‹ Prequel: Iron Maiden
Sequel: Paradise ›
Status: in progress
The Bird
Chapter 2
I was not happy. My dad had been serious about sending me back to Malibu, so here I sat on his private jet, flying across the country from New York to California, to the new and improved Stark Mansion. Yeah, I heard all about the fight between my dad and Rhodey.
Happy, my new babysitter, sat across from me, flipping through some tabloid magazine. I tried to avoid those at all costs.
"Miss Potts set up an appointment for you on Tuesday."
"Hmm." I kept my gaze locked to the clouds.
"Look at it this way, would you rather have nightmares every night or sleep peacefully?"
"He's going to think I'm crazy and lock me in a looney-bin like my mother."
"No one's going to lock you up. And you're not crazy. With everything you've been through, I'm surprised this hasn't started sooner."
I finally looked at Happy. He gave me a small smile, picking his magazine back up from his lap.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was just a result of everything that had happened.
....
Tuesday I found myself in the back of the Rolls, being taken to my doctor to see if there was anything he could do to help me sleep at night.
I made Happy sit in the waiting room and wait for me. He looked out of place in his suit and tie among jeans and t-shirts. I almost laughed at the sight.
I sat on the uncomfortable bed, the paper crinkling under me as I waited for the doctor to come in.
It seemed like I had read every poster on the wall twice before he finally came in.
"So tell me, Skye, what seems to be the matter?"
"I can't sleep. I keep having this vivid dream over and over every time I sleep. It keeps getting more and more real every time I close my eyes."
"Recurring dreams are often a sign of PTSD. I'm no expert when it comes to Psychological health so I'm going to refer you to a specialist, but I've made a list of some natural remedies you can do to help sleep at night. I'm going to do some lab tests as well, look for any abnormalities that may be the cause."
After I had my blood drawn and I'd done a urine test, the doctor handed me a paper full of at home remedies and a phone number. I thanked him, going back out to the waiting room, where Happy sat, nose deep in a magazine.
"Come on, Hogan."
He held his finger up and I just rolled my eyes, heading outside to the Rolls.
Happy came out a few seconds later, opening my door for me.
As we headed back home, I read over the phone number so many times I knew it backwards. I had half a mind not to call, but what would it hurt?
"He's sending me to a specialist. He thinks the dream is the result of PTSD after everything that's happened....of course he did lab work....how's the tower coming?"
Here I sat, talking to my dad on the phone after I got home from the doctor. I was still upset about being stuck in Malibu with nothing to do while he was in New York.
'How have the dreams been?'
"They're getting more and more vivid. If this specialist can't do anything for me, then...I don't know what I'm going to do."
'Hey. You've got nothing to worry about. You're not your mother. Just remember that.'
"I know."
Happy, my new babysitter, sat across from me, flipping through some tabloid magazine. I tried to avoid those at all costs.
"Miss Potts set up an appointment for you on Tuesday."
"Hmm." I kept my gaze locked to the clouds.
"Look at it this way, would you rather have nightmares every night or sleep peacefully?"
"He's going to think I'm crazy and lock me in a looney-bin like my mother."
"No one's going to lock you up. And you're not crazy. With everything you've been through, I'm surprised this hasn't started sooner."
I finally looked at Happy. He gave me a small smile, picking his magazine back up from his lap.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was just a result of everything that had happened.
....
Tuesday I found myself in the back of the Rolls, being taken to my doctor to see if there was anything he could do to help me sleep at night.
I made Happy sit in the waiting room and wait for me. He looked out of place in his suit and tie among jeans and t-shirts. I almost laughed at the sight.
I sat on the uncomfortable bed, the paper crinkling under me as I waited for the doctor to come in.
It seemed like I had read every poster on the wall twice before he finally came in.
"So tell me, Skye, what seems to be the matter?"
"I can't sleep. I keep having this vivid dream over and over every time I sleep. It keeps getting more and more real every time I close my eyes."
"Recurring dreams are often a sign of PTSD. I'm no expert when it comes to Psychological health so I'm going to refer you to a specialist, but I've made a list of some natural remedies you can do to help sleep at night. I'm going to do some lab tests as well, look for any abnormalities that may be the cause."
After I had my blood drawn and I'd done a urine test, the doctor handed me a paper full of at home remedies and a phone number. I thanked him, going back out to the waiting room, where Happy sat, nose deep in a magazine.
"Come on, Hogan."
He held his finger up and I just rolled my eyes, heading outside to the Rolls.
Happy came out a few seconds later, opening my door for me.
As we headed back home, I read over the phone number so many times I knew it backwards. I had half a mind not to call, but what would it hurt?
"He's sending me to a specialist. He thinks the dream is the result of PTSD after everything that's happened....of course he did lab work....how's the tower coming?"
Here I sat, talking to my dad on the phone after I got home from the doctor. I was still upset about being stuck in Malibu with nothing to do while he was in New York.
'How have the dreams been?'
"They're getting more and more vivid. If this specialist can't do anything for me, then...I don't know what I'm going to do."
'Hey. You've got nothing to worry about. You're not your mother. Just remember that.'
"I know."