regrets collect {danny}

"Q, I think you need to see someone about this."

The moment the words had filtered through the air and settled against my eardrums, I felt my body freeze up. "About what?" I ask my father, sprawled across my bed that I haven't left for days, as if perplexed as to what he was trying to say. Of course I knew what he was trying to hint at, but I did what I always did. What I have done, for months and months. Stay in denial. Pretend that my throat doesn't close up underneath the aching tonne of water that fills my lungs and plants an anchor in my ribcage, tying me to the ground and this toxic house.

I thought that we had an agreement. A silent, unspoken pledge not to play with fire or tamper with dangerous, damaged goods that could explode at any moment. The mere fact that those damaged goods are me only makes this so much harder to avoid. And we had been avoiding this, dancing around it in fear of collapsing. Lying to ourselves and covering it up with impending stretches of silence as if there wasn't a gaping crack in the surface of my skin, my soul. I can't hide forever, but another day wouldn't hurt. My father sighed, rubbing his temples vigorously as he stared at his feet. "You know what I mean."

He couldn't even look at me. "No, no I don't" I lied, sitting up straight as my fingers ran through dirty-blonde hair that hadn't been brushed in days. Once upon a time, it would have been cared for multiple times on a day like this. Once upon a time, I had a certain image I had to pertain to. And a persona, a posse, a perfect, polished me that I could slip right into so many times, it started to become me. Once I'd finally torn it from my body, however, I was left with nothing but a gaping hole and nothing to hide from but raw, untouched issues buried deep within me for years that suddenly unleashed themselves on my mind and pulled me under the surface. Maybe I do need help.

I had expected him to sigh, like he always did, and feed off my lies for another week or two. Instead, his voice grew louder and sharper - a temper beginning to boil. "Yes you do, Q. And I'm sick of you sitting here, cooped up in this room for bloody days on end. You don't go out, you don't swim any more, hell - most days you don't even get up! I've tried to help, honey, I really have. But enough's enough - and if I can't help you, I think we need to try someone else."

"Like what?!" I snapped, finally cracking under the pressure of his words and the realisation that we could no longer dance around denial any more. My security was slipping through my fingers like a fistful of sand and being carried away with the wind. "You think I'm sick, or something?! You think I need to see a shrink? You think I'm nuts? Is that it?" Feeling my eyes prick under the emotional strain of my rising anger, I blinked them back furiously. "I'm not crazy, Dad! I don't need help! You don't understand, I'm not nuts, I'm not... I'm... I'm just..."

"You're just what, Q?" my Dad asked softly, his words delicate and unintimidating as he watched me heave in oxygen and fidgit with the edges of my duvet. He'd never accused me of any of that - it was all me. My mouth opened to speak, expecting an excuse to tumble straight off of my tongue - but all I could force out was spluttering I's. Don't choke, girl. Save your breath for when you can't breathe any longer.

"I'm just sad, Dad."

They were barely whispers, but it was all he needed to hear. Admitting you're sad sounds a lot better than admitting you're drowning when your own father can't even save you.

Truthfully, I don't think anyone can.

»»»»

It seems like forever since I've visited a doctor. If you could consider 8 months enough for forever, then I supposed it really had been that long. I try not to think about how I'd drifted into the slumbers of the sea and woken up in a hospital instead. The doctor sitting in front of me on the opposite couch flicks through his notes and scribbles a few notes down before looking up at me, adjusting his glasses and sending a smile in my direction that I think is supposed to be reassuring. Hello, I'd like to pry into your innermost thoughts, break down your mind, lay out your emotions for everyone to see and stick a label on you that says crazy. Yeah. Real reassuring.

"So, Quartz - your father tells me you'd like to talk about how you've been feeling recently" he states - not as a question, but more matter-of-fact, as if he's already taken apart and put back together my brain. "Not really," I reply, a little taken aback at how slow my words sound in my ears as I stare at my fingers, clasped together nervously with knuckles white and pulse throbbing. "He's the one that wants me to talk." Once upon a time, the words would be filled with sarcasm and a sly smile on my face - Queen Q talking for me. Now all they seem to be are such lifeless, dull, empty words that hold an entire chasm of precious oxygen slowly floating out of my mouth in bubbles that taunt me and tease me. I'm sinking again.

The stranger across from me smiles like he knows something I don't and holds the answer in his eyes. "I see," he replies - just as I guessed he would. "Well," he begins over the sound of pen on paper - I wonder what on Earth he could have gotten out of so little conversation - as the world begins to turn a faint shade of blue. "Can I ask you some questions to start - and perhaps we can figure out what's been on your mind lately?"

Sinking oxygen breathing Dad lying walls enclosing medals expecations past water ocean Mom anchors friends school ocean floors swimming the raging storm within. But of course, I say nothing and nod, glancing at the window as I press my lips together tightly to hold the air in. Clearing his voice, he begins hurtling basic questions at me - my favourite colour, food, season. I reply just as quickly: "Pink - no, blue. Sushi. Spring." Then come the more complicated questions - and I start to panic.

"Have you experienced anything particularily troubling these past few months? Been in any accidents, lost anyone close to you?" Images of the ocean floor hurtling towards me flash across my eyesight, but I push them away with a blink. Shrugging, I say nothing - but can't quite force a shake of my head until a legitimate 'no' answer to his questions forms in my head. I can no longer tell if he knows about my past or not, or how much my Dad has told him beforehand. For all I know, those sheets of paper could be my one-way ticket to a loony bin. Goodbye Medal-Winning Quartz Stonewall, hello pill-popping crazy lady. "Have you felt moments when you're extremely happy for no particular reason?"

I shake my head again.

"How about the opposite?"

This time, I just stare at the leg of the table like it's the most fascinating piece of furniture I've ever laid my eyes on.

I hear him shift to write something down on his clipboard, the anchor inside of me forcing me to sit still, helplessly curled up on the couch as my eyes dart towards the door over and over again. Water spills out from the gap underneath it that seperates the wood from the floor, filling the room from top top bottom. Ticks of the clock count the seconds between my inhales of breath, the numbers getting higher and higher each time. "You do know that this consultation is completely private, Quartz?" the doctor asks me. "That nothing leaves this room if you don't want it to? Not even your parents have to know what goes on, it's your decision."

This makes me look up - and for the first time, I find myself staring back at the man with glasses and years of experience etched into the corners of his eyes and the skin above his brow. Slowly - feeling the waters swirl around my body and making my actions sluggish - I nod. Taking a deep breath, my voice cracks with raw, untouched emotion that sends a wave crashing over me and sweeps my body upwards. Twirling somersaulting lying cheating thrown around like a doll hiding sighing breathing shipwrecked aching lost at sea.

"I feel empty" I confess, sending spasms up the walls around me. "All the time. Like... like all the oxygen in me has been sucked up and I'm just living dead. Like..."

"Like you don't deserve to live anymore? That maybe it's all closing in around you and you can't take that pressure any longer - that everything blurs together and you've got no escape to run to?"

It takes all my willpower to force my chin to move up and down without screaming out for air to feed my starving lungs.

More scribbling. "Very well. I think that's all I need for today. Thank you - I'll see you next week, if you'd like."

I've never moved faster out of a room in all my life.

»»»»

I didn't expect to see anyone I recognised there. This place wasn't for playground primadonna's or Careers-to-be, Olympic Champions or teen queens. It was for those who had sunk so far into the deep by death or dispair that they couldn't manage to swim back to the surface again. I forget that that's what I am now - sinkable. Weighed down by too much to cope on my own. So when I do - it comes as a surprise. Not pleasant - but not uncomfortable either. If the kid from training she'd met a few times before asked why I was here, I'll say I was running an errand for my Dad, and brush his enquiry off as quickly as I have all the others before.

"Lyle, hey" I smile, approaching him as I walk out of the building. "Fancy seeing you here."



{ooc; trying out first person and kind of just word-vomited, sorry if this is awful :s}