ALICE
The feeling of being betrayed is like no pain known to man. The feeling of being alone, is one of the worst as well. I am feeling both right now, in gigantic waves of sadness that wash over me like the waves of a tsunami, enveloping it's victim in seconds and crushing them under it's power. If only I could die like the people in the tsunamis. I think I would feel better then.
I don't know why that sent me spiraling this much, especially since I was molested only a few weeks ago and I came out of that bright and shiny. I think the differance was Asher's position in both situations. The first time it was like he was my superhero, coming in to rescue me like a stranger in the dark. The second time, he was my best friend and he abandoned me to the cold sea of fear.
The kid smelled like alcohol. He also smelled like cigarettes. His face was slobbery with the reminents of something I don't want to know about and he smashed it on mine. The worst part was that Asher laughed. His bright and honest laughter rains down on me from my memories, haunting me, treating me like I'm it's own rag doll.
I blink back the tears of pain. I can't let him have that power over me. He doesn't have the power to make me cry more than I already have. A flash of my father's angry face transforms into Asher's and I can't stop them anymore. There is nothing I can do to stop my bawling.
"Alisa," My mother's soft voice speaks through the door of my bedroom. I don't reply and I don't think she was expecting me to. "We are going to the psychologist in a few minutes, I really wish you would eat, or sleep."
Choking down my sobs I find a way to speak "I don't want to see her!" In the middle of the fragment my voice cracks tremendously and Tara opens the door, caring more about my health than my privacy.
"She will help, Alice, she will." My mom, as all Mom's should do, comforts me.
"I don't want her to help. I wanna get over this on my own. I don't want to be upset. I don't want to cry! I don't want people to look at me different. When I go to the psychologist I feel like there is something wrong with me. Is there something wrong with me? I haven't been there in over a year!" I cry to my mom, burrying my face in her shoulder.
"Oh, Alice! There is nothing wrong with you. Sometimes we all need a little help, and you need some right now. You can come in your pajamas too, but we need to leave now." Mother says, not helping me any.
"I don't know why I trusted him Mom!" I sob one last time before leaving the room to get in the car and stare out of the window for the thirty minute drive to the Psychologist in the next town.
I used to go to her every monday for two years but then at the end of last year, I had a break through and I got to go away from that routine and just go when I need something to give me an extra boost, just when I need someone new to sob to. I hate going there, but somehow at the end of the road it helps me, so I go when Tara makes an appointment, because deep down I know I need it.
When we get to the office that smells like outdated magazines and tears I take my usual seat in the far left corner where I am guarded from view for most people. When you are here, most of the people don't talk to eachother. I think in a way we are all ashamed of what we are and our reasons for being here. Some of them, you can tell why they are here because it shows all over their skin and they wear it like a new fur coat, loud and proud, but others are quiet and ashamed. I fall in to the latter category.
When I get called in my mother pats me on the back, barely looking up from her magazine that she reads every time we get here. I think it is like a sick joke to her or something. The psychology room is slightly small with a pair of matching pear green chairs that cause you to sink three feet in.
I try to sit on the edge of my chair as best as possible so that I can make eye contact with my Psychologist, Dr. Reeves.
"I haven't seen you in quite some time, Alice." She says with that normal look on her face that shows her sympathy for me. I hate that look.
"Yeah, well, the world is my oyester how am I to get upset in a place as beautifully cruel as this wonderful Earth." I say with a bite of sarcastic bitterness.
"Well said. So what brings you here today, Ali?" Dr. Reeves says, starting her list of interegation questions that begin each meeting. She takes out her pad and pen and I feel like I am being recorded as a test subject in some depression handbook for freaks.
I start the story and tell her pretty much everything that has happened since last time we met. She nods supportively at the parts I can barely choke through, and gets up to pat my back and hug me tight to her chest in a motherly embrace.
"Your situation is one of my... more unique ones, Alice. I am very proud of you for acting the way you felt would deal with the situation as best as possible." She says without a drop of insincerity in her tone.
For a second I almost believe she actually cares.
"I am sorry that we can't reach more today but I am going to pencil you in for next monday, just like usual. I have another patient waiting so I will walk you out." She says like the robotic tune of my past.
"Don't worry, I will pencil you in for later, because you aren't my top priority." Is what her words translate in my head.
I know I am right too.
The ride home is quiet as I stare out of the window, thinking about the terrible life I was given. I can tell my mom is trying to think of something to say, it is often like this after one of these type of appointments. I understand, because I didn't know what to say to Mom after her appointments either. Neither of us really hold this awkward hour of nonsupport to the permanent record of our Mother-Daughter relationship because what are you going to say to someone who is going through so much pain they have to see a mental doctor to ease it.
There isn't much you can say, that is why we leave it to the specialists, and even they don't know much about what they are saying.
When I get home I go straight to bed and curl up in the warm covers that take me in as their own, there is no getting out now. Slowly I reach over to my phone and see that there are twenty missed calls from Asher, as well as sixty unread texts. I swipe away the notification and lay the device back in it's designated spot. I am ready to go to sleep now, I just pray I don't have a nightmare.
