Quiet As A Mouse (Outsiders Fanfic)

Chapter 22- Fairytale Prince

My second psychologist's appointment was on Sunday, five days after I had allegedly tried to kill myself.  Aunt Kat came with me and was as surprised, as I had been when I first saw my psychologist, Mr. Cavanaugh. 

HIs arm was still in a cast which didn't surprise me, but my aunt gave him a curious look, though she politely didn't say anything.  She sat down next to me, looking uncomfortable as she perched on the edge of the sofa and glanced around the room.

My aunt, and I, were quickly put at ease though when Mr. Cavanaugh introduced himself to my aunt with a broad smile, shaking her hand with his good one. He then proceeded to explain what had happened that he broke his arm, and then Aunt Kat visibly relaxed, settling in next to me on the couch.

"I hope you don't mind my sitting in on this session, Dr. Cavanaugh," Aunt Kat started, "But I would like to talk to you about Michael's prescription for the anti-depressants you gave her," my aunt got right to the point, but she was still polite, as always.

"Please, call me Mr. Cavanaugh.  I don't work in a hospital," he said with a grin, sounding a little like what an older version of Two-Bit would sound like if my cousin ever got any ambition in life.  "And of course, I was just about to ask Michael how they seem to be working," he added.

"Good, I guess," I answered in my almost-completely-normal-now voice, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I can see that," he said with a smile, sounding surprised.

"Well not exactly," Aunt Kat objected, skeptical rather than mad as she glanced at me to explain.  She always believed in letting us explain ourselves first before she said anything.

I sighed and related the same story I'd told Aunt Kat on Tuesday after school to my psychologist, but once again I didn't tell the full truth.  I knew I should tell someone about trying to kill myself, but I didn't feel like that was something you'd share openly, especially with someone you've only been living with for a few weeks or your second meeting with an otherwise complete stranger.

"Well it sounds like the prescription I gave you is messing with the chemical balance in your brain, causing you to forget things more easily.  From now on only take half the dose every night, and then tell me how it's working next time," Mr. Cavanaugh immediately knew the solution.

We spent the rest of the time talking about the recent changes, such as my voice, my hair, and my gradually healing beat up face, which didn't surprise him near as much as I thought it would.  Aunt Kat remained silent most of the while, but occasionally commented on something either I or Mr. Cavanaugh said.

Afterwards, she asked me to watch Kayla, since Two-Bit had disappeared to who-knows-where, while she went job searching.  The evening with my younger cousin ended up turning out pretty interestingly.

For a while we were drawing, because Kayla's dream was to be a princess artist, as she so informed me. 

During the portrait sitting of her favorite stuffed bear, she stated, "My prince'll be Sodapop, cause then I can draw him whenever I want." 

I laughed at that and wondered where the heck she had gotten that idea from, but then she asked, "Who would your prince be?"

I let out a noise that was a mix between a laugh and a scoff at what she'd said, hardly believing that the only one I had to discuss my love life with was an eight-year-old. Who happened to have the biggest crush on Soda.  He still reminded me so much of Matthew I couldn't think of him as anything other than a half-adopted brotherly figure. 

"No one," I answered with a slight smile, but it made me wonder.  

Who would my prince be?  Maybe someone like Two-Bit—no, too annoying.  Actually, all of his friends annoyed me to some degree or another, except for Johnny, who didn't say anything, and maybe Pony, cause he was smart. 

But those were not qualities I found attractive.....And fairytales aren't real, so I won't get a prince.  But I figured I could let Kayla keep her fantasies for a while longer yet, and I began listing off qualities of a prince, as I imagined of one that would star in a storybook.

"He'd have gorgeous blond locks and blue eyes and be brave and ride a noble steed—" I started, but Kayla interrupted, asking, "What's a steed?"

And then I remembered that the only little-kid storybook she had was Mother Goose rhymes, so I explained.

"A noble steed is a horse, a big brave one.  White, or maybe my prince would be riding a silver unicorn," I suggested with a smile just to make her laugh, and she giggled.

I spent the rest of the night entertaining her with tales of this imaginary prince, battling evil knights, fighting dragons, and trudging his way through scary haunted forests to rescue a pretty princess locked in a tower.

"She'd have dark hair like you, except for it'd be long, and red lips and white skin, like Snow White.  But she wouldn't be sleeping, instead she wouldn't be able to talk like you used to, cause an evil witch put a curse on her," Kayla added to my tale.

I was a bit startled by that, cause I suppose I did have really pale skin from being sick all the time, and most days my dark brown hair looked almost black. I never thought I could turn my life into a fairytale.

Suddenly Kayla gasped and asked,  "Did one of Two-Bit's friends kiss you?  Is that why you started talking again?" she exclaimed giddily, excited about the possibility of my life being a fairytale.

I laughed and shook my head, answering, "No, definitely not.  But if you want that's what can happen to your princess," I let her have her moment.  She insisted we draw pictures of the prince and princess and the tower, and she wanted me to draw a dragon, too, but that turned out looking like a giant dog with wings.

Two-Bit and Aunt Kat found us upstairs in our room, taping pictures to the wall.