Chapter 1

Edited

Insanity is often depicted as an escape route. It's an excuse to do a few crazy things and gives someone a reason to be pitied. I didn't want to be pitied. I wanted to be understood, but asking to be understood is like asking an English major to understand math. Still, even with some clarification, and terms like psychos and schizophrenia, insanity has never had a solid definition. Some people perceive insanity as a brain wired incorrectly. The Joker saw madness as an emergency exit or a safe haven. Then again, he was a murderous villain from a comic book.

"Miss Santos, are you listening?" Dr. Rodger said. He snapped his fingers, trying to get my attention. I blinked myself back to reality. I was still slouched in the same chair, in the same dull room with the same boring guidance counselor who had not been able to get me to speak for the past three years let alone in the last thirty minutes. He insisted on 'taking notes on how I was feeling' but my mind was on lockdown.

We sat in a room comfortable enough for someone with OCD. Dr. Rodgers kept his place simple with a metal desk and two leather chairs. There were motivational pictures hanging on off-white walls. Although they lacked actual inspiration, one picture was my favorite. It's a photo of an ecstatic golden retriever running through a meadow-as if it had no care in the world. There was a quote at the bottom:

"If a dog can do it, you can do it!"

Total lie.

Dogs don't worry. Dogs don't have Time to obsess with. They don't realize how much they are losing every second of every day. If dogs can do it, humans certainly cannot.

This is what happens whenever someone decides to do a few crazy things; everyone around them will presume that they are crazy. I wasn't. I was unhappy. There was a difference.

"Are we done yet?" I said. I crossed my arms and sealed my lips. I was ready to leave. He looked at me with concerned eyes like I told him his childhood hero was a heroine addict. I almost felt guilty, but being here in this room made it hard for me to breath. I knew he was only trying to help, but I didn't want help. I didn't need help.

"Yes, Miss Santos, you can go," he said. He closed his notebook with a sigh. Without saying 'good-bye,' I was out the door and back into the predictable halls of Claremont High.

The halls shrieked with silence. My hand absentmindedly grazed the walls as I walked by. Several people sat at the open cafeteria tables, many of them studying or sleeping.

I pulled out my iPod and browsed through my playlists. I picked out Kellin Quinn's cover, Iris, and let the music serenade me into repose. I wrapped one of my brown curls around my finger as I hummed in sync with the lyrics, singing the words in my head.

I walked to my locker and swung it open to grab my books for English. It was the only subject I was decent at. And I once learned writing was helpful for finding lost things. Sometimes lost things aren't meant to be found, but I was on a life-long crusade to find the shattered pieces of my well-being. I closed the locker and headed over to sit at one of the lunch tables. I enjoyed the solitude I found during free periods. It was peaceful.

I grabbed my notebook and starting writing words I thought about during my session. Therapy was probably the worst form of coping with life. But talking to a stranger was no easier to me than downing a few prescribed pills. There was an automatic thought that occurred to everyone if these were the two things your life consisted of: you were a psychotic freak. At least that was how I felt. I didn't want to be a person made up of tests and pills, so I decided to find another form of medication- writing. If I had to write to survive this idiotic place, then I'd make a career out of it.

As I continued writing, a loud bell played throughout the campus. Students formed clusters speeding out of classes. As Samantha walked out of math class, I waved both hands to flag her down to the quad. Laughing, she walked toward me with dexterity as half the football team stared at her with affection in their eyes. Sam never fit in with the cool kids, but that never stopped the boys from doing a double take whenever she was nearby. Unfortunately for all those boys, she was taken.

"What'cha doing loner?" Sam teased.

I smiled as she took the seat beside me. "Nothing, just writing." She grinned back at me with her emerald eyes and sunlit olive skin. I felt like a potato beside her.

"Hello, love," Chris said. He slid his skateboard under the table and sat beside Sam. He pulled her petite waist closer to his side and kissed her temple.

"Hi," she said. She wrapped her hands around his neck and pecked his lips. Chris had his long hair tucked behind both ears, showing off his masculine features. A straight jawline. Beautiful blue eyes that contrasted against his tanned skin. They were both beautiful human beings, making me feel even more like the root of the potato than the actual vegetable.

"Can you two get a room?" I play-gagged. They both looked at me and smirked.

"No room is a room without you in it, Alex," Chris teased, earning himself a punch from both Sam and me. My watch said I had five minutes before the last period, and finally lunch after that. Because I was an upperclassman, my schedule was unusual. I got to leave earlier because I had fewer classes to take.

"Sick child," I snorted, "I'm going to class." I put my notebook into my backpack before getting up and leaving.

Walking into Mrs. Avoc's classroom, I sat in the back, feeling the safety of the walls guarding me. My anxiety surfaced whenever I sat too close to the front, so I kept my distance. The attention freaked me out; plus, I enjoyed being able to daydream without being scared shitless by a teacher screaming at me for not paying attention. A few minutes after the bell rang, Elias Rios walked in.

I looked up and watched him scan the room until his hazelnut eyes caught mine.

Oh, no.

He looked across from me to see an empty chair up for takers.

"Thank you for joining us, Rios," Mrs. Avoc announced, watching Elias make his way toward me.

"Happy to be here, Helen," he winked, showing off a cheeky smile. The whole class burst into fits of laughter. I chuckled, slightly amused by his carelessness. Although we barely knew each other-even after years of unfortunate encounters- Elias and I mixed as well as oil and water.

"Excuse me, this is my seat," Victoria sassed as she followed her boyfriend to the back of the room. She had a spark of feistiness in her eyes that scared everyone, but I found her temper amusing. There must be quite a backstory to her sour attitude. Her blood red fingernails tapped on the desk. I refused to move.

"There are other seats," I said through clenched teeth. Even if I was nice to her, my patience was wearing out. I gestured to a free chair next to Charlie. He sat snuggled into his book making nassal-like noises, as if he was high on whatever it was within the pages.

"Eww, no. You can sit with the rest of your people," she scoffed, "because I told you, this seat is mine." I rubbed my temples in frustration. This was why I hated people. People are so petty.

"This is stupid," I said, picking up my books. I felt my stomach clench as I realized I had to give up my 'safe space' to Miss Queen Bee, but picking a fight with an animated Barbie doll was too troublesome.

"Victoria, can't you just go sit over there? She was here first," Elias blurted out. There was a tone of exasperation. We both turned to him with shocked expressions on our faces. He kept his cut eyes directed at his Victoria. She faltered for a second, but regained her composure in fear of seeming vulnerable.

"Bitch," she hissed at me before sitting next to Charlie. I smirked with satisfaction and sat back down. Elias snickered, shaking his head.

"Thanks," I murmured.

"Sure." He kept his eyes averted from mine as he tapped away on his phone. His hair was pushed down by a beanie, and his raven colored hair swayed just above his eyes. His jawline looked as if a Sculpture carved it with caution. He pulled his lip between his teeth, as though he was thinking hard on something. I turned back to Mrs. Avoc and tuned into her lesson.

"Today, I want to start by talking about last night's reading on Frankenstein. Does anyone want to make a connection between that and the Metamorphosis?" Mrs. Avoc asked. I pulled out my torn copy of Frankenstein, and read through my illegible notes written on the crisp pages. As I flipped through the pages, I heard a snicker come from beside me. I glanced up to see Elias looking at my messy book.

"Over-achiever." He shook his head laughing as if it were some kind of inside joke with himself. He pulled his beanie over his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. He was such a nuisance.

"At least I can read," I muttered to myself. A sly smirk played on his lips as he lifted his beanie. He rose a brow as if he were challenging me and shot his hand into the air.

"Mister Rios? What a surprise," Mrs. Avoc said, amused. "Go ahead."

Elias cleared his throat and sat up in his chair.

"When I first read through Frankenstein, I had a hard time connecting it to the Metamorphosis. However, I realized that they both are similar in the context of a constructed body. Victor created the Creature while Pygmalion loved his sculpture so much, the goddess turned the marble into a real woman. They both play the creators who did the creating. Although it seems like Victor is afraid of the Creature, he gave life to a monster who just wants to be understood. In Metamorphosis, Myrrha seemed like a monster in the eyes of her father because of her insestual love for him. Both books seem to emphasize that we are judged based on the body's we are born in, but we are all misunderstood in our own ways. We aren't all given the fortunes to be accepted for who we are."

Everyone stared at Elias as if he just discovered the cure for cancer. Even I was surprised. He looked at me, crossing his arms in victory. I opened my mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. I turned in my seat, sighing in defeat.

"Not sure if anyone will put that any better, so thank you, Elias," Mrs. Avoc smiled. "As a new assignment, I want you all to create your own poem-or song- about a loved one or a deep admiration for something you enjoy. You'll have two weeks to put it together and it will be part of your final grade," she said. There was a wave of groans from her annoyed students. I was pretty happy, though. Writing and music in one project? Perfect.

"I'll give you the rest of the period to work on an outline," Mrs. Avoc said. As she turned to her desk and sat down, commotion scattered throughout the room- none of them about the assignment. I wasn't exactly sure what to write yet, so I decided to doodle a little in my notebook to pass the time. I attempted to drown out the noise by listening to my ipod.

"What are you listening to?" Elias said. He poked his head over my arm, looking at the screen.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I said, looking back down to continue doodling in my notebook.

"C'mon," he said, "are you really going to be like that after I stood up for you?"

I sighed, he had a point after all. I relented and showed him my iPod. He took a look at the screen and frowned.

"Circa Survive?" Confusion was evident in his voice. I nodded and went back to my notebook, drawing a crappy guitar with my pen. Why he was surprised- I had no idea. I thought we weren't supposed to judge books by its cover?

A long silence passed between us until he tapped my shoulder. I looked up to meet Elias's gaze.

"Yes?"

He was such a nuisance sometimes.

"Err, I need help," he said, fumbling his fingers. A light blush of embarrassment appeared on his face.

"Really? Elias Rios needs help?" I mocked, feeling amused.

"Shut up," He mumbled. "Can you proof-read this for me?" I glanced at the sheet of paper, wondering if I should help him. He pouted, pushing it toward me. Giving in, I grabbed it and skimmed through it. When the bell rang, I tried handing the essay back to him, but he pushed it away, shaking his head.

"Give it to me when you're done," he said, grabbing his board.

"Okay," I said, shoving it in between the many papers stuffed in my bag. Standing, I pulled at the hem of my black V-neck, making sure everything was covered.

"Bye, love," Elias said before walking off. Ignoring his 'bye', I pushed past everyone as I headed out the door and towards the cafeteria. I met up with Sam and Chris at the center of the school's quad.

"Hey," I greeted them, sliding into the seat opposite Sam.

"Hi, how was English?" She took a bite of her burger. She could even eat a hamburger elegantly. It could really make people envious.

"Just peachy. Got in an argument with Victoria and had a delightful conversation with Elias," I said with a sharp tongue.

"Hey, my bro's not that bad," Chris defended him. Elias was one of Chris's best friend. They've had their bromance since kindergarten when they got in a fight over the "coolest hot wheels car", but called a truce during detention.

"Please, he'll date anyone with a vagina," I pointed out. Sam snickered as she continued to eat her burger.

"True, but he isn't a dick," Chris argued. I looked over at Elias's table and watched as he harassed girls on the dance team. Chris followed my gaze and shook his head, disappointed in his highly hormonal friend.

"Yeah, nice friend you've got there," I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever, see you guys later." He kissed Sam one last time before joining Elias and his friends.

"What are you going to do now?" Sam asked me, smothering a new coat of pink lip gloss onto her lips. It was pretty shameful that she got stuck with me as her best friend, since she was a Gorgeous Gina and I was a Plain Jane.

"I don't know," I said, "I'll just hang around until my mom gets here, I guess." Sam puckered her lips and slid them together to blend the color. Nodding, she picked up her bag and closed her locker.

"Alright, see you later," She hugged me before walking away. I walked toward the maintenance room. After making sure no one was around, I slid behind the door and headed upstairs to the roof- my new Safe Haven. I opened the heavy door to feel a cool wind crash against my skin. The roof expanded all around a few yards. I listened to the silence and was overcome by a harmonious sensation. Being on the roof was like being lost in Time. Nothing happened up here. Nothing mattered. I sat against a brick wall, facing the horizon where the sun was slowly meeting its end. I pulled out my journal, my fingers sliding over the superhero and music note stickers. My pen glided across the page as I entered today's date. I put both earbuds in and left the real world.

Different

You know, the hardest thing I seem to be doing is lying to myself. I keep reassuring myself that it's over and I want nothing to do with you, but the second someone says your name, a rush of wind returns the feelings right back to where it all started. People say to just give up, and that's what I'm doing. I'm really trying. I'm not going to lie, it's a work in progress. I never believed we were perfect persons. You were stuck on the ground while I float above your head, making my way to the stars. You and I... were never meant to be. No matter how much we had in common, we seem to be two very different people with two very different futures. My love for you doesn't seem to fade, but, for seconds at a time, it can be forgotten. Soon it will be minutes, hours, and one day, forever. I know this is just something in the moment, but this moment seems to last forever... why won't it end?

All of a sudden, I felt a body slip next to me against the brick wall. I was startled to see Elias of all people. Chuckling at my startled reaction, he placed his skateboard beside him.

"What are you doing here?" I said. I could feel my blood pulsating. I didn't like being distracted from my writing, especially in a place I thought was only mine.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, pulling out a Marlboro's cigarette box.

"I'm writing..." I trailed off, closing my notebook.

How'd he know where I'd be?

"What are you writing about?" He grabbed a cigarette and slipped it between his parted pink clouds.

"Stuff...could you do that somewhere else?" I asked, eyeing the smoke that escaped his lips. I never liked it when people smoked near me. He stretched out his legs, propping one over the other.

"Nah," he smiled. I smacked my head with my notebook, irritated.

"Don't hurt yourself, babe," he said, fiddling with the cigarette between his fingers. I gasped at his use of 'babe.' 'Babe' was a name used by men when they were too lazy to make up a name for their girlfriends. There was nothing special about being called 'babe'.

"Save the pet names for your girlfriend, 'kay?" I said, opening my notebook again. He chuckled and continued to inhale nicotine until the white paper lied in scattered ash beside him.

"Sure," He replied, throwing the butt over the side of the roof. Ignoring him, I began writing again. I felt Elias's eyes burning a hole into the side of my head. I looked up to see that he was actually staring at my open notebook.

"Can I help you?"

"You're really good," he admitted shyly, still reading my work. I felt my face flush.

"Thanks," I mumbled, closing the cover. I looked at my watch and read four o'clock in glowing white numbers.

"Well, I have to go," I said, standing up and making my way to the stairwell. I heard a muffled sound behind me as I began walking down.

"I'll come with," Elias said, grabbing his board. He tugged on his black beanie, making sure it stayed in place. We walked down the stairs and back into the harsh reality of the high school hallway. A few students lingered around their lockers while others rushed off toward tutoring sessions that took place in the evening. Wanting to stay late to relearn something you should've understood in class was beyond me.

"Are you lost or something? Why are you following me?" I said. I've had enough of him for one day. We continued walking towards the parking lot as he searched the ground for his answer.

"Well, you seem nice... and Chris said you thought I was a dick. So, I'm trying to prove that I'm not," he explained stubbornly, pulling his board up to his chest. Damn Chris, I thought; I could never tell him anything without him announcing it to the world.

"Fine, you aren't a dick, okay?" I sighed, "Happy?" He shook his head, his lips pulled into a puppy-dog pout. I had the sudden urge to walk up to him, hug him, and tell him I was sorry, but I shook the feeling away. That was too weird. So instead, I said, "Not happy?" He was such a kid.

"I don't know," he chuckled. I rolled my eyes, and found myself smiling. A honk came from the distance. I squinted to see my mother waving to me from the driver's seat of her car.

"Bye," I waved to Elias and hurried off. But naturally, he managed to get in one last comment.

"See you later, love," He winked before skating off. Jerk. I walked toward the car and hopped into the passenger's seat.

"How was your day?" my mom asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Fine."

I stared out into West Lake. The city was so pretty during the spring time. Flowers blossomed beautifully, making the city look livelier than it did any other time of the year. It wasn't exactly a busy city. To be honest, it wasn't much of a city at all. It was about twenty miles in diameter, and everyone knew each other pretty well.

"What about therapy?"

"Same," I said. I rolled my eyes in protest. I hated having to talk about it. She knew I was fine, yet she still pushed the sessions.

"Did Dr. Rodger see any progress?"

"Not since last Tuesday, no," I snapped. My last nerve was about to be clipped. My parents made me see Dr. Rodgers every Tuesday, even though the incident was five years ago. It made no sense to me to have to continue these nonprogressive meetings. It was a waste of time for all of us.

"Thanks smart ass, I meant how are your mood swings?" I could feel my insides clench.

"Mom do we really have to-"

"Yes we do, Alex. Your dad is worried and I'm worried," She carried on like my disaster happened only yesterday, "We're just trying to help the situation... could you at least try to talk to Dr. Rodger? He said you haven't been talking much," she sighed.

"There isn't anything more to talk about," I huffed looking out the window. My mom placed her hand gently on my thigh.

"Okay, if you really believe you're okay then I believe you."

"Sure you do..." I muttered to myself, moving my leg away. From the corner of my eye, I could see her lips bend into a frown. I felt a little guilty, but I wasn't going to apologize. I didn't need to. She was overreacting. I was the base of every psycho teen's problems, but to my parents, I seemed worse. I was a broken vase they tried so hard to fix because I was their precious work of art, but no matter how hard they forced the pieces together, I was still a kid. I couldn't be fixed with superglue and random shards of glass.

After our unending silent car ride, we finally pulled into the driveway of our small house. My mom cut the engine, but stayed in her seat.

"We just want the best for you, Alex," she frowned. If she wanted the best for me, she'd stop this nonsense with the continuous therapy sessions.

"I know, but I'm fine, mom!" I raised my voice. Her eyes averted to my arms before glancing back at me.

"Okay, okay," She calmed herself, "let's go inside." I threw my bag over my shoulder and followed her inside. My dad was settled on the couch watching the football game while my brother, Nick, played intensely on his DS.

"Are you hungry?" My mom called from the kitchen. I stumbled down the hall and into my room.

"No," I shouted as I walked down the hall. I walked into my room and locked the door. My room was covered in lyrics and quotes written in Sharpie. Sometimes I didn't know how to express myself, so I used other people's words to do it for me. I had pictures scattered around my walls of me and my family and some of Chris and Sam. A few loose articles of clothing hung on my desk chair, but other than that, my room was fairly clean.

I pulled out my brown, acoustic guitar from underneath my bed and strummed the strings until I began playing an actual tune. My fingers danced on the strings as I played Mayday Parade's "Terrible Things." Closing my eyes, I began singing along. After humming the lyrics to myself, I slipped the guitar back under my bed and turned out the light.

Why couldn't my dreams appear in my reality? That would be my exit, not the madness that stirred my thoughts. But I would always be stuck between who I was and who I am: sane and insane.