Chapter Nine

It feels almost like I'm a faulty piece of equipment now.

Like I've been used so much, I just don't work anymore. Like I'm rusted. Like I'm useless.

Back to my father's words. How did I end up so useless? So pathetic? So uncontrolled that I had to be put in that cage of a room and observed?

I'd scribbled on the walls more, after he left. Out of spite. Ha. Take that. Maybe I am a two year old.

But if I was a two year old, I wouldn't be screwed up enough to land myself here.

I tried to turn everything gray. Soon I'd completely worn out the tip of my pencil, so I just rubbed the graphite all over the blank space, smudging it.

Maybe it wasn't as dark as the original space, but at least it wasn't white.

I went at that for hours. Maybe days, I didn't notice time passing. I didn't notice my aging.

When I was done the room was black.

Vega had to meet me in the lobby that day.

"Why are we out here?" she asked, looking confused.

I shrugged. "Cleaning," I said simply. Erasing my marks, my signature. The next person to live in that room won't look around, see black walls, and think, 'I guess it could be worse.' Or, 'Lucky bastard.' It's all perspective.

I suppose no one will ever know I've been here. Not sure if that's a good thing or not.

"I think he tried to kill me," I said.

She gaped. "Who's he?" she asked immediately.

I blinked, shocked she didn't already know. I thought we were at the mental telepathy stage. "My Dad," I said. "Who else?"

She leaned in closer to me from her seat. "Jade, are you serious? Or is this an early stage of paranoid schizophrenia?" she whispered.

I thought for a moment. "I think I'm serious," I said carefully and calmly. As if it was just a regular conversation. The kind we had everyday.

She sighed deeply. "Well, what exactly makes you think so?" she whispered urgently, grabbing my shoulder and twisting me to look at her.

I shrugged once again. "I've been having... dreams. When I sleep, y'know," I murmured to her quickly. "Doesn't matter. How's school been?"

Her mouth dropped. "What the fuck do you mean, 'Doesn't matter!' Of course it matters, Jade! Nothing else matters!" she snapped. The reception lady looked over, eyebrows raised. Tori spared her a glance. "Just rehearsing for a play. Go back to your business," she called over nervously.

The reception lady just looked away, uninterested. I suppose she's used to seeing people act insane around here.

"Jade, it's a big accusation, okay?" Tori said, pulling my eyes back to her. "Having dreams isn't going to be good enough." I'm not good enough. I know that's not what she said, I know that's not what she meant. But it's what I heard.

I'm not too used to it yet, the way she talks to me now. The swearing, the understanding aspect of it all. It's so confusing to me.

"I'm pretty sure it was his pocketknife. The one that cut me," I stated. "I don't remember everything perfectly, you know that. I just have this feeling that it has something to do with him. I don't know why."

She closed her eyes. "Tell me about your dream," she whispered softly.

When you die, a light's not all you see. There's a black hole, too. That's the pathway to hell.

You can only go to hell if you want to. That's what makes you truly evil – the lack of respect for God, or whatever there is. You have to want to be with the devil. So, if you decide you deserve hell, you take the black hole there.

Everyone gets that black hole. Doesn't matter if you were a hit man or a priest in your life, everyone has that choice. Not everyone will get that white light – heaven is like a high-security prison in that it's really hard to get there if you haven't met the qualifications. And pointless to even try.

If you don't get the option of heaven, and you don't want to go to hell, you can walk into a gray area. Earth. Purgatory. Try your hardest to be good enough for God this time around. Some people give up after awhile, deciding that being in hell is better than having to live another lifetime. Some people just keep trying.

And then there's me. The type of disturbed soul that wouldn't go to heaven even if it was offered. The type who'd rather go to purgatory. The type who hates the idea that someone could be completely pure. Or completely evil.

What no one understands is heaven is empty.

And then hell. I couldn't stand it. There would be no light at all to distract myself from the darkness in my mind.

But if Tori Vega chose to go there, I'd be directly behind her.

A/N - Sigh.

Again, don't know where it came from. I guess I have some vault for depressing rambles somewhere in my brain.

Alright, I have something to promote! If you understand half of the metaphorical meaning in this story, you should look at the lyrics to 'Hush, Hush' by Heathers. 'Cause it's really depressing. And if you got this far, you must enjoy those types of things.

That and it's an amazing song. And I swear, I'm not being paid to say that. Really.

So, tell me. If someone you loved went to hell would you follow them?

If your answer's no, you've never been in love.