A Beta Life

I slip out of bed at seven on the dot as I always do. I shuffle in a non-committal manner towards the door of my room and out into the hallway, avoiding Kitty, who is rocking back and forward in the middle of the exit.

My current roommate can be found like this at any given hour on a good day, filling her time with her rudimentary hobby. On a bad day, she is more heard than seen, usually finding herself in solitary or somewhere worse but out of sight. Out of my sight, anyway. But not out of mind, no pun intended.

Making my way to the meds counter, I chuckle at my own joke, and when I see Nurse Jamie mixing the meds and putting them into the little white paper cups, I lose my smile, resigned to the mundane routine of how my every day ran. I don't particularly love taking the meds, but I'm aware of two definitive things here: Firstly, it's next to impossible not to take them anymore. The nurses always make me stand and swallow them in front of the counter and poke my tongue out to prove that I have. And secondly, if somehow I wasn't forced to take them, I would hate the thought of what might happen.

It's been months since my last episode, and the haze that the drugs create is much softer than the aftershock the nightmare of the episodes causes. Either way, all of the above is far better than what happened the night surrounded by a pile of innocent people that were mortally wounded or worse. No. For me it's simple; take the meds and live a semi-normal life. As normal as my life can be in this institution I now call home, that is. It's coming up to a full year now that I've called Beta Stone Lodge my home. I'm almost accustomed to the regimented life of each day. Wake up, take the meds, sleep off the after affects, lunch, therapy, more therapy, and then one-on-one sessions with Dr. Jasper. It wasn't the life I wanted to live, but whatever they're giving me here stopped the attacks for two months solid, and that alone gave me a glimpse of something I haven't had in a while: hope. The pity of that particular irony does not escape me. For now, I pursue the distant possibility of a future where I won't have to live this secluded, lonely, and controlled life. Maybe after I complete my care here, I won't always dream about my body burning and splitting into pieces., my mind being pulled into a different reality, one where I am someone else. Something not human. Perhaps I will be free of the night terrors that plague me, putting pictures into my turbulent brain and showing me a future where I become someone else. Someone horrid. Evil. Maybe one day, when I am well, I won't dream about turning into a monster. The doctor calls it delusions, an altered reality that is a part of my many disorders, the outcome of a troubled childhood I barely recall. But when I'm alone, pondering the meaning of it all, I often feel like it's more than that. Something deep inside my subconscious feels like it could be more than anyone truly understands. My mind, it calls to me, beckoning me to uncover the truth. But what exactly is the truth? Who and what am I? Maybe soon I'll find someone who believes me when I say I'm not sick. I know it sounds like the typical 'it's not me, it's them' story here, but I swear it's not.

Aidalyn

Rhythmic groaning in time to the whirring of ceiling fan alerts me to the fact that I'm awake before the alarm again. And by alarm, I mean Kitty. My roomie is consistent, and at least I can count on that. The incessant rocking and banging are loud and hard enough that the syncopated sound wakes me just before the lights are turned on each morning. It's happened like this, each day like clockwork, since I arrived here. On instinct, I know what's about to happen, so my body doesn't bother with the pretence of trying to sleep any longer. I pull back the scratchy, standard-issue covers and slide out of my tiny cot-like bed. The furniture here leaves a lot to be desired, but then again, it's a state facility with minimal funding. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting. And it's practically a Hilton compared to my last court-ordered venue. The cracking of my neck and knuckles alike as I move to sit lets me know that my body wasn't as docile as my mind last night. Traitorous muscles and bones. , which means my mind was quiet, but physically, I feel like I've been running a marathon or at the very least taking advantage of the spacious grounds that Beta Stone Lodge boasts. But I haven't. That much I know for sure. I haven't even been allowed privileges to be outside this place, the latest in the growing list of state-afforded houses I have called home for as long as I can remember. I long to just sink even my toes into the luscious green grass I eyeball from the bar covered windows each day. It all seems so inviting; the flowers, the birds, the ducks on the water in the small stream running past the entire length of the building. Even now, I stare through the bars at the scattering of small benches perched along the edge of the stream. They seem so lonely sitting there empty when I could quite happily sit all day, soaking up the serenity of the scene. But not yet, Dr. Jasper says. Not yet. I'm not ready to be allowed out, not even with a staff member like some of the other patients. Soon, he says. Soon. What does that even mean? How long is soon? And why not? I haven't hurt myself or others for a very long time. The speaker overhead interrupts my pitiful thoughts as the dull tones of the nurse in charge drone out. "Meds at the counter, Aidalyn Craig". Ah. Feeding time at the zoo. "Good morning, Aida. Thanks for keeping me awake again Kitty drawls out, her eyes still closed but her frown permanently in place. She smiles her evil, crooked little smile and starts to hit her head in the same tune she was belting before she spoke. I have had the nightmare again, though I can't recall any specifics this time. . Every night for as long as I can remember, the scene never changes. The dream plagues my every night, no matter what I'm prescribed. Its theme is constant. As soon as I close my eyes, the darkness dissolves, and I'm running into the bushes, fleeing. I'm being chased at top speed by an unseen force before suddenly, an overwhelming power begins to take hold of my mind, my body, and my complete being. My senses are all alight with the same feeling; the same explosive power. It's as addictive as it is terrifying. I always talk to Dr. Jasper about it in our sessions, but he always writes it off as night terrors. PTSD from my sad little excuse of a life. What I seem to consistently remember most vividly is the burning. The feeling of fire seeping through my entire body until I can't feel anything but the heat anymore. It separates my mind from my body until suddenly, I only hear a voice calling out to me. Nothing else matters. Everything stills. It's then that the heat begins to dissipate and soon, it's gone just as fast as it appeared. I try to ignore it, but I can't; the voice calls for me. It needs me. It must have me. Out of nowhere, time stops, and I burst spontaneously into pieces. My heart and soul are exposed to the heavens above as my mind stills. I'm stitched together again as something else. Something more. Muscle, bone, heart, and mind. It's no longer human me running in the long green grass anymore. No. I am gone and instead stands a beautiful, majestic light grey animal. But I'm not gone. I am the animal. We are one and the same. Except when I'm in this state of altered mind, I do things I can't explain. Sometimes I wake just before the animal arrives, and that's a good night. I can usually take the meds and sleep a dreamless sleep after that. But when I don't wake up at that particular moment, when I have a complete episode, well, that's when things get out of control. I haven't had one in months now. So, the treatment here must be working. But the last one? It was bad. Bad enough for me to end up locked up in Beta Stone as a maximum-security risk. The last time was the worst I can recall. I woke up in a place I didn't recognise, surrounded by people I didn't know, and they were all or worse. Some had been killed. After that is a blur. I still have no recollection of how I came to be there in the first place. I had never even been to that part of town, and the last house I was sent to was all the way on the other side of the city. The sent me here after that. It's okay as treatment facilities go. I'm fed, watered, and somewhat entertained by the other kids each day, and so, my days and nights go one after the other in a haze of boredom and medication. I would rather be here than prison, and since those were my options, I'm here until they say otherwise. My life is pretty grand, though. It's no surprise that my nightmares are both the best and worst part of my existence because in those, at least I am running free. Free of this place, free of my mental prison, and free of any crap foster home that has begrudgingly taken me in. Free and trapped at the same time. I'm a sad little conundrum. I always wake up scared, alone, and back here, wishing that just for once, something more would or could happen for me. Dr. Jasper says the dreams are a metaphor for my illness. Something I want to be free from and run from but that I can't bring to fruition. Yet. Makes sense. It's only that I can't shake the feeling that something just isn't quite right about it all. It always feels so real. The voice in my head telling me to run, to hunt, to be free. But it's not. This is my reality. Day to day here. Safe. Kept. And I need to make the most of it while I can. Take the treatment. Stay the course. Perhaps it will work, and I will be cured-or at the very least, managed. That's how it's supposed to go, right? I wander down the hall and look into random rooms as I pass by. We are all shapes and sizes here. Some have been here for years and some come and go weeks or days at a time. I keep to myself mainly. For one, it's just easier that way. Never getting to know someone means never having to miss them when I move on. Or when they leave. It's easier this way. It's how I have always been. Alone. Independent Dr calls it. Sad is more fitting. It's not as if I want to be alone. I just never spend more than a year in one place. I am always moved on. Home to home, one institution to another. Nobody wants to keep the burden of having to deal with my shit. I get it. It's me against the world. Or in my head at least.

Aidalyn

As I approached med counter, I noticed nurse Esme was in today. She was easy to manipulate; she felt outwardly sorry for us, and I used into.my advantage. Today, I wanted to skip breakfast and get an early start on Art Therapy class. She helped me do that last week. She feels sorry for us, I think, the crazy, sad kids locked up in here day in and day out. The thirty-two residents of this lodge are all aged in our late teens. After our 21st birthday, we have to leave. It's like they give up after that. No funding means no further treatment. This was my impending doom. It horrified me as much as it made me aware of the ticking timeline of my life here. Last week, a raven-haired girl named Jess had aged out. She cried the entire day. It's like she knew she had little chance out there. After all, if we aren't stable here with all the help, what chance do we have alone on the outside? Most of us feel that way. We know this is the last step before death or prison. It's not all cures and healing. That's not realistic for the majority of us. The day of her birthday, she was unceremoniously thrown out. She had been here three years, being treated every day, and then just like that, she was gone. For a week, each day, I wondered how she was. I didn't have to wait long to find out. I heard the nurses talking about her yesterday, whispering inside the meds room. " They found her like that, just hanging," Erin had said. The others looked sad, but she simply looked empty. No emotion meant no getting attached. It wasn't the first time a patient hadn't lasted on the outside. We would hear rumours of their demise or their sentence from the nurses and med students. Poor Jess. I didn't know her really, but we smiled at each other in the halls, and I gave her a muffin once. That counts as friendship in here. I can only hope that in four years' time, when I turn twenty-one, I'm at least a little more stable and freer from the mental chains that bind my mind and heart. I really hope I'm far from this place by then. "Hey, Essy. I've missed you," I greet Esme, shaking the thoughts of Jess from my mind and approaching the bar. "Hey, Aida. How are you?" She smiles sweetly and hands me my little paper cup of pills. " I'm okay, sort of. I had a bad night last night, and I feel like I just need to get some time to myself. Maybe in art class ahead of everyone else?" I look up at her hopefully. She could only be maybe a few years older than me, but for some reason, she's always nice. Like an older sibling I never had. "Go on, then. I'll tell them you went to the bathroom if they ask where you are," she replies sweetly as she hands me a juice to wash down the meds and gives me a quick wink. She always lets me break the rules a little. It's the joy in these tiny spontaneous moments that keep me sane-figuratively speaking, of course. I nod a thank you and head left down the hallway, avoiding Clarice and her screaming and pelting random objects from her room as I hurry along to the art room. This tiny space is my solace; my light in the dark. The teacher isn't a therapist but an actual art teacher, so I like to pretend this is school and I'm a regular kid attending class. Just with a bunch of kids in pj's talking to themselves instead of chatting about guys they like or the latest songs from the latest bands, which I don't even have a clue about anyway. It's not like I'm going anywhere, but still, I like to at least act as regular as possible. Besides, I know that today some of the board members are coming in to look around, and I don't want to have strangers see me in my pj's. I try to keep whatever dignity I can. It's all I have left now. The nurses explained that the board is visiting art class because it's one of the safest areas in the institution. Aka, limited objects to be thrown at heads in here. And everyone is usually pretty docile, or else they aren't able to attend. After an hour of painting on my own, I hear feet coming down the hallway. I can hear the teacher, Ms. Hames, talking excitedly about her class and the progress she sees daily. She has made no secret of the fact that she needs funds from the board for more materials. I smirk as I overhear her going hard at the ass kissing. She is really working it today. My focus shifts from my work to the handle of the door as I prepare myself to be stared at, as visitors tend to do, trying to see if they can tell what's wrong with me. Taking a deep breath as they open the door, I smooth my long dark plait down over my shoulder and put a fake smile on my face. I hear the boys voice before I see his face. It sounds like the smooth, rehearsed kind of voice you hear in the movies. One from the dream boat lead character with the too-good-to-be-true looks. I feel compelled to raise my eyes from my art to search for the owner of the beautiful sound. My eyes meet his just as he comes into view. He stops dead in his tracks, bumping into one of the med students he's following as his gaze locks with mine. "Mate," he says just loud enough for the huge man behind him to stop and stare in the direction of the boy's gaze. I feel a sickening feeling deep in my gut. I've never felt anything like it before, the instant feeling of nausea followed by what I can only describe as a rush of emotion. A warm, calming sensation rakes through my entire body as I just throw all manners to the wind and continue to stare at the open door, seemingly dumbfounded and speechless. I blink a few times and realise the entire group is now staring at me, mouths open, no one moving or willing to speak. Like a wounded deer in headlights, I manage to shake my head and attempt to clear my thoughts. What a trip. The meds are extra strong today, I guess, and I laugh to myself as I continue to try to calm the overzealous beating of my heart and the raging of a newfound energy through my veins. The ridiculously hot guy clears his throat as my teacher barges past and into the room. Still staring, he blinks a few times and then shifts his gaze to lower over my body. I snap out of my little daydream, shamelessly ogling him as well, and the ginormous man behind the boy coughs awkwardly and taps his shoulder. The boy shoots him an annoyed look but finally tears his gaze away from me, making me shiver as he does. He bends in close to the older man and listens to whatever he's saying. I pretend to be minding my own business as the group finally walk in and Ms. Hames introduces them to me. " This is Aidalyn Craig. She's one of my most gifted students." she says proudly, gesturing to me. "Aidalyn, this is the head of the board, Mr. Lake, and his son, Argent." She points to the dark-haired boy and the very large man, who I can now tell is obviously his father. They are both the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, but with a side of absolutely drop dead gorgeous for the younger and freakishly massive for the older. Argent steps towards me and gives me a kind smile that sends a warm, fuzzy feeling straight to the south of me, and I squirm in my seat and squeeze my thighs together to try to stop the buzz it creates. I struggle to keep eye contact with him as he dazzles me with his crazy beautiful face, a grin plastered across it. "Nice to meet you, Aidalyn." Jesus. Even his damn voice is something from a dream. I have to stop myself from staring at his mouth. Think, Aida, think! Stop staring. Be normal, damn it! He smiles politely, waiting for my reply, but all I can do is stare at his plump lips. Shit. "It's Aida," I say as smoothly as I can before standing to shake his outstretched hand. I pull mine back immediately and cradle it to my chest soon as we make contact. Strange bolts of electricity literally shoot through my hand and up my arm. I feel the pace of my heart start to pick up. I step back slightly, looking around to find the cause of the shock and search his face for any sign that he felt it too. "You felt that too, right?" I ask, expecting him to have an explanation, some kind of excuse, or at the very least a shocked expression. But he merely nods, his eyes raking over me shamelessly as he steps away and back to the group. A small chuckle rumbles from his throat, and instantly, the warm feeling returns to my nether region. I find myself feeling all kinds of hot and bothered and what's worse is that he seems to know. How fucking mortifying! What the hell was that? Could this day be any stranger? He smiles at me like he knows something I don't, continuing to quietly stand with his father, both staring at me like some sort of freakshow. What is he doing? A small frown forms on his face, and I find myself wanting to be the one who takes it away. He opens his mouth to talk again, but his father interrupts. "Come along, Arge. We have things to attend to. Nice to meet you, Aidalyn." He turns abruptly and walks out the door before I have time to reply, the med students and Ms. Hames following closely behind him. I hear the students start to discuss me as they leave, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Soon, he will find out just how damaged I am. Argent seems torn as he goes to leave, but he soon moves to follow his father. Before he closes the door, he pauses and turns back to face me. " I hope to see you again soon, Aida." " Yeah, sure," I say . He makes no further sound as he closes the door, and I exhale hard in relief that they're all gone. Even his cologne was appealing. And the way he said my name ... damn. If I was in school or a college, that would have been something to talk about. It was a meeting cute to discuss with the other normal kids for sure. But I'm not normal. I'm here. And he may as well be a million miles away. I'll probably never see him again, and even if I do, then what? Someone like him would never be interested in damaged goods like me. Not to mention the way his father looked at me. Broken. No good. I've heard it all before. After the door is latched closed, I feel like I'm more alone than I was before, and for the first time in a long time, I hate it.