The darker side of me[open]

The biting wind blew at her uncovered skin with a fury, unrelenting and bone chilling. It was bitterly cold, but it could have been such a nice day, really. Alex would have loved to spend it in her room, or outside with her friends. Instead, her parents had told her to start walking with them, which by itself was odd. Her parents avoided her like the plague unless they wanted something, which was all that she could assume it to be. An exchange of one service for another, as they would have put it, being as over complicated as scientists tended to be. If she had a penny every time they made something just that much more confusing than it had to be, she'd be rolling in money, and on her way to the Capitol. Yet there she was, shuffling awkwardly along and avoiding eye contact.

Neither of them seemed inclined to speak, and that suited her just fine. Although silence was always better filled, this kind was better left. The tension in the air was tangible. Yes, it was obvious that they wanted something from her. Gone, though, was the arrogant, imperious air that they brought about with them as they went demanding exceptions for themselves from everyone and everything. The atmosphere was anything but pleasant, even lacking that dictatorial air. An unpleasant, twisting feeling took up residence in her stomach. Who knew intestines could tie bows? Alex would laugh, but her parents would kill her. Not literally, of course. They didn't have any dissecting tools on them; what a waste of perfectly good human to experiment on. But to break the silence would be sacrilege. Talking was something reserved for only completely necessary times with these two. The dinner table was often silent, though often also from the fact that they had nothing to talk about, as well.

Another pair of people walked past, talking and chuckling lightly. So reserved, she thought. Alex quickened her pace, watching the crumbling, bleakly grey pavement smooth into a blur. Does anyone actually notice the cracks and tiny little holes? Or do they all just notice the smudged, stormy rock and the occasional spot where they shouldn't step? She never had, and probably never would. There would be a day when she would take the time, perhaps to sit down on the side walk and glance more than once at it. Notice the ant marching across it as more than a little red speck, see the leaves on the ground as more than just crunches as she stepped on them. That's all they ever were, now that winter had blown in. The sun, low hanging, wavering, and completely useless, was a reminder of this fact. Most people would say that it was one of those facts that you just have to deal with, until spring comes and it gets warmer again. Alex hated those people. Stupid, factual people who wouldn't recognize an emotion if it flew straight into their faces. She sincerely doubted that her parents were actually in love. They might have felt the chemical change, the release of dopamine that signalled love, but that didn't mean anything. They weren't in love, they just thought they were. That was good enough for most people, she supposed.

Alex's attention snapped up from the rock she had begun to usher down the street in a series of short kicks, sending it skittering towards a lamp pole. It knocked against it with an harsh clack, spiralling away. Her mother's sharp, precise voice cut through the chilled winter air, calculated and clipped as always. The woman, dressed in a long grey top and black pants, paused to allow for response. Alex shrugged, keeping her shoulders up and hunching over. She sincerely didn't feel like talking to her. She just wanted to get whatever this was over with, so they could go home. On the off chance that her mother was telling her where they were going, she knew that she ought to stop as well. Plus, she had no idea where she was going. The park? The school? The lab? It was beyond guessing.

"What?" Alex asked, more quietly than she would normally. Of course, this meant that it was a regular speaking voice. Her mother sighed, quite a common occurrence in their household. The noise was tired, and annoying familiar. Massaging her temples with one hand, she took a deep breath, as if calming herself. Alex knew that it was just an act. Her mother couldn't lose her temper if she tried. If anything, this was just a guilt trip to prolong the sure agony about to ensue. Especially if her mother was bothering to do the exhausted parent routine in public. That was how she knew it was fake; they were in public. The woman only ever did things like this when they were outside. When alone, on private property, she was short and clinical. Here, she had to play the part of a concerned parent, tired of her girl's antics. Alex had to resist the urge to roll her eyes- which failed almost immediately.

"Really, Siran. I can't believe you sometimes, you have to at least liste-"

"Two things. One; it's Alex. Two, I don't care. I really don't. I just want to know where we're going, Mom." She spat the word out with evident disgust. She hated the term, but there wasn't much to be done about it. She had heard enough about genetics in her time that she knew there was no way of severing that particular bond except for moving out. And judging by her perfect lack of personal finances, that wouldn't be for quite a substantial amount of time yet. The girl brushed her thin hair out of her face, tucking it behind one pierced ear.

"This is what I was talking about," Her father muttered under his breath. He was a tall, broad shouldered man that could have been muscular were it not for the time he spent in the lab. His skin was as pale as anyone's in the district, and spotted with freckles. He had a strong, arched nose bridge and dark eyes. It was hard to tell what colour they were, but she would bet that they were black. Like his soul. Of the two, he was the better one, but not by much. He was about as stubborn as she was, unfortunately. That didn't add up very well, considering how little their ideas of the 'acceptable' and 'unacceptable' coincided. Shame, too. He was nice enough, tolerable, even, to his friends. Not quite as much to his dearly beloved daughter.

Her mother shushed him, the too bright lipstick globbed onto her lips stark red against the thin white of her face. "Don't you shush me," He scowled. "You were about to tell her, anyway."

"We're taking you to see a psychologist, honey." The world stopped for just one moment, the knots in her stomach becoming rocks. As it started sputtering along again, she found herself chuckling. Oh, that was clever. Alex had never hated anyone more than she did at that moment, but the manners that had been bred into her restrained her from screaming right then and there. They had picked a place in public, just so that she wouldn't erupt. When they got home, though...Alex took a breath. Two. Screaming at them would do no more than solidify their case against her. How could they? Why would they send her to a psychologist? There was nothing wrong with her, she just didn't like them. Of course that was a crime in their world. But this, it wasn't fair. Psychologists were for freaks, people who heard voices in their heads and saw shadows dance on the wall at night. They weren't for normal people like her. An attitude problem was nothing. This? This was humiliating. She had always known there was something wrong with her parents; they were the ones that ought to have gone.

"The first appointment is tomorrow."

Like everything today, her hair was out to get her. Brown, purposefully curled locks fell incessantly into her face, limiting her already dismal view. She ought to have been grateful that she couldn't see; the piece of art she had been staring blankly at for the last thirty minutes was atrocious. There were only so many ways for a fruit bowl to be portrayed in her opinion, and abstract was not one of them. Was that greyish green blob a pear, or a bunch of grapes? Hard to tell, but the room was practically empty, and there was no other art to look at. She could people watch, she supposed, but as said, there wasn't many people around to watch. A blonde secretary checking her nails, a snivelling boy of around 4 by her guess, and a girl with hair placed strategically over her eyes to discourage conversation. This place was for freaks, people who needed help. Not ordinary people like her.

It had been a while since her parents had left her here, around half an hour by her sense of time. Wasn't like they could keep any clocks around, that would be too convenient. Or polite. Alex hadn't known to bring anything to entertain herself, and as fascinating as that crime to nature that was the painting was, she was almost ready to start beating her head against a wall in utter and complete boredom. Her nails were bitten down to stubs, no point in trying to clean them like the secretary was. Crying wasn't exactly the most ideal venue of fun either. No, she didn't even need to be having fun- she just needed to be doing something Aren't they supposed to have magazines, or something? Glancing around, the girl took a moment to actually look for one. She hadn't seen any on a first look, but there might have been one stored in some dusty corner that she had missed.

The room was small, about the size of her living room. This place was obviously funded well enough judging by the huge exterior, but the waiting room was probably the smallest in the entire complex. Figured that she was spending the most of her time here. It was painted a painful shade of yellow, a sort of mix between neon and the colour of straw. It hurt her eyes just focusing on it for more than a couple of seconds. The total effect was that of a nursery, giving it a childish, fake happy appearance. Around the room were four bright red couches, each one more patched than the next. Each person sat on an empty one, leaving the couch by the door absolutely empty. Besides that, the room was cluttered with pamphlets and various scattered papers. Some of them advertised bargain prices, others the fish market down the street. A quality establishment, she could tell immediately.

Alex reclined against the wall, feeling a flake of paint peel off into her hair. Really? Groaning, she brushed it out and onto the dusty red sofa. Her thoughts were going in circles, and who knew how long it would be until these ridiculously overpaid psychologists got their stuff together and let her come in? She'd be willing to bet that the little boy over there had been waiting for a solid 24 hours, if it weren't that his parents were still there. No doubt, hers wouldn't be back for her any time soon. They'd leave the door unlocked, and she'd slink in at some hour of the night. Everyone would just pretend that this little ordeal had never happened, and they'd go back to their avoiding one another and spending dinner in silence. Just like they always had. Maybe she'd spend a couple of hours with her sister, or her friend. Singular, unfortunately. She was so tired of her parents, fed up with their antics. Was there a line they wouldn't cross? Because if there was, this was it. If they were normal parents, they'd give her a slap on the wrist and send her home, threaten to send her to counselling if she didn't clean up her act, maybe. But who sends their kind to a psychologist out of the blue- no warning whatsoever?

Thinking back on it, maybe they had dropped hints here and there in conversation. She could recall an instance, here and there when they had talked about attitude problems while she was in hearing range, but she had never thought that they were talking about her. They were nosy people; she had always just assumed they were gossiping about some one else's child. They had said once that they knew a girl who had gone to the psychologist and come back completely different. She hadn't noticed the suggestions compiling, though. Hadn't seen them adding up into one big question mark. What set them off, though? There was nothing to be done about it now, though, however much she wanted there to be.

Would anyone notice if she just got up and left? Probably not, but she couldn't risk it. Eyeing the door, she contemplated it for a moment, before turning her attention back to the painting.

Another person pushed open the wooden door, marking the waiting room off from the psychologist's office, obviously on her way out. There was this childish happiness displayed on her face that made Alex instantly dislike her. Who comes out of a shrink's office happy? There was something wrong with that. She made a face, twisting up the corner of her mouth in a way that was probably supposed to be a smile. A 'be happy like me' smile. A 'it'll be alright' smile. Even more than before, she disliked the girl. Why couldn't she just get on her way, leave her alone and bored. On the other hand, a conversation was the only way she could think of to escape her seemingly endless boredom. Even though this girl looked as if she was completely clueless to what the real world look like, there had to be a reason she was here. Maybe she was secretly a total psycho, and had killed a man. Maybe she had killed ten. It wouldn't surprise her; psychologists weren't for your average person in her experience.

"It feels better once its over with." The girl cast a look back at the door, probably to where her psychologist had made all her worries disappear into thin air. The girl looked like your average person, normal enough. Her brown hair was parted in the centre, and a pair of glasses was perched on her nose. There was nothing that marked her as particularly crazy, as far as Alex could tell. She, on the other hand, probably looked more the part of a mass murderer, with her pierced ears and antagonistic expression. Her eyelids were heavy over her green eyes, and had been for the last thirty minutes. A frown was set on her mouth, small, but perceptible enough. As much as she wanted to be wearing it, Alex's makeup was only for special occasions, and a shrink visit did not merit that, so her eyes were clear of eyeliner today.

"Yeah, if you actually have something wrong with you in the first place,"She commented, her voice disinterested. Then, with quiet shock, she realized what she had said. Eyes widening, she knew that she ought to take it back. Something stopped her from apologizing though, some part of her personality that kept her back. Once she had said something, no amount of stuttering would take it back. Blush leaving her face, the girl brushed her hair back.

"I don't."