, there are only four as of now, but they're still appreciated! For those of you who didn't review, you should. Y'know. If you care.

Even if you have nothing good to say. I'd rather be told it's terrible than have it implied. ;) Eh? Did I make anyone feel guilty?

Of course, you don't have to. I understand if you have a broken hand or two. Or you're really old and your hands shake too much. Or you have a disease of some sort.

I feel like a jerk now.