Losing Control

"Alan."

I jolted forward in my seat, heart picking up pace. My head snapped toward the source of the noise, and I saw Dr. Sykes's face staring at mine. He wore the mask of calm that constantly covered all therapists. Because that was where I was. In counseling. With Dr. Sykes. Talking about how fucked up I was. Not at the parking at school being rejected by yet another person, the event that my mind kept wandering to.

Even though that had happened almost a week ago. Even though I still saw Austin every day during music class, though he completely ignored my existence. I finally learned his name after asking Dan a few days ago, because Austin wasn't about to tell me himself. And if I asked anybody else in the band, they'd probably hate me too. From what I'd heard from Dan (who, by the way, was the only person who actually talked to me), Austin was notorious at our school for cutting class and getting into trouble. Just my luck.

I realized that Dr. Sykes must've asked me a question while I had zoned out. "Sorry," I murmured. "Could you repeat that?"

Dr. Sykes gave me a quick once-over, probably trying to figure out how one kid could be so annoying. And I'm sure that I was quite annoying. Not focusing on anything that he was saying. Not giving lengthy and personal answers to his questions that would help him to see into my soul. Then again, this was only my second session with him, so I wasn't exactly too comfortable spilling my guts to him just yet.

Dr. Sykes sighed, running a hand through his black hair. One always had to maintain composure when dealing with the mentally unstable.

"I asked if it was getting any better here. If there were less triggers."

When I didn't immediately respond, he began to tap his fingers on the clipboard he was holding. I knew that he just wanted to help, but I really didn't need any more medications. I wasn't that crazy. Right? No way I could tell him how almost everything still made me think of Dean.

In response to the question, I simply shrugged and said, "I guess." Trying to keep it vague. No way I would tell him that my anxiety was through the roof from the effort I was exerting to make friends. Not to mention the fact that my only seemingly friend in the band Aaron didn't even tell me about the concert the band I was supposed to be a member of had had.

Dr. Sykes marked something on his clipboard, then glanced up at the clock on the wall. I followed his eyes, seeing that the longer hand was finally on the 12. Our hour was up.

I stood to leave, but Dr. Sykes motioned for me to stop. His eyes bore into mine, perhaps trying to find a door into my mind. A way to help, maybe. Or maybe just a way to label me as even crazier than before.

"Alan," he began, trying to keep his tone light in the way that meant he was about to say something serious. "You are aware that Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a real and serious condition, right? And the only way for me to help you is for you to be honest with me."

I dropped my gaze to my shoes, concentrating on memorizing every faded spot, scuff, and stain. Anything to not have to think about the words. They just made me feel guilty. I knew they wanted to help me. The thing was, I didn't know if I actually wanted the help myself.

So I just nodded my head as Dr. Sykes announced that my Zoloft prescription would remain as it was. For now. Then I walked out of the small office room, leaving Dr. Sykes alone with the proof of my insanity scrawled on his clipboard. I went past the receptionist desk plastered with optimistic posters of smiling animals. Out into the main hallway of the wing, the smell of antiseptics assaulting my nose. Down the stairs and to the small cafeteria for this part of the hospital. Because of course the only suitable therapist would be located in a place crowded with sick and dying people.

I spotted my mom sipping coffee across the open room and started over. She'd already been waiting here for an hour. No need to make her sit around any longer. However, I stopped when somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I whipped around and saw Maddie standing there, frou-frou Starbucks drink in hand. "OMG, Alan, I thought that was you!"

I tried to put on a smile, but I could feel any good thoughts draining from my head, Dr. Sykes the one who pulled the plug. Swirling away from me until I was left with emptiness once again. A blinding numb. I wondered if Maddie could see it in my eyes, if all the emotion was sucked out of them and they were just vacant memories. I wondered how long before the demons settled in.

Maddie looked at me as though she expected me to say something. "So, uh," I attempted, realizing how lame I sounded. "What're you doing here?"

She grinned, even though I really hadn't said anything remotely funny. "I sprained my wrist at cheer practice."

I nodded, trying to pretend like I cared. All I wanted was to go home. No, not home. Just anywhere but here. Anywhere that I could be alone.

"What?" she asked, playfully defensive. "You didn't think I was here for psycho treatment, didja?"

I forced a smile, because I was sure that she meant it as a joke. Not that it didn't sting. This wing of the hospital was really only pediatrics, so you only came for check-ups, broken bones, and therapy. Guess Maddie's head wasn't as exclusively fucked up as mine.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom waving me over. She probably had a million errands to run, and couldn't waste all her time playing chauffeur. God, I couldn't wait until I got my license. Not that I didn't want an excuse to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"Well, I've..." I started awkwardly. "I've kinda gotta go now. My mom's waiting for me."

Maddie followed my gaze and saw Mom standing up by a small metal table, arms folded across her chest. Maddie waved at her, and Mom waved back unsurely. She had no idea who this strange girl was talking to her son. In the hospital. Suddenly, Maddie's pixie-like features lit up and she practically skipped over to Mom, dragging me behind her.

Before Mom could say anything, Maddie stuck out her hand and introduced herself in a perky voice. "Hi. You must be Alan's mom. I'm Maddie Carina, I'm friends with Alan."

What? Friends? Since when? She barely talked to me, even though I saw her every morning and afternoon on the bus.

Mom tentatively shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Maddie."

Maddie proceeded to launch into a speech dotted with girly giggles. "I know that you guys just moved here, so you probably have a ton of stuff to get done. You need time to, like, get organized. So can I take Alan off your hands for the night? My friend's having a small party for finishing the first week of school, and Alan could meet a ton of people. And my friend can drive us."

I couldn't read Mom's expression, though it was most likely a mixture of surprise and confusion, much like my own. I never got invited to parties. Ever. And it wasn't like I wanted to go that much, but I didn't know how to refuse. Or what would happen if I did. I remained silent because, really, Maddie had asked Mom, not me. I watched her think it over, hoping that she wouldn't fall for Maddie's sweet-talking. Now that I thought about it, going to a party was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do right now. Curling up in bed and dying was a much better option.

Please, just say no. But why should things be that easy?

"Well," Mom finally came to a conclusion. "It would be nice for Alan to meet some new people. Sure, he can go. Just no drugs or anything, okay?"

Wait, did I get no say in this? They were talking about me like I wasn't even here. But Maddie just nodded quickly at Mom, then pulled me off toward the door to where I presumed our ride was waiting.

***

The buzzing in my head wouldn't stop. The ringing in my ears was constant. The longing to leave and go home, or simply to not exist, was overpowering. I folded into the corner of the bedroom in which I was hiding, nearly the only unoccupied one in the mansion-like house where the party was being hosted. Small party my ass. I put my head in my hands, trying to ignore the dull headache intensifying with each drop of the bass thumping from downstairs. The last few hours didn't even seem real.

Riding in the car with Maddie's "friend", who turned out to be the college kid supplying the booze. Being forced to socialize with random people who apparently went to my school, knowing they'd forget me by the morning. Probably forget all of tonight with the amount of cheap alcohol they were drinking.

And then there was Maddie. A tap on the shoulder, innocent and just as annoying as every other time she did it. But then she pushed me against the expensive leather couch, wandering hands pinning my chest down. Her lips on mine. Tongue pushing inside my mouth, hungrily exploring and tasting of vodka.

Lips. Lips on mine. I remembered the last time. No. No, not now. Not those. Gentle. Perfect. Melding into mine. I couldn't. Why now. Why why why. Couldn't think about that. Couldn't think about...him.

I dug my nails into my palm, trying to distract myself with the pain. Sliding out from underneath Maddie, trying not to look at her hurt eyes. His eyes. Open. Always open. Staring into the nothingness. They could't see me...Run. Get out. I rushed upstairs, judging the vacancy of the rooms on the loud moans coming from some of them.

So I ended up here. In this room. Alone with nothing but memories. The emptiness hollowing me out still hadn't left, and it was getting harder to let go of the past. That's what I was supposed to do, right? But how could I do that? How could I pretend that what happened never did? How could I pretend that what happened wasn't real? And how could I say that it never mattered?

I wanted to leave. Go home. But I couldn't exactly ask Maddie. And her friend was buzzed out of her mind, no way I was getting in a car with her. Though that option still seemed better than staying here. I wasn't about to call Mom, she'd ground me for eternity. Yet each breath was more painful than the last.

Well, there was one person I could call. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my list of exactly six contacts until I found Dan's name. I averted my eyes from the name listed below it. Why had I still not deleted Dean's number?

I put my phone to my ear as the phone dialed Dan. He picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" he asked loudly, as though he couldn't hear. I could hear music behind him.

"Dan? It's Alan."

"Yeah, I know who you are. What's up? I'm kinda busy at the moment."

Instantly I felt guilty, but I was out of options. "Um, I'm sorta trapped at a party, and I don't really have a ride home. I was wondering if you could pick me up."

The background noise on the other side of the line got more intense. "What?" Dan shouted.

I repeated myself, practically screaming.

"Are you serious?" I could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Sorry," I mumbled, though he probably couldn't hear me. "Where are you, anyways?"

"At a fucking concert, that's where. So if I come get your ass out of there, you're coming with me. I don't have time to drive you home."

"Oh," I said, contemplating the options. A concert with Dan, or being stuck at this party until who-knows-when. Though I'd rather go to neither, Dan's seemed like a better choice. "Yeah, sure I'll go. Thanks."

"Okay, I'm coming to get you," I could hear him grunt as he pushed through people. "Where the hell are you, anyways?"

I honestly didn't even know where I was. "Uh, some party at Maddie's friend's house."

Dan chuckled at me in disbelief. "How the hell'd you get invited there?"

I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. "Wait, you know about this party?"

I heard a car door slam through the phone, and I assumed that Dan was now on his way. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Have you been living under a rock or something?" Dan snorted. "It's been all over the school since day one."

"Oh."

"Whatever," said Dan. "I'll be there in a few minutes. The concert's pretty close."

"Cool," I said, then heard a click as Dan hung up.

I struggled to pull myself out of the corner, peering out of the door. The hallway was empty. I crept down it, then pushed through the downstairs hallway crowded with people. None of them noticed me, and I thankfully didn't run into Maddie.

I slid out the door, the cool night air stinging my lungs a relief to the stuffy house. I waited outside for a few minutes, anxious that Maddie might come outside and see me. Then Dan's Honda pulled into the driveway, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I got into the passenger seat. Dan immediately pulled out of the driveway, driving at a speed far above the speed limit.

"Dude, slow down."

Dan shook his head. "No way. I'm not about to miss this next band. I've heard they're amazing."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't complain. I mean, he had just saved me from that awful party. The quick ride was mostly silent, the only sound Dan's fingers tapping the steering wheel at every red light. When we arrived, Dan parked the car and led the way inside the venue, walking so fast that I nearly had to run to keep up.

When we got inside, Dan turned to me with a smile on his face. "Look! We're just in time. Oh my god, this is gonna be awesome."

I craned my neck to try and see the stage. That was when I noticed the name of the band about to play. Waging War. I knew that name. When the band took the stage, I widened my eyes because I knew who they were. Front and center, clad in black skinny jeans and holding the mic, was Austin.

I heard Phil start to play some chords, heard the clash of Tino's drumsticks against the cymbals, heard Aaron plucking at his bass. Heard the crowd go wild as Austin started to scream. Wait a second. I knew that song. We'd been practicing it all week, every day. I knew my part by heart, practiced it for hours at home so that it would be perfect. Yet they hadn't even bothered to tell me that they were playing a gig.

What the fuck?