Thank you Anonymous Queen, Nami98 and blueeyedfreakgirl fore reviewing! And thanks to those who put this story under favourite stories or story alert. AWESOME PPL YAY!
And sorry to blueeyedfreakgirl, I've read your story, but I'll have to find time to review it. :D
Chapter 2 – Psychiatrist Fiasco
I hate Psychiatrists.
(A/N: No offense to all Psychiatrists! They're amazing people! Just saying that Danelia doesn't think so!)
I may have mentioned that before. Or have I? Right, maybe I haven't. So I'll tell you this now - just in case. When someone brings up the damned word 'Psychiatrist' in front of me, he's basically begging for his ass to be detached from his body. From painful years of experience, I've come to realize that Psychiatrists are just freakin' lousy doctors who need money, and therefore, switch to nosing into peoples lives for a living.
But that isn't the point. The damn point is: I can't believe my Dad actually called up Highswift Academy's supposedly all-time 'pro' Psychiatrist, just to squeeze in an appointment date for me. Hell no, I'm not grateful! - Why should I be? If any kid happens to see me dropping by the Psychiatrist's office, my reputation's as good as dead. And besides, I don't wish to be mistaken as 'nutso' or something.
"The school fees per month is thrice the cost of an Iphone," My Dad had explained logically. "Best make use of all the facilities it provides."
Well, well, well. And that's how, in the blink of an eye, I earn a ticket straight to hell, waiting for the appearance of the 'devil' himself to finish off with the poor victim trapped in his room at the moment. Then it'll be my turn.
I watch the other going-to-be-victims seated apprehensively in the benches about me. Most have their faces dug in either a ludicrously thick book (nerd), or, a fashion magazine with skimpily dressed woman posing suggestively on its cover (pervs). Right, I'm beginning to understand why they landed here, but just saying, I totally don't belong among these problematic peeps.
But then a familiar face catches my eye. It's the guy from my Physics, Bio, Chem, Algebra, History and English lessons! And wow, that's a great deal of time spent in his company. But he doesn't talk much, according to the girls I'd just acquainted myself with. And hawt, is not the right word to describe him; Beautiful, is. He literally resembles an innocent angel, standing out from the rest like a beacon of light in a sea of darkness. He wears an unusually fair complexion which puts an albino's to shame, and his eyes, are so dreamy that they can charm a Princess.
He's a living Fairytale, isn't he?
"Errr, hi," I greet, making the first move. "You're... um... from my class?"
He continues staring dreamily ahead - as though my voice has just passed on right through him without registering. I frown and attempt to fill up the gap of awkwardness between us - which he appears to fail to sense-, but once again, he remains as still as a perfect statue.
I finally decide to throw in the towel and distance myself from this hunk who - not only is completely uninterested in me, but even thinks me too lowly to reply! The cheek-
"Yes," A musical voice greets my ears. Like a symphony of mermaids singing a chorus. (Uh, and not like Edward Cullen's.)
I turn, shocked out of my skin, only to find him staring intently at me with those mesmerizing eyes of his. He salutes... What? Which kid does them these days? They're so out of fashion! Then the guy returns back to his interesting daydream, completely ignoring the hot girl sitting to his left. Seriously? Maybe that's why he'd an appointment with the Psychiatrist in the first place.
I try to start up the engines up again. "So... what's your name?"
A long silence rings like thunder in my ears. Then, a soft. "Apple de Cola."
"What?" I ask amiably, not understanding his 'made-up' language. "Apples and Cola? You like em'?"
"Aphel Discolaz," He repeats blandly, running a slender hand through his hair uncertainly. "I like Oranges."
I frown again. Who introduces themselves with 'I like Oranges' as an introductory line? It sounds too genuine, too honest for a seventeen-year-old guy to admit. Where're his airs and graces? Where's the presence of that mask of coolness and composure which everyone, regardless of gender, holds up?
Then it occurs to me: He's somehow... different. A pitch-dark stain on an ironed shirt of white - the odd one out. Just like Dan... in the past.
Instantly, I'm attracted like a rod magnet towards him. Around him, I feel... comfortable. I can just be me. He's just being him, so there ain't a need to play pretend any longer. At least not in his company.
"I like peaches," I admit truthfully, feeling incredibly ridiculous. He looks zoned, but some sort of supernatural vibe (this sounds cliche) tells me he's listening. "Oh, btw, the name's Danelia..." I hesitate for a half a second before correcting, "It's Dan, I mean. You could- I mean, you should call me Dan."
He sits there, for a long moment, blankness lacing his features.
Out of impulse, I hold out a hand and beckon him to shake it. "I'm Dan," I repeat.
He looks to me like a lost as a poor fawn separated from it's Mother doe.
"You're supposed to shake it," I command him in a friendly tone, before lifting his hand and demonstrating it to him once. I feel absolutely stupid down here. It's like... please, he's seventeen, and he hasn't learnt how to shake hands. Then it occurs to me that I'm touching him, and my face turns as beet red as a tomato.
But then he rescues me from the awkwardness, a hand running deftly through his sunset-blond strands. "Dan..." He stutters nervously in that melodious voice of his. "Can we... can we be friends?"
He sounds like a seven-year-old, all mushy and sincere at the same time. And I... I find that endearing. It reminds me of my old-self; it inserts doubts that: perhaps, I was... better than I saw myself.
I feel myself smile involuntarily. "That sounds peachy with me."
"Asperger Syndrome," The Psychiatrist confirms it with a sad smile. She ain't no devil as I'd expected, but the quite near opposite. She wears a white-labcoat, with a GI-MONGOUS cross (almost as large as her) slung elegantly across her middle. And she's ancient, like those type of Shang or Tang dynasty ladies with bound feet (just that her feet are disproportionally large). She's Asian as well, which makes her appear even more mysterious in my eyes. Well, on the whole, she looks frail and kindly. But her voice, ah... she has such a trademark jolly and strong voice (sounding similar to Professor Mcgonagall) which completely doesn't fit her sunken face.
My mind boots itself up, instantly scrolling through all the symptoms of Asperger Syndrome.
"So he's pretty much mute." My guess's far from bulls eye, but at least I tried.
"No," she explains patiently, her eyes - a wide collection of wisdom from the past- seems to twinkle. "If you look in the right place, you'll realize he speaks rather fluently - and his endless ideas keep flowing."
A mental image of angelic Aphel surfaces in my head. Somehow, I find that very hard to believe. "Seems... um, difficult to imagine, Madam."
"Definitely," The woman agrees. "But, there are certain areas of interest in which he's particularly chatty about. And if he decides he likes you, or likes something, he'll be rather open about it."
The description reminds me of a young child, still exploring the ways of the world. I just nod in reply. That guy's definitely eccentric. And according to one of the 'popularity' rules of Highswift Academy, associating with social Pariahs will land you as one as well. And Asperger Syndrome equals freak, so I should definitely distance myself from him.
Then I wait. Wait for the elderly lady with peach perfume about her to either glance at me as though I'm a kicked puppy, or choose to look at me with the 'stay-away-from-me-rabies-dog' look. All Psychiatrists do that. And even if their professional enough to hide it, their actions speak a thousand looks. I wait, with feverish anticipation for the 'Oh my, poor darling! Depression, eating Disorders - you're Anorexic? My poor puppy! And don't overdoes yourself with diet pills... blablablabla!"
But those exclamations don't arise. Instead, the lady speaks to me as an equal. And momentarily, I forget who's the doc, and who's the patient.
"You aren't interrogating me about my eating disorders?" I finally burst out in curiosity. Is this some sort of new Psychiatrist-torture-method?
She smiles, revealing a row of surprisingly well-brushed teeth. "I figured you'll tell me if you wanted to. There's no need for any intense drilling - this isn't a military camp."
And I decide I like her. I'm not sure when these sort of 'oh-I-think-I-like-you' sort of impulses come. But they're rather disturbing. It's like, there's an inner being within me choosing who I should or should not hang out with. And honestly, I prefer being in control of my senses.
The Psychiatrist has a glib tongue, and is extraordinary with her words. Spoken words are powerful, yet unnoticeable things, she tells me, but actions are by far greater.
Then she asks me something very queer, with a strange undertone along with the question. "Do you act?"
"As in, an actress sort of act?"
She nods, a twinkle of mystery sparking in those ancient eyes of hers.
I shake my head - I'm no actress, nor do I ever dream of becoming one. But an inner, small tiny voice tells me I do. I'm acting right now. I act everyday, pretending to be someone I'm not. Disguising myself as Danelia.
I realize that I'm amazing at acting.
The moment I head on outside after my casual, yet thought provoking conversation with the Psychiatrist, striking steely eyes greet me, completely spoiling my mood for today.
Jon, again. Stalker much?
My throat seems to constrict, wringing my breath out from my body. The sight of that steel-made-perfection blinds me and sores my eyes. My ears begin ringing deafeningly for absolutely no reason at all.
C'mon, what's he doing at the 'psychiatrist waiting room'?
His eyes watch me suspiciously as I plod on past him and head straight to Aphel, sitting quietly a few seats away from him. Ha, get your facts right, I hate you, Jon. Not gonna greet you~ As far as I'm concerned, -call me blind if you will-, you don't exist in my life.
When Aphel spots me, his feet taps the floor excitedly, like a dog wagging his tail on sight of his master. Then he salutes, perhaps a funny habit, a lopsided smile lighting up his handsome face. His actions somehow put my mind at ease, and all worries of Jon (standing barely three feet away from me) flee me at once.
"Haiz," I set the ball rolling as I hop into the seat beside him. "The Psychiatrist smells like Peaches. Smells good, I'd say."
"She smells of Oranges to me," Aphel replies. He appears much more sociable than before - at least he's willing to communicate now, one sentence or not.
A familiar, yet unwanted voice shakes me up; and Aphel falls silent upon waking to the idea of another arrival of an unfamiliar being. "It's developed that way," Jon deliberately shoves his way into our conversation. That jerk! "It causes the patient smell something they're naturally drawn to."
"Ha," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "Very clever. Bravo."
Jon downright ignores my snide remarks, his eyes flash with forks of lightning. "You smelled peaches, you say? Strange, you're rather similar to someone I knew, like it or not."
Creepy. The word 'Dan' buzzes incessantly in my mind, sending it throbbing all over, as though a bunch of frogs're planning an invasion of my brain.
I attempt to change the subject in a strained voice. Jon's arrival always reminds me of things which I would've rather not be reminded of. "Beats me what you're doing here. What's your disorder? Stalkerish-tendencies?"
I can tell from the way his mercury eyes glace over, and his body goes taut - like an iron pole, that I've hit a nerve. He's hotheaded, Jon is. Maybe he's here for anger management issues. Seems rather likely. "That's a pathetic attempt to insult me," He replies coolly (wise-ass). "And you don't need to have a disorder to be here."
"Huh," I retort venomously. "She's not called the 'Psychiatrist' for no reason."
"Enjoying someone's company is not considered a proper reason to you, is it?"
That's a strange answer. I really didn't expect that. He actually enjoys peoples' company? That's new. Watching him from afar - so lifeless and metallic, he didn't seem like the type to bother to go an extra mile to spend time with someone he 'likes'. He suddenly reminds me of Aphel, but a more mature version of him though. They're two similar people, but with different ways to show them.
But well, that analogy completely contradicts his actions in elementary school.
Or, maybe he's a wonderful actor, just like me.
"Go away," Aphel suddenly inserts randomly, his azure-blue eyes making eye contact with Jon's, before automatically flinching away. "You're making her upset. Go away." Then he abruptly becomes interested with his Canvas shoes, twisting uncomfortably like an eel, and running a hand through his hair nervously.
And I'm grateful for that line. I don't know why, but I am. "You heard the boy- piss off, Jonny-kid."
Jon turns his death-glare from Aphel to me. Can't blame him, he must wonder why the new kid hates him so much - especially since he's been trying hard enough to make an acquaintance. And apparently, his wondrous Charisma has fallen through - I'm not falling for him, nor am I inclined to be 'friendly'.
Mind you, I'll never.