Anastasia is almost normal. She has a loving father that just doesn't understand. A stable home that sometimes rocks; and a mind that tells her she's insane.
At the brink of insanity, Ana let's the voices give way- sending her straight into the arm...
loving the L vibes Dom! 🤙🏻 May 2nd, 2017 It was easy at first- after all she is my roommate- I would be incompetent if I couldn't succeed in making her believe I care about how many calories are in a single Saltine cracker. Or simply thick if I didn't understand girl-lingo and knew she was going to sleep with her long time boyfriend Jake Hunt-a nurse for the boys hall- tonight after hours. I was told that that's how the 'Balcony' is even possible- Rachel's fucking of a night nurse for the boys. Only on the first day did I feel upset about tricking Rachel. But that stopped the minute I walked into the lounge during 'reading hour' and saw Cassie standing with some Sister- I freaked until she came strolling to me and said,"Don't worry Ana- it's only been two days- but I really hope by this Saturday you can get me in!" She is so oblivious by her natural power, that she seems too happy about getting into a stupid party to see that I am actually terrified of her. That was almost five days ago- now I find myself in a completely different week. I was close. So close; I could taste the sloppy invitation. My leg bounces with no particular pattern, just fast. I adjust my position in the stiff chair, now sitting on my feet. Sister Katherine sits across from me, writing things down about how uncooperative I am in 'Singular Therapy'. "Do you think we need you here Ana?" Katherine leans over her desk on her elbows, putting a pen down as she takes her glasses off. "Because I can guarantee there is some other person out there willing to take our help-needing the help more than you. So why don't you actually start and talk, because I won't hesitate to tell Headmistress Ashwood and Doctor Greene you aren't participating in anything." Something in me clicks. A switch being flipped on- I need help. My body physically stiffens, and I look up to her with worried eyes. Words that Sam told me on my first week replay through my head,'Just say something simple- how your childhood was. Or what type of things you did before... just before.' I take a brave, deep breath and say for the first time,"I like butterflies." I twiddle with a frayed thread on my dark purple, floral printed dress. Sister Katherine puts her glasses back on and picks the ballpoint pen up- writing something with a soft smile creasing her thin lips. ••• May 4th, 2017 "And he what? Just asked you out? How does that even work?" I laugh, hanging upside down on my bedside, looking to Rachel as she does the same on her bed, her beautiful hair pooling to the floor. We giggle and pass a large rubber ball back and fourth on the hard floor. "No! It was more of a-" She turns around, stomach now on the bed,"a large quantity of make-out sessions and various gestures through extra pills for the boys, and the 'Balcony'," Rachel looks to her walls and stares at a picture of Jake she must have drawn. Her eyes dilate, and this smile that takes up her whole thin face tell me that she really does love him. I follow suit in what she does, and turn to lie on my stomach. My bare feet bang against the wall as I mindlessly throw my legs back and fourth. I did it. I close my eyes in quiet victory, an inch closer to being blackmail free. "You love him don't you?" I ask, looking to the picture of Chukkie. I've tempted to steal it-but I know Rachel will kill me before I get close enough to peel the frosted adhesive from her wall-side. She stops looking at the picture, and gets up. Her long legs-clad in yoga pants-glide to her stand, and she gets her sketchbook out. If she wasn't straight, I quirk my eyebrow to her and watch as she walks by. "I love him as much as you love my drawing of Charles," Rachel sniggers, and plops to her bed with a soft oof. She doesn't understand that Charles just isn't into me-no matter how much she claims he gave me a few Xanax for free, when he gave them to her, to give to me. I knew where-or should I say who- the pills originally come from, so I made it an easy accessible drug. One, that, I just so happened to be prescribed to. Nothing would hurt having an extra dose. "I don't love it-I simply find your talent to be unmatchable. Me being able to totally know who he was by just looking at a drawing-if that isn't talent then slap me stupid," I call to her, slapping my head lightly. I look at her curiously, when she begins to draw. Her legs holding the paper, face tight with concentration. "What are you drawing?" I ask. I get up to walk to her, but she sticks her skeletal hand out, signaling me to stop. "No way! What are you drawing?" I push on top of her, struggling to reach for her notepad she extends with her long thin arms. Rachel giggles when I try and tickle her. We both hysterically laugh, giving up on our small fight for the drawing. We collapse on her bed, our giggles dimming and breaths uneven. Eleven days ago I was pretending- now I think I consider Rachel my one and only friend. What will I tell Cassie? A knock on the open door brings us back to Ashwood Center, and I look up to see Chukkie and Max standing in the entrance of the door. I didn't expect a knock from two childlike men- but it was refreshing to see chivalry nonetheless. Rachel sits up, quickly throwing her notebook on the floor. I just rest against my arm, playing with a piece of my dirty hair. I haven't washed it in awhile-neglecting to brush it furthermore. 'Silly little thing forgetting she's just a pet?' "Hello my boys!" Rachel gets up and throws one arm over each guy, pulling them into a three-way hug. "What brings Mermaid-Man and Barnacle Boy to our door?" She giggles sitting on her bed. Max follows suit, making simple look sexy with a plain white gray shirt, an even more plain hoodie and blue jeans. I find having three people on one bed, and being by the wall, a bit claustrophobic and suffocating, so I shimmy to the end and run to my bed. I didn't need to run, but standing next to Chukkie for than a second would cause a cascading butterfly effect to reck havoc through my chest, belly, and throat. I pull my pillow to the wall, and sit against the less hard surface. My feet don't reach the end, a few inches off. I wiggle my toes and look to Chukkie. He looks away from me quickly. Caught you, I smile. "Why don't you sit down. You're giving me anxiety!" Rachel laughs, throwing a pencil at him. He's quick, and catches it; he looks over his shoulder to me, and my knees weaken. The blue pen soars through the two feet between us, and I catch it mid-throw. Impressive! Chukkie and I share this mutual curiosity toward one another- a pull of high tension like that of two magnets facing opposite poles. He doesn't look away as he sits a good distance from me by the feet. Today he looks more agitated than the last I'd seen him. A steady pout pulling his amazing, pastel nude lips since he first knocked. There is a sheen over his butterfly green eyes-pink and veiny- while they droop with the high. Where did he get pot from? I need it! Max and Rachel talk to one another. "I never took you as the knocking type Charles," I bluntly say quiet enough for just him to hear. To do so I have to lean in, but because he sees me lean in, he does the same-and it was painfully similar to the feeling I've felt them produce many times before. I hiss, gripping my forehead, tears build under my closed lids, but I stop when I hear his laugh. His laugh. In no life of mine, did I ever think I would feel this way toward a laugh. Sure I've heard it before-but every other time was cocky or annoyed. This time it was pure, a chest laugh like where most his voice comes from- yet clear as day unlike his nasally tone. I look to him now, in his Nirvana In Utero t-shirt and ripped black sweat pants and my heart breaks. My heart breaks because I can only do one of two things- I could leave and never see him again and risk the heartbreak- but in doing so break my own heart. Or I could stay and let him help duct tape my heart together just to rip it to shreds later. "What? You don't think I'm like Lucas or something do you? I was raised by a strong woman- I know how to respect a one," he looks to me and we just drink each other in," that and Rach would kill me if I didn't knock," he says while playing with my purple throw blanket. His use of 'Lucas' centers me- and also frightens me. We are close now, both sitting against the wall, almost toughing. His legs are bent, while mine are lying straight out. His arms hug his legs, and I see a few tattoos I didn't before. A small, drawn pill is etched above his elbow and a date in neat cursive is inked into his wrist. We are already so close, what could hurt to touch his tattoos? I reach out and thumb the pill- seeing blue numbers in the middle of the circle. His hand touches mine, and I have to pull away because a spark zapped its way to my chest. I can't help but smile as I touch my heart-feeling the muscle palpitate at an expeditious pace. He almost does the same, but instead of touching his heart, he touches mine. "Fuck," he whispers-and I wouldn't believe it either, but he grabs my bare arms- stitch free and almost fully healed; eight scares disfigure both my left and right forearms- and pulls me into him. Everything flows together seamlessly. I grip his worn shirt tight with my pale thin hands moving to his neck once his plump lips find mine. His large, rough hands feel amazing against my jaw as he deepens the kiss. We are no longer in room 346 at Ashwood Center in La Conner- no, we are held tight within each other's bubble feeling forgotten from the world- ironically being as we were just that-hidden from society, from our ashamed families. Banned with a sign of the dotted line. Exterior noise goes black- and the only thing I hear is his heavy breath and hard heartbeat, synchronizing with my hooked breath and sloppy kisses. He smells of cedar wood, thyme, and stale cigarettes. Our hands have a mind of their own, and explore over clothes, under. His manly hands work up my bare torso, while mine run through the back of his-so brown it looks black- hair. A few stragglers flop in front of his face, tickling my cheeks but I ignore it living on Cloud Nine as his lips leave wet spots all over my neck and clavicle. This feeling was only familiar to that of a buzz I confine in late at night in Seattle parties- a high that I get when I am eight shots, two blunts, and occasionally the friendly, few lines of coke, deep in. But now it only took his lips on me. "I kinda feel like I'm watching porn. Is it bad I'm turned on?" Max bellows through the small space. The high leaves, I sadly stay behind- pulling away mortified. Rachel and Max had been here the whole time- meaning they saw the most problematic make-out session ever. 'At least you don't need proof- two witnesses is pretty good odds of someone believing.' But that's the last thing I really want. I didn't want what happened to happen in front of people- I wanted that cliché kiss at three a.m under the shooting stars and sleepy moon, not in front of two of the closest people here- staring like we had grown two heads. I gulp, the think tension as cuttable as cake. All four of us looks around. Wondering eyes find wonder glances- These violent delights have violent ends.. Dear Diary, Day who the fuck knows I ran- as fast as my dazed mind will let me. Rachel shouts my name, Max doing the same- but Chukkie yells the loudest. Ignoring them, I hightail down the stairs, taking my way through the living space, in the cafeteria, straight to the last person that wants to see me. God. Maybe I should have stayed and apologized or asked if he felt the same explosion of fireworks I did-but I went to God! God! I asked Father John for a confession- but he laughed and said it wasn't 1942 and that he didn't really do that. Laugh. I know. I'm an idiot. After I left Father John, it was time for our Saturday Group Therapy session. That went as awful as I had imagined. Rachel kept looking at me with a look of disappointment dimming her brilliant blue eyes. I was thankful that Chukkie wasn't in my group. Dinner was usual. If counted like Rach, I consumed roughly twenty-three calories with crackers and celery-which is a negative calorie delight. I caught up with Cassie, almost breaking down over my usual panic. She said I only have a couple chances left-or I was done for. I've successfully avoided all three persons for the remainder of the night- I sit on a couch now- hidden in the darkness of the corner the moonlight can't reach. My silk nightgown gives me enough cloth to be covered- but enough openness to breath from the heat. The air conditioning is broken- and I am effected the most. I sprawl across the couch, my legs and arms forming a star. Upon closing my eyes I see him again. He touches my hair, moving the mess away from my face. My hand unconsciously reaches to where he touches. We move our hands down my neck slowly and trace circles over my sweaty, exposed clavicles. I moan softly, keeping his image in mind, I run my hands down my front, throbbing for the first time in a while. His electric green eyes flash through my head, and then his lips on mine. I'm hot. So hot. Too into myself-thinking of a stranger, in a mental hospital, touching me as I touch myself- I don't realize who is coming down the stairs. I'm almost at high, when their voices break me from the guttural finish. "So what the fuck was that? Like I wasn't the only one wanting to join right?" Max whisper-yells. It's way passed bedtime, leaning more toward two a.m maybe three. I still, holding my breath, as they walk into the living room I occupy. "Only you Maxie. I just-" Rachel physically halts, her shoes skidding the tile exuding an ear bleeding screech. "I knew she liked him, and I hoped he liked her-but damn that was hot!" She says, continuing her way to the cafeteria maybe? Max follows and their voices dim with distance, but before I can't hear them at all, I hear,"We should invite her-maybe she will be up when we go back for final call," Max says. 'Oh dear God. No. This is so stupid.' I wait until no other voices are heard, and bolt to the stairs. I find it odd that there aren't that many guards- remembering I hadn't seen one in a while. I take the same route I know like the back of my hand and fall into my bed. The simple white sheets soothe my fast beating heart. I lie and wait for whatever 'final call' is and begin to play with the ball that I still don't know where it came from, but have accepted it as mine. Tonight will be long. Please be fair, I hope to myself. Waiting. And hot. And waiting.
Word Count: 2765
chapter seven playlist: Cautious Clay- Juliet and Caesar 'Straight jacket and a hair tie//Subtle faze with some tight plays//I'm rubbernecking hard for you//Meditation's holy scars on you'
Troye Sivan- Bloom 'Take a trip into my garden//I've got so much to show ya//The fountains and the waters//Are begging just to know ya'
Mansionair- Easier 'Face up, untouched//Carving for some healing//Take of better than the rest//Game's up, it's too much//Oh you're the king of healing//Take off, I'm staring at the ground'
author note
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
🤯 Lmao to my late ass for not finding Dominic in The Hired Man until now. Mama likes a man that can pull the 'Jack Dawson' look off! 👀 🌚
