I found the time to re-read my other chapters. I think I'm going to go crawl under a rock. I think we all know I'm a shitty editor haha (and in case anyone's wondering- I am holding off full-editing until I get this story closer to the end), but I was trying to mentally evaluate how much I can hack off this story and got a little overwhelmed. It's getting long. And considering it's about 3/4ths done- that length isn't a good thing.

So my point is- coming up here soon, I'm thinking this story will disappear. When it comes back its going to have lost weight. No plot changes should have taking place (But perhaps less bonding with Tim's character? he isn't crucial and he's eating at my word count) and the first 5 chapters might dissolve into like two or three.

I suppose if I was to remove all author notes- that would slim this sort down too- but my concern (if a publisher will even consider this) it's going to be too long to get any bites.

Does self- publishing have a limit? Do any self-publishers do good?

I don't know, we'll see. At least that's all off a ways in the future.

Let me know thoughts/ideas.

Please no messages to my inbox, it will show up empty spaces when I open up messages and Wattpad hasn't helped me with recovering it yet. But you can comment or go to my profile.

-Helium

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"Perseus Freeing Andromeda" (despair collection) oil painting by Joachim Wtewael, 1611

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Exhausted, I lay on the cold floor staring up at the stone wall in front of me. I had finished the intricate corner depicting the grand slaughter and feast. After Ms. Lexington left, I was able to catch the rhythm of my dance again and complete the last details without a hitch. But again, like always, my mind finally broke out of it's haze and suddenly became aware of all the aches and pains the surrounded me.

I sighed.

I tightened my toes in the cold air, knowing I should put my shoes back on. I had to get going soon anyways, I had an appointment I couldn't miss, but still the fatigue from painting the above images held me down. I thought about all Ms. Lexington had said, and how pleased Hayden would be.

My own revenge was in painting the fools around us for who they really were and to get revenge on this establishment for what it had done to Karri. But his vengeance seemed to reach further, his anger lay with the State; though I did not know why. And whatever happened to Hayden in his past, whatever his history was with Mark Donovan and the Govenor, it was enough to bait Hayden into revealing it all, all for his own reckoning.

I had been scared his agenda would eclipse mine, but yet it seemed to fall right into my hands. It was so perfect, it almost made me nervous. I had assumed in our attempts to align everything Hayden needed for his revenge, somehow everything I needed to be done for mine would fall to the wayside. Yet so far it hadn't. Things seemed to be going in our favor. Despite it all, that pitfall of unease wouldn't cease. Everything was too perfect.... but nothing was ever perfect.

I stretched lightly and let my eyes close slightly. "So, where's the catch in this all?" I whispered to myself.

Me. Of course. The fact that I could not get away with this after I painted all the truths for the world to see. I knew that, I was prepared for that. I would probably be sued; I would probably have charges against me, I wasn't sure what ones, but I didn't care.

What I did care about was the State; about Child Services. I wouldn't turn 18 until after graduation. What I cared about was not finding myself behind white walls and clean rooms again. If I was institutionalized, it would be so easy to carry that "treatment" over into adulthood in order to deem me fit for society.  I had only been treated once when I was younger, but the fear of it still loomed over my head. So long as the rest of the world thought this was all sane, I was fine. But fearfully I wondered if my insanity would get out; if Doctor Augustine would finally capture it.

I hated her. I hater her because she was right. She wasn't evil. She wasn't some pointless villain in my life. She may have enjoyed politics, she may have favored pills and drugs more than talking, she may have ruined my life more times might I could count... but she did it all because she could see the truth. She could see my demon.

She was right about me.

My eyes tightened as I fell into the memory of watching her across the room. I was eleven. Mom hadn't picked me up from a therapy session, so Augustine had placed me in a side office to wait as she continued with her other appointments.

Child after child entered her office. The vents from the room I was in were hollow and warped; I could easily see her and her clients. Days of this happened by; my mother not showing up on time- my sight finding its way through the lower walls.

And what I saw scared me. Those children before her watched her back with my same distrust and fear. But some smiled at her, worked her over as much as they could. Others watched her with growing aggression. And there were some who were quiet and void.

All would be back again for more evaluations; most thieved from their foster parents, tried to harm the house cat or destroy their surroundings, run from their homes only for the sake fresh air brought them. Some did nothing. Some behaved themselves and tried to recover. Some needed a chance. But to her, their faces were all the same.

The frozen smile on her face remained, those cold hands showing no mercy as she typed their reports, even when some screamed and begged her not to, all for harsh prescription drugs, institutions, the experienced foster parents, and other legal asylums. She was horrible... callous... wrong.

And she was right.

They all really did wear the same faces, indifferent to the various emotions that warped them. All those characteristics I saw before me ended up proving nothing of the thoughts behind those eyes. The ones that wanted help were those that distrusted her; feared her and fought her. The ones that smiled politely were those ones who harmed others around them. The minds of humans, even if children, began to scare me more than the one peering in did. My own game of guessing who was safe proved dreadfully wrong.

Even I could not hide my own inner demon, though by some miracle I had convinced her and my mother that my compulsion to draw was what the tick had adapted to. But not the truth; not that my compulsion to replicate the lies around me was really the only thing that kept my mind from fading, the only thing that kept that darkness within me at bay.

And it was from that false benign illusion in which my disorder had become that finally allowed me freedom from her walls.

Nevertheless she had tracked me relentlessly; her smiles always in my sight, her words always in my ears, her presence in front of this mural. For we both knew it, she would always be there, always in my way, always ruining my life. For she could see something in my eyes.

But I would never forget the light streaming into my pupils beneath those vents; the image of her between every child, tightening her hands against her face and forcing a breath to leave her lungs; that small shudder that ran through her limbs. She'd compose that fault, exhale, and raise her head to let in the next.

She was the horrible, malicious, merciless... hero.

And I was the villain who prowled a school.

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I walked away from my locker. Teachers hustled by me, murmuring angry threats about how they would treat the student who dyed the school's water.

School was empty beside the few enraged faculty beside me. I heard the distant cheers of the practice squads echoing out of the far gymnasium. I wondered idly if The Common Folk had forgotten about their self-proclaimed promise to focus on the sport and not the ass. Mr. Rodriguez seemed so sure everyone would go back to worshiping the latter, and I knew he was right. The noise of practice gave no indication either way.

I stepped outside into the cool air of the afternoon spring. Summer would be approaching soon, and with that, of course, graduation. I wandered down the sidewalk and into the parking lot, eyes glancing this way and that wondering if Hayden was still here. The thought of him brought forth that ever persistent sensation I couldn't fully recall. But it was somehow still there; the warmth against my cheek, the breath on my neck. Just an echo of impressions that belonged to my dreams. I breathed in deep and mentally let go of those distractions.

My eyes found his jeep, but he was not in it. I glanced back to the school, wondering if he was still in a meeting inside. My phone screen had nothing on it, and as much as I wanted to text him- it wasn't my place.

He might have decided to help me, but he stated it was all for the sake of the mural. What could I say?

That I was worried?

I frowned, tightening my hold on my phone.

I wandered further away, but kept glancing back- hoping perhaps he would be leaving soon. I wanted to tell him about what Ms. Lexington said, of the new donation lead Randal might be able to chase, but still he never came out of the school.

But as I glanced away, a car pulled up next to Hayden's jeep. I chewed slightly on the side of my lip in apprehension as I watched Hayden get out of the vehicle. I pulled my phone out to call him, but froze when I saw his face.

There it was; that dangerous distorted anger and fury. But not just anger. It was that internal torment... pain... I had seen once before as Hayden sat outside his uncle's office; that wound I had never meant to capture and had burned when I got home.

But it was here before me again. And as Hayden slammed the door to the car, and slowly got in his jeep, I finally noted who the driver of the other car was.

Mr. Kinsley drove away without ever looking back.

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I stared at the text within my hand.

How are you doing?

I hadn't answered Hayden back. I was staring at the way each letter turned and looped, spaced and ended. The image of the screen burned into my thoughts.

What could I say? What happened? Why were you with Kinsley?

But I couldn't. I was scared. What had Doctor Augustine done? Who had she called?

What had I done?

Even if most the world didn't know it, I knew it. Mr. Kinsley had left our school after unearthing something dangerous about Hayden. Hayden had in no way stopped him, but it seemed not to matter in the end, Kinsley still left the school entirely and apparently stopped messing with Hayden's past.

But what if I had just brought Mr. Kinsley back?

I was scared to face Hayden; I didn't want to know the extent of what I had done. His words seemed so innocent, but in the truth I thought I had just stabbed him in the back and now I was second guessing over word he texted. My heart was thumping painfully in my chest as my fingers drummed their reply into the screen.

I'm fine right now, finished a large edge of the mural. Ms. Lexington had a discussion about the change of goals for this mural.

Those vague words would be enough to catch his interest, though if anyone read our phone conversations they wouldn't be suspicious of such standard information.

Sounds interesting. I will talk to you more about what she wants done when we see each other next. Where are you?

At an appointment, can't talk much longer. I replied hesitantly.

He wrote back instantly Where at?

Jupiter. The words left my fingertips swiftly, I've got to go in now.

Alys, Appeared on my screen, Are. You. Okay?

My sight softened suddenly, a weight somehow slipping partially free from my shoulders. He wasn't angry with me, was he? I had apparently not stabbed the wolf. I knew it shouldn't have meant so much to me, but I felt like collapsing into my hands in relief.

I'm fine. I replied, silencing my phone to vibrate as my appointment was about to begin. I'm seeing Doctor Hathaway. I'll call you when I'm out and we can discuss Ms. Lexington's changes. Bye.

And I slipped my phone into my pocket.

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Doctor Hathaway sighed, leaning back in his leather chair. His auburn hair was graying around the temples, brushed back away from his face. He looked more like a Dean or Professor with his love of flannel shirts and sweaters as he sat beneath aged bookshelves and golden light fixtures. His rough fingers absentmindedly lowered his glasses to hang loosely on the chain against his chest.

He had changed offices a few years earlier, and I liked that. It felt like I could leave that old chapter, that old room where I had once fractured my fingers against his walls, behind.

The past forty five minutes of explaining things had taken its number apparently. I averted my gaze from his, traveling the room again in quiet appreciation. His office was my haven. Little objects adorned the room meant to be grabbed and played with instantly; mechanical puzzles and locks, books and binders, sand gardens and mediation stones.

Items that my hands could grasp for and perhaps forget their urge for a moment.

It seemed right on cue he tossed me a new puzzle piece I had been eyeing. I caught it instantly and brushed aside the old one that had lay solved in my lap. I could hear more than see his fingers tapping his chin.

"What a mess this has become." he sighed.

"You're telling me." I laughed, but a small wince came out with it. The internal pain was hard to choke down. Dr. Hathaway had demanded this appointment after realizing I had gone missing. Thanks a lot. Hayden. I almost murmured.

"And you're sure you broke from that letter and not from the stress of painting a mural with Doctor Augustine examining it?"

I glanced up to his face, an instinctual void cloaking my eyes. The wallflower spoke with blank precision; lying where I needed to but telling the truth where it mattered. "She's always been suspicious of what happened with my journals. She's known something raw still lived inside of me, but thought those were my tick. Of course, a large mural would make her distraught, but I'm not going to dwell on it. What's done is done, if she wants to shadow me that's her decision. My mother gave her permission so there's nothing I can do about it now. No... what made me, break... was the letter."

Dr. Hathway watched me back, gazing steadily into my eyes. "You've always had an aversion to her looking at your journals. Even me. But here you are opening your mind to the entire world. That is why she distrusts it, as do I. You forget, we know they are not just your compulsions, they are your very thoughts, and you would never have done this before. So, what has changed?"

I chewed lightly on my inner lip. realizing I must have never told him the truth of this in all these recent years, "You know, for these past few years... I was good; where once I needed the psychotherapy of those journals... I knew I was starting to let them go. Drawing was more of a habit, and it was easy to put it aside for Karri or for schoolwork. But a month and a half ago she drew something inappropriate for a school prank and got in some big trouble for it..."

He was leaning forward, patiently absorbing my every word. "And you know what I realized in the end? She was fine. She was okay. They were just drawings- nothing more. My journals might be my subconscious, but I was still capable of drawing other things; things that would be... nothing more."

The first half was true. I hadn't needed to feed the compulsion. I was finally able to just draw, not to capture the images of my subconsciousness. But he never knew this, because I loved the freedom on my own mind and had decided to keep painting the world that way. But I needed him to realize I was capable to creating different art. And that this mural was just that; something different from my mind.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, "So, you really have been able to simply draw? Draw as in DRAW... not something else?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's quite nice."

He smiled slightly at that. "I'm happy to hear that, though I wish you would have told me earlier. To be honest Alys, it still feels odd- I fully understand why you will be shadowed. Doctor Augustine will be gazing at each drawing to determine if one is your tick or not. Well, what she thinks is your tick; what we know to be your psychotherapy. But still, if what you said is true- that these are nothing but drawings, that you've finally reached a level where you can separate your two disorders from art... well, this is a ground breaking."

My blank eyes took in his smile. I shouldn't feel guilty. I kept reminding myself not all my words were a lie. Drawing truly had become more of a habit; an OCD I could have broken if I had chosen to. And I had already separated art from my two disorders; my bland images in my art classes. But they meant nothing to me, never had. The groundbreaking phenomenon I just realized was how refreshing it was to have painted that art on a mural, how indebted to Ms. Lexington's words I had become, even if it was a cloak and all for nothing.

But I couldn't elaborate on that, and I couldn't return that smile of his pride. So instead, my eyes went down to my puzzle and began working its riddled edges. There was apparently some way to unclick all the corners and open it up. My skin pressed in steadily, searching for small abrasions that belied a mechanical switch.

"Alys," his voice began quietly across from me. "You know ... you won't see him."

My fingers stilled.

"There is a restraining order in effect. He was never allowed to write to you two, or contact you in any way. And he never did. I always recommend having a healthy awareness of your surroundings, so I won't tell you not to keep an eye out. But I will tell you not to over think it. You won't see him. Not unless you or your mother reaches out to him."

The puzzle sat loosely in my hands now. I never stopped staring at its edges, but the image of it no longer seemed to seep into my brain. No one could predict what my father would do. Even I, having not seen him all these years, would not be able to guess any decision he would make.

I finally glanced at the soft brown eyes across from me. Dr. Hathaway didn't say it, he didn't have to say it, but he was scared I would break again. I would lose all progress I had made when the hands of my nightmare finally came back to real life, when they finally materialized into that man before me again. I watched his fear, his nervousness. He wanted to protect me. He knew he couldn't.

"I was at the Bureau Building," I whispered softly, "And some sleazily lawyer came to me and tried to solicit me. He didn't know who I was, my past or my present, but all the same I saw him as one of them; one of those who had stood before me and judged me; condemned me. There was a moment in my veins; an uncontrollable blackness that threatened my vision, a barely restrained spring that threatened my hands."

Hathaway's face was alert and uneasy.

"And he stopped it." the confusion and gratitude slipped through, "Hayden was there. He's like me, you know? He was able to say some stupid little words, but still- the darkness faded."

I wanted to tell Doctor Hathaway about it all, about everything Karri had gone through, about all Hayden had done to help me, of all he had done in the end to find me when no one else had... but those words fell short in my mouth. But not because those secrets were never to be spoken, but because of the cold gaze that met me back.

"Alys, you have been my patient all these years. But more than that, you have been like a child to me. I don't care it isn't professional to say that, but these ten years have showed me what a beautiful, smart, extraordinary girl you are and woman you'll be."

"You don't like him." I said with resolute soundness, there was no point in mincing words and emotions. "That's fine. He had no right to step over the line like he had done. But he dragged me back, though for some god awful reason he kept calling me a rabid squirrel. He covered the wall I had carved and beaten my blackout into with white paint- without ever once giving it a disturbed glance." The memory of him over me, having finally found me seemed to burn through my mind, "He yelled at me and cussed me out, not because I broke... but because I didn't keep up with eating. Because I didn't go to a safe place to breakdown. Because I didn't do the little things I was capable of doing, but he never once faulted me for what I couldn't control."

I stopped short, pulling back my breath, realizing how heated my words had become. But the man across from me looked saddened.

"You like him, don't you?"

My eyes widened suddenly, but before I could speak, he leaned away from me and tiredly rubbed the high bridge of his nose, the glasses having left a small red line.

"Alys, he is dangerous." Those words mirrored the very ones Hayden's Uncle spoke about me, "There is something you don't know about him, but I do. After I spoke with him, I had recognized his name from a while back in the State's system. Please just stay away from him; I don't want you getting caught up in it all."

"I'm dangerous." I said softly, "You know that's Doctor Augustine's biggest fear. My journals don't meet standard code for a compulsion, but yet my psychology tells her I have PTSD. She can't make ends meet, but she has no choice but to accept that condemnatory form my disorder has taken. But what if she knew the darkness, the blackouts never left?" 

"You're not dangerous." he sighed wearily at me. "Or are you insinuating I have no idea what I am doing here? If you were dangerous or truly sick like your father was, I would do the right thing by sending you to the best intuitions out there." The hairs on my arms rose at those words, "But you're not. When the PTSD takes you, you disappear, you need to be in a safe place. But that is not true danger. Especially because we learned how to stop it and had entirely for almost ten years. Doctor Augustine's methods of pills over therapy is the only reason I have not shared your psychotherapy of drawing your emotional fuel instead of letting it burn inside of you."

My phone buzzed quietly in my pocket and I glanced down to see Hayden's name across my screen.

Call me when you're done, I'll pick you up.

Again, those unwanted memories spilled through my thoughts, the phantom dreams and sensations of being against someone all night. Of soft lips and warm breath brushing my cheek before darkness finally stole me away.

You like him, don't you?

My hands tightened uncomfortably and with a guarded gaze I looked back up at the man watching me.

"He's not my patient." Dr. Hathaway said softly. "Nor is this information confidential or inaccessible to the public. So, it is not wrong for me to say this in any way."

My brows creased together.

"It was another foster child, if I remember correctly, a boy about thirteen or fourteen. He was in foster care under a family known for taking in the more... troubled, children. The Russells, I believe. Your friend was also there."

"...What happened?" My mouth felt dry, the face across from me told me there was no way of going about this lightly. I didn't want to know, I had never felt safe with someone before- had never felt okay with who I was until him; the monster who hated us all. The monster who held me in his arms.

You like him, don't you...

"The boy died. And Hayden was charged with his death."

The puzzle was falling from my hands as a stared in horror into those unrelenting brown eyes.

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A/N:

Well I suppose we will now find out why Hayden hates the State.

Unfortunately as this is not a complete novel, you obviously can't just move along and read the next part to get a better picture. So I must task you to have faith in me and this story and I will try and get more chapters up that will help this plot line move along.

Also, I have discovered a song that can sum up Alys and this novel and one shot; enjoy your new favorite song

SONG TITLE:

I'm going to show you crazy

Artist:

Bebe Rexha