A/N:

As for why I haven't updated; I'm going through some hard times in my life right now, I apologize for the lack of updates because of this. Things are just extremely hectic, and as much as I love writing on Wattpad; I get bad writer's block. With my 150k word novel it's nowhere near as noticed as similar length ones.... it's just extremely hard to get my fingers back to typing; especially knowing it won't help pay the bills. I am extraordinarily appreciated of all the support and love though I have received, please don't get me wrong. It's just hard to find the time and motivation to keep writing when for the most part this story is lost in the back pages of this huge site. I get very discouraged with what is on the front page; I suppose it makes me feel this is the wrong place for my story.

Thank you for your patience and understanding. And to the many messages I have received, I apologize if I never got back to you. I get many messages from readers who can relate to Alys or Hayden- (more than I would have ever thought), that the sure volume of them makes it extremely hard to get back to. I am thankful though that for those who have struggled with mental illness, this story has helped you in some way. It makes me happy to know that I have created a story that doesn't glorify or mislead people about mental illness, but instead shows its raw truth and how you have to fight to overcome the dangers of it; but you, the real you even If broken, are fine the way you are. 

Keep on fighting my friends. I will, if you will.

.

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⊱➵➵➵➵➵➵➵⊱❂⊰➵➵➵➵➵➵➵⊰

⊱➵➵➵➵➵➵➵⊱❂⊰➵➵➵➵➵➵➵⊰

HAYDEN

My phone buzzed. A few weeks earlier Randal and I had went to Radio Shack and bought a simple security system to hook up to our iPhones. I ground my jaw now, staring at the chime. Randal's phone must have got it too, an unknown email popped up on my screen through a hidden message ap. Upon my phones foreseen investigation, it was already programed to delete itself.

[Yo man, that's like the seventh one today. I don't think it's someone checking in on it, I think it's someone either working on it or investigating it. Is your girl there?]

[No] I emailed back displeased. It better not be her, but she was also not answering my texts. There had been many times before that my security ap buzzed to let me know someone was in that room, which was something I was already anticipating. This mural was too important to not supervise and I wasn't going to take any chances with it. Since its beginning while we'd been away the ap had chimed many times, telling me someone was in there examining it. But they never hung around. I realized I should have listened to the guy at Radio Shack and got the orb with a camera in it, not just a censor.

"You'll always know when your parents snoop in your room, and what they are doing." The kid had grinned exited at me. He was just a little older than me, and clearly was still reeling from intrusive parents.

I texted Alys again. Nothing. It was almost one pm now, and I was almost positive she was done with her mother. I sent her another warning text of how I was going to put a tracking device in her.

My phone buzzed again, it was Randal's anonymous email for a second time.

[Well this could be bad. If it's Mr. Rodrigues again what are we going to do? Did you ever tell Alys he keeps snooping by when you guys aren't there?]

I hadn't. I didn't want to upset her. And it didn't matter; I knew how detailed her art was that no one would suspect there was something else underneath. The unmarked bucket of water repellent was inconspicuously set aside. The best, most unreal thing about Alys was how fast she could paint. It was breathtaking the second mural could even exist at all with how much depth she put into it. No one would ever fathom she was painting a core to other parts of it, that she was in fact painting way more than just the surface.

I pictured her hands moving simultaneously as whatever mental-barrier she held was taken down; one hand tracing upwards, the other one tracing sideways. It wasn't that obvious, not at first. She still usually restricted one hand more than the other, a habit I assumed she forced upon herself to appear normal. But still when she painted and her mind was open... both hands began to move; one after the other. I was at a loss for it the first time she let it happen. Ambidextrous.

The term was one that I was familiar with but I didn't understand the magnitude behind it... not until now. After watching her the week we were fighting, I couldn't stop watching her hands move in unison. It was beautiful. Remarkable. I knew it was a term for someone who could use both hands equally... But she wasn't using them equally... She was using them at the same time. I knew her level was something rare. I finally decided to research it... and now something inside of me fought my every restraint; something inside of me told me I had to protect her.

I didn't know how to tell her. I tried when I snuck into her room last night. I brought it up, but yet the words wouldn't leave my mouth. How could I tell her? She hadn't been alarmed when I commented on her ability; she knew of it but didn't seem to care for it or the labels and boundaries that came with it. She was more concerned with me, realizing that I didn't hate her- that I was watching her the whole time. I wanted to laugh and shake her. Alys didn't care about anything to do with herself, or how her abilities were labeled or seen.

In a life dissected and categorized by doctors, psychiatrists, and most the entire world, she refused to be a specimen under anyone's microscope anymore; including her own. She knew there some something different about her, but didn't need to look or break herself down any more than the critical people around her already had. She was her. She pulled herself together when no one else would and denied the world further claim to her identity.

I stared last night, thunderstruck. Before me, a girl who had an ability to paint the equivalent of some of the most famous and beautiful works of the world, and yet she didn't care? She didn't gloat it, she didn't even show it publically until now. And yet she thought herself an irrelevant  relevancy?  If only she knew.

In a judgmental world where everyone hid their cracks, and having broken shards meant you were ruined or destroyed, she was a shattered web of a thousand glass pieces. In a room full of clear simple vases and bowls, she was a mosaic window; broken and brought together again, shards stained to every emotion under the sun. 

She was more beautiful than the sum of all other wholes. The world didn't understand that beauty. But I did. Where others were destined for nothing but to sit seamlessly, her fractures let in the light. She let in the light.

But I couldn't tell her the truth of what I had found; I didn't want to break her down any more. I dreaded how much it would hurt her when I did. It was just another label to add to her, another textbook tag to strip away her identity. But she needed to know, it was the only way I could protect her. Still, the words hadn't come.

I was selfish.

Last night I decided not to say it, not because she wasn't ready for it, but because I was scared she would shut me out. Some greedy part of me wanted her to trust me first again; I wanted to make sure she wouldn't run from me. I needed her to let me in. So I held my tongue. That night was one of the hardest things I had ever done, I spilled my past knowing these words might just condemn me to her hatred instead. But she deserved to know my past. I just prayed she'd come to not fear and despise me anymore.

After I confessed everything, I left her to let it fully seep in. I walked to the window with dread for the new day. Until...

"Please stay with me."

Again Randal's email took up my screen [Hello?]

I will protect you, I thought, whether you want me to or not. Her broken face hung in my head like always, her injured hand she had tried to hide from me.

From everything.

[I'm heading to the school now to look for Alys.] Was all that I emailed back.

.

.

The girl smiled before me fanatically. "Mr. Rodrigues only said one student was working on the mural... but I don't see a problem in letting in the other partner. I mean, this is your project as well, after all."

I flashed my teeth at her easily, knowing full well how influential my charm could be. Only Alys had an aversion to my angelic face. "Thank you. I think we're both just nervous to get this done in time. Graduation is only a month out." Her eyes rounded as she watched my slow lazy smile and she quickly ducked away blushing. I patiently followed, noting she never once noticed the disinterest to my eyes.

As we exited the school and reached the stadium doors, she unlocked and held the door open to me. "Err... The other girl, Alys right? She has the other keys. I don't know if she locked herself in, I told her no one else was here when she asked- besides that I wouldn't let anyone back who wasn't a part of this anyway, but still you might have to knock."

I nodded and then watched as she skirted away. I glanced back out to the auditorium. My stiff hand let go of the door knob; something inside of me was tense. She really had come here alone then, without letting me know. I ground my jaw, trying to control the fear as I watched those distant doors, now wondering in the worst way why she hadn't answered her texts.

I stalked across the room, silent and deadly, telling myself she was fine. But even then there was little comfort, she had already been attacked and refused to tell me who. She didn't want my help.  When I got to the far glass doors, I hesitated listening to the other side. I couldn't hear or see anything beyond the gray curtains, so finally I tested the knob. It was unlocked. Quietly I entered.

....

Alys sat before the stone wall.

Relief instantly washed over me seeing she was fine. But then I looked at her face. My eyes widened. It looked like she wanted to scream. Her hands, arms, and face were covered in paint. Her quick fingers danced across the stone wall; two hands sculpting the details and lines over and over again. I looked towards those depraved images and felt myself tighten.  The scene was grotesque. The realistic art overwhelming and inconceivable.

I stared into those darkened acrylic eyes, a sentence written across the murals stone. They were wrote as if it was between the girls and the man...

I have not forgotten.

But; the way Alys looked as she painted them told me all I needed to know, those words were not from those girls in the mural.

They were from her.

It was then I knew who had hurt her.

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.

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ALYS

I covered the image of Jackson and the girls into those of an unknown teacher with similar resemblance, holding a history book and educating anonymous youth before him. They sat below him at desks, not on their knees, and were learning about the events and impeachment of a past president. In the background on the scene, I painted simple classroom scenery; faded but yet still a part of the stage. Behind the teacher, taped to the wall was a notice; a warning against rape and a whistle drawn against its paper.

Quietly I worked, lost in my head as I traced the lines and painted over my previous work. My fingers ached towards the end, so I let go of both paintbrushes, one in each hand, and stepped back to look upon the stone wall and mural before me.

It was becoming huge, so many parts bleeding across their scenes and merging to the other. I pondered Ms. Lexington's words; her shock and emotions when she saw my first scene of the feast. Every time there after, whenever her or another faculty would come to check off the murals day-end competition; I'd watch those thunderstruck eyes.

I dropped a small sponge I had quietly to the floor and glanced down to my hand, noting the bruising wasn't visible beneath all the splattered paint. I rotated my hand in the air and examined it, letting my mind finally find clarity now that this part was done. For so long, no eyes ever looked into the charcoal and acrylic of my subconscious. No eyes ever traced the threads to my thoughts. I didn't know what I expected when people finally peered in... I thought it would be repulsive and devastating. But seeing their amazement was somehow calming; liberating.

But it still made me a little uncomfortable with all the looks I was beginning to receive. Perhaps they thought I couldn't hear their whispers as they walked away.

"She did this?"

"In this little amount of time?"

"How is this possible?"

"This art.... it's unreal..."

I glanced to my other hand, paint and indentations from the wood handle marring my skin. Even I wasn't sure I could paint this fast, but letting my two handiness out had helped. I knew it wasn't normal and I've always hated prying eyes so I never let it show. I didn't want to be seen, and I definitely didn't want my art to be interesting. I kept a lid on any tells revealing my real intentions or the demon that lay within me, I wasn't about to invite questions on my technique or inspiration. I almost laughed at the idea of telling them the truth.

"Something funny?"

I yipped loudly and spun around, recognizing the voice instantly.

"Hayden?!" I cried. "What are you doing here?!"

He was against the far wall, leaning up in a pose that clearly said he had been there a while now. In the day's light streaming down from the glass ceiling above us, I felt at a loss for what I was seeing. I was again caught off-guard realizing how handsome he was, how absolutely incredibly dangerous yet lazy his form could appear; like a tiger prowling, purring, and rubbing its long body against mine. I swallowed roughly knowing those silver eyes watched my every move intently. Before I had feared that gaze... now they felt familiar... somehow safe.

"How long have you been there?" I asked dubiously, trying to leave my stupor of watching him behind.

He titled his head at my question before finally leaning away from the wall.

"A while. You were too lost to notice me."

My eyes widened horrified as something that should have been obvious finally clicked. "I forgot to lock the door." I whispered harshly. The moment Becky left, my demon already began to take over. I didn't fight as much as I should have, my emotions were too much to combat. But still, at least what I painted- as grotesque as it was, was something others wouldn't associate with me personally. I glanced to the door though and realized that at any point someone could have walked in on my dumbass.

"Fuck."

"Three things," Hayden said quietly. It was finally then I realized something. I almost groaned... he was angry. Jesus, he was always angry with me. And the worst thing was... I knew I totally deserved most of it.

"One; I'm putting a tracking device in you- I'm sick and tired of you ignoring my texts."

My eyes glanced to the far bag, my phone somewhere lost within it. Even if it had been ringing, my mind had been lost in the mural. I glanced back at him with narrowed eyes, trying to determine if he was being serious.

"Two," Hayden continued, "Even though no one was here today, that doesn't mean be a dumbass and not lock the door." He was getting closer and close with each step. Finally he stood over me. My heart drummed heavily in my chest watching his movements.

Something seemed off. Why did he look so strung up? Why was he so angry? I knew leaving the door unlocked should have been the reasoning, but yet he would have yelled at me right when he first got in here. No, there was something else burning behind his eyes. "Three." He whispered almost silently, He stood so close to me now, his chin tilted down to gaze at my face. A hand rose and traced my jawline, "You will never come here alone again, do you hear me?"

The tightness in his eyes revealed this was where his anger lay. I swallowed roughly, trying to keep my mouth working. "I just wanted to fix what I had damaged... and I wanted to get some more wor-"

"Alys." he cut me off..."You. Will. Never. Come. Here. Alone. Again. Do you hear me?"

I nodded quickly, more so because my heart was beating so hard against my chest I was scared he could hear it. "Yes" I whispered breathlessly, "I'm sorry."

His eyes were still partially glowing. My words had not comforted him. What had happened? Why was he so upset?

His gentle hand reached forth and grabbed mine, fingers easing along the sore skin. My jaw tightened and my peripheral swung to the mural. I tried to examine my art, trying desperately to determine if what I had drawn would have revealed who it was who had hurt me. But I didn't think so; Hayden knew I was already planning on revealing Jackson, so he wouldn't think twice about my art. And he didn't know about Jackson's words to me.

Feeling the nearness of him in front of me caused me to break away. Instantly, my mind raced to last night, to his lips on mine. When I made the first move to force him into smiling, I had no idea it would end with him on top of me, kissing me greedily, hands in my hair.

Hayden seemed displeased with my retreat, but let me walk away. I glanced back to him and noticed his shoulders were rising and falling with an elevated breath. Did he know what I had been thinking?

His hoarse voice broke through my thoughts, "Do you always tune people out when you paint?"

I hesitated, before looking up at the wall. "Not on purpose," I admitted, "it just happens. Being a recluse, I think people never notice, they just think I'm not being social as always. But I suppose in reality, I get lost in my work."

He didn't seem to like those words and I couldn't blame him, I was extremely vulnerable when I painted and hadn't fully realized it until now.  "I'll need to really watch myself I guess," I said, before finding his eyes, "I'm really sorry, I am. I should have known better. I learned with Augustine to appear calm and normal as much as I could when I drew so that she would think by disorder was benign. Now that I have claimed it's gone entirely, any hint to what you just saw would send her over the edge. I can't have that, I have to make sure she, as well as anyone else who investigates this after its done, believes I was not suffering from my past trauma and tick."

Those silver eyes watched me intently, and for a while he didn't say anything. Finally he spoke, yet his voice was calm...too calm.

"Do you like Da Vinci's work?" Those words gave no hint to his emotions or intentions but still, his eyes took in my every move.

"You're serious?" I asked. "Hayden he's one of the most famous artists there ever was, let alone all his other creations. Yes I love his work." I tried to smile but his demeanor was throwing me off kilter.

"And Michelangelo?" his head titled ever so slightly those same blank eyes devouring my form. It was the first time I realized there was a thread of tension in his voice. Why was he covering his true emotions? Why was he fighting so hard to remain passive? My heart began beating faster, a tremor moving along the darkness of the back of my mind were the PTSD Tourette lay.

"He's who inspired me.... I wanted to create his work. When he painted the chapels, he hid secret images in there. No one knew at the time because his work was so godly. He was truly one of the greatest artist of the world as well."

"Like you?" He responded easily.

My brows creased together, "What are you talking about; I am nowhere near their abilities?"

Hayden didn't say anything for a long time.

"Why are you saying this?" my teeth tugged on my inner lip, "what is the matter?"

"How many people have seen you paint the outer part of the mural?" he asked, again letting the quietness of those eyes trick me into answering.

I thought about it for a moment, "A few? Mrs. Campbell came in with Mr. Douglas that one day you were talking to them. Ms. Lexington obviously. Mr. Rodrigues has checked in at the end as well."

I didn't understand where he was going. No one saw the under mural, that I was sure. And I doubted anyone noticed I was in a daze when I painted. We planned around interruptions. The best part about being on borrowed time was we were in a tight schedule and there was no room for sudden appearances. We planned when people came in, and we did it on purpose to be at the end, when the second cloak was painted over the condemning images. If they wanted to stop in during the middle or beginning, though rare, I would work on parts of the mural that wouldn't need a cloak.

But Hayden was making me nervous.

"No more painting in front of people, do you hear me?"

I stared at him unsure. "Why?"

His eyes tightened, like he didn't want to say the next words.

"I don't want to tell you." he finally whispered. It was the first real tell of how he was feeling.  My eyebrows lowered and I shook my head nervously. "I don't understand, what is it? I want to know." But did I?

His lungs breathed in deep, his eyes searching mine. Finally he relented... "You fear Augustine might realize your disorder is well and alive. You don't care that you will get in trouble for this... all you care about is staying away from the doctors and pills. All you care about is showing no sign of having any disorder."

I nodded my head, my eyes wide and nervous. Hayden approached me cautiously, before finally running his hands along my arms, looking like he was fighting the urge to pull me closer. He almost seemed scared I was about to bolt, and then I realized I looked like I probably was.

"You're Ambidextrous, Alys." he said down to me. "You were born ambidextrous, not taught it like most cases of the world. Did you know many of the world's greatest artists and mathematicians were born with it too? Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci, Nikola Tesla, Albert Einstein... the list goes on and on"

I shook my head uneasily. Ambidextrous. The word didn't mean anything to me, nothing at least more than calling myself an artist or student. I knew enough to know it wasn't common... rare actually. Many people who were left handed were forced to relearn with their right and thus developed the ability. But that was as Hayden said... Self taught... Not born with it.

All my memories of my childhood were of both hands naturally, not one or the other. Moving at the same time. My mother hated it. My dad could do it too. So I never drew like that in front of her.

Suddenly, a distant memory of Doctor Hathaway popped into my head. He was one of the very last people who saw me draw with two hands. His reaction, one of the only few that existed to my ability. Soft brown eyes watched my hands move in unison. He never commented on them.... but he still had watched them so intently. I knew from him that day what I was doing wasn't normal. I knew why my mom didn't like it. But I didn't know why he didn't. It didn't matter though, I never asked because I realized this was something that would draw attention to myself so I stopped it entirely.

"It's common trait amongst some of the world's most famous minds?" I asked uncertain.

"Yes." Hayden replied, "not just using both hands- but using them at the same time. Just like you."

His words were making me increasingly uncomfortable and unsure.

"Do you know what else they had in common?" he asked gently.

I shook my head, again that alarm ringing somewhere inside of me. My head shook more, not to say I didn't know, but to say unconsciously I didn't want to know.

"They all had a mental illness. Something they were born with... not created from an event, like PTSD." His eyes held mine steadily. "And being naturally born Ambidextrous is a known symptom of it.  Being Ambidextrous is  considered a medical red-flag in the Psychology community."

It took a second for those words to seep in. They rolled within my skull as I retraced his words, trying to understand the dangers of what he just said. "Drawing naturally with two hands; being a natural born Ambidextrous ... was a sign of certain types of mental illnesses?" I mirrored, the words still processing within my brain.

Hayden nodded. But if that was true then....

"I might have revealed to Augustine and other doctors I still struggle with an illness?" I asked incredulously. My heart began pounding in my chest. I had done everything in my power to convince those doctors, to convince Augustine I was sane. I no longer struggled with the tick.... the blackouts.... the demon.

I began backing away instinctively, but fear flashed through Hayden's eyes, "Please don't run away from me Alys."

But my breathing was elevating; my eyes darting unsure as my feet kept pulling me back one step at a time. Wait.... Wait! Being born with a mental  illness.... Not developing it from PTSD?

I tilted my head horrified. "I don't understand," I whispered, "show me."

He knew what I was asking. Hesitantly one hand let me go and reached into his pocket. He typed in that one word, and the searches that appeared made my knees wobble. The term of natural ambidexterity was instantly connected to mental illness, every search page already there, already connecting the dots. 

Hayden's hands unrelentingly kept scrolling. I watched horrified as the naked medical disorder was laid out; the sudden revelation behind my demon ...

" Of the one percent naturally born Ambidextrous, persons are more likely to possess the LRRTM1 gene (on chromosome 2), which is linked to mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, Autism, as well as bi-polar disorders.

Self taught two handed people have less chance of being effected by split mind complications and have lower risks of carrying the LRRTM1 gene. Dangers can still be associated with forcing the mind into ambidexterity, including; higher suicide risk, depression, decreased ability to focus, mental fatigue, etc.

Complications are more prominent in native split persons, paired along with the higher likeness of persons born with LRRTM1.

Native Ambidexterity is considered a medical red flag in the Psychology  field because of this."

Each word cauterized itself to the back of my brain.

No! Its not possible. I wasn't born ill, I couldn't be! That would mean I was like my......

"My... my father," I choked.

Phantom arms from a dream long past held me in his arms. Dark eyes from a stranger long forgotten met mine gravely, lovingly, before he pushed me under the water's surface.

Lawyers and police were suddenly all I could see. They stood behind my father in the court room, whispering words I barely understood. He was mentally ill... He was still a good person though. He just needed help. His eyes met mine, dark orbs of stranger I didn't  know. He stopped writing whatever was before him, two hands letting go of two different documents. He smiled softly.

"I'm my father...." I whispered horrified. This demon inside of me, this secret veracity pulling at my hands; it wasn't all my ptsd.... Part of it was always there?

I was my father. I was capable of hurting the ones around me.

Hayden was suddenly wrapped around me, part of him keeping me from running away, part of him trying to comfort me.

"You're not your father. You are nothing like him, do you hear me?"

More tears spilled from my eyes, the glowing of his screen was still right below me. I grabbed it easily, reading where he left off. A list ascended along the screen's pane, documentation of the rare phenomenon that ran rampant amongst the world's great artist and minds.

Over and over, the very artists I tried to emulate were revealed to my eyes, an uneasy fear developing at a condition we both shared.

Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo both suffered from ambidexterity, autism, bipolar disorder and produced most of their famous works while they were manic. Mania closely approximates how people feel and behave when they are under the influence of powerful stimulants and drugs. Both artists were described as working feverishly on their masterpieces for days and nights at a time, sometimes crashing into depression, not getting anything done until their next bout of mania. Michelangelo is mostly known for his jaw-dropping paintings, including the roof of the Sistine Chapel, while Da Vinci was a painter, a scientist, an architect, and many other things.

An ambidextrous, paranoid dyslexic, Leonardo could draw forward with one hand while writing backward with the other, producing a mirror-image script that others found difficult to read—which was exactly the point.

Michelangelo an ambidextrous as well, had difficulty forming relationships with people; he had few friends and didn't even attend his brother's funeral. All of this, combined with his obvious genius in math and art, led the researchers to believe that today Michelangelo would be considered high functioning on the autism spectrum.

And it was then I fully understood what Hayden was trying to warn me about; why he wanted me to no longer draw in front of people anymore.

Augustine didn't know about my ambidexterity, she couldn't of. Long before what happened that day with my father, my mother corrected my hand-ness, forcing the right movements upon me. It reminded her too much of my father. I allowed her so that she wouldn't see him in me. Only Hathaway saw it return when I had drawn for him as therapy. I had put a stop to it there as well out of fear of other people paying attention to me. He had purposely never told Augustine about any of my sessions, never told her of what he saw....

So she didn't know.  The State ordered doctor who desperately tried to track and document any returning mental illnesses.... didn't know about the ambidexterity.

It only came out when I drew; when I was lost in a maddening frenzy that took over my fingers and mind.

Mania...

I finally understood why Augustine, after so many years, was so obsessed with my mental state of mind.

She wasn't looking for the PTSD I had. She never was. She was looking for any sign of my father's mental illness. She was looking to see if I inherited his disease.

My raw wavering eyes met Hayden as the tears slid down my cheek.

"No more painting in front of people, do you hear me."

"It's not the ambidexterity that scares you the most... is it? Its darkness, the mental rut I find myself in, paired with it?"

One might have been dismissible. Together, they meant something worse than my PTSD...

I realized.... perhaps it wasn't Doctor Hathaway who condemned me to this obsession when I was younger; telling me to draw...  Perhaps it was always in me.

It was always me.

"Don't let people see you draw." Hayden murmured in my ear, pulling me close against him, "I won't let anyone hurt you Alys. Ever."

I turned my face to look up at his, the desperation in his voice breaking through and ripping my soul, but his lips clamped over mine.

.

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A/N:

Please let me know what you think

-Helium