chapter two.

❛ sisyphus. ❜ 

THE EYES THAT PULLED ON HER WERE UNRELENTING. They always were. They were given to steal every detail they can, map every pore pressed into delicate skin, to try and discover all the ways she could have changed since the last time they met. Funny, how it had felt like no time at all for her since sitting in that faded velvet armchair, yet the eyes drink her image in like they hadn't seen another human in centuries. Sometimes, she wondered if she that was the case. If the world had passed a thousand times around the sun and still, the eyes had waited to see their only patient again.

Mae learned long ago, how to withstand their judging stare. But that didn't mean the visits got any easier.

"How have you been feeling, Madeleine?"

Her nails raked across the chair's red fabric, trying to quell the sense of unease her full name always brought. "I've been just fine."

"So, it's been a good week for you?"

"I suppose. Yes. Though normal, I think would be a better word."

The watching eyes of Doctor Danielle Crane poked at Mae's shell, twin daggers eager to peel her patient apart. Her stare was excruciating. They had known each other for years, since the very start of her recovery journey, but the psychiatrist's cold, blue, stare never got any easier to stomach. They always reminded her of the hard marbles Mae was told she had collected as a kid. She used to wonder if it would feel the same, to roll the woman's eyes in her hand. If they would smash into one another, or squish and stick on her fingers like sticky jelly dripping from homemade bread. 

"Tell me about your week, Madeleine."

"Well...it was the same as always." Mae forced a chuckle. "The most interesting thing I did was switching groceries to the Sunday...Theo wasn't available on Saturday like usual, so we switched it with laundry and—"

"—and did that upset you?"

"Did..." her tongue darted out, licking her lips nervously. Her mouth was bone dry. "I...no, not especially. It worked out in the end. There were less crowds, I'm assuming because most people were at church and doing other Sunday things, so...win-win solution."

"So you weren't annoyed at your roommate? That she messed up your schedule?" The eyes were relentless. Begging for an in, just a crack in her façade so they could rip up and slink under. "I know that maintaining your routines, that's important to you."

Mae continued smiling, though it did dim under Dr. Crane's interrogating questions. Because if she stopped smiling she would have defense at all — and she was too tired to be so vulnerable. "No. Like I said, we just switched those errands with laundry."

"And you didn't feel any stress from this? Any triggers, any moments—"

"—I wasn't upset. At all. I promise."

"Mm. Right." The eyes darted down, sweeping over whatever messy scrawl their hands just translated, before looking up again. "Was that the only change in your week?"

"That I remember, yes. I guess in my realm of work I'm lucky there. Class schedules rarely shuffle around."

"So no new changes within your two classes? It doesn't have to be schedule based, Madeleine. Anything change can be a trigger, you and I both know that."

Mae never showed the eyes her entire hand. She kept her cards close to her chest, only letting a couple slip to satiate the stare's starved tastebuds. No matter how her sister pleaded, or her mother promised, or how much money her father had paid the woman the piercing gaze belonged to, she knew that it all traced back to too many listening ears. And while she knew that it was for her own good, both her talking and all the listening, some secrets she did not part with. Even the most simplest of them, like field trip planning or the way she felt shriveled and cold under one Kevin Hodge's stare.

They did not need to worry about her all the time, she reassured herself, and she wasn't a little girl anymore, helpless and terrified. There was no reason to confess all the dots over the i's and the slashes through the t's if she could handle it herself.

"It's been nice," she promised. "We're out of the first few weeks of new term stress, and I think...I think my classes are good. They're all actually interested in learning. Which is a lovely treat as a teacher."

"Oh, to be sure." One of the eyes snapped shut in a fascinatingly unnatural wink. They held the post too long and they had to blink rapidly after, like birds who flew from the nest too early and forgot how to flap their wings. "Alright. And how has the new prescription helped with your sleeping schedule? Have you noticed any changes?"

Mae tilted her head slightly, studying her pale hands in her lap. "I... a little, I think. I've felt better going to sleep, it's just..."

"...the nightmares," the eyes supplied, with the help of their violet stained mouth friend. "They don't alleviate them at all?"

Honestly, Mae wasn't sure if the prescription was for something real, or just a bunch of sugar pills, because they never did her a lick of good. Every night was as bad as the next. Every blood-churning, teeth-grinding, hair-pulling, excruciatingly terrifying moment was memorized, not because it was so scary but because the cycle never stopped. The only thing that changed were the dreams, and even then they still blended together somehow. Like a sad, fragmented storybook that didn't have any happy endings.

"I find the coming out of the dreams easier," Mae lied. The eyes didn't need to know her worry. Not if it would mean hell from her loved ones. "The nightmares are there, but I suppose that's just what I live with. But it's easier to deal with and go back to sleep after, at least."

"Well, you know you're in therapy to help ease those nightmares, Madeleine. I don't think you'll be stuck in this pattern forever."

Mae had her doubts on that, but she nodded along anyways. Better play a naïve fool, than a curious one. Curiosity meant more pills and she was really, really tired of adjusting her schedule for more random prescriptions.

"Have the nightmares changed dramatically?"

"Not really. They still follow the same cycle, I guess."

"Can you tell me about your most recent one?"

She stared down at her fingers. They twisted around one another, pale shivering snakes that just wanted to bite. "I had a new one last night, actually."

"Totally new? Or did you recognise any of the material within it? I know that—"

"—I'd never been there before," she interrupted sharply, before realising her mistake. Mae muttered a quick apology before continuing quieter than before. "It's strange. It feels like...like I'm trapped, I guess. But I'm in the open. I'm in, I think it could have been a city or something? But the buildings aren't crowding me, I-I had space to move, I just..."

"...couldn't," Dr. Crane supplied helpfully. She reached out and patted Mae's writhing hands lightly, a gesture that most onlookers would interpret as sympathetic and kind. Only a few would see the barest of frowns on the psychiatrist's harsh features, and realise when she scribbled a few short lines on her notepad after, that it was a warning, and not a reassurance.

Mae folded her hands carefully in her lap, keeping them as frozen as she possibly could. She itched to fidget. It almost hurt, keeping them so still — like a thousand ants crawled under her skin, and she was just letting them feast. 

"In my dream," she continued timidly, trying to ignore her itching palms, "I'm frozen. And I'm fighting as far as I can, but...I'm scared of something. Someone, maybe. I don't know what, I didn't see it or who, but I know I have to get away. But I can't."

Dr. Crane hummed and wrote down a few more words. "This fear that fills you. What does it feel like?"

"I-I pardon?"

"We've discussed a lot of your trauma surrounding helplessness and the fear of doing nothing in the past, Madeleine. Both in the car accident, and in the events of your last teaching position—" Mae winced at the latter, a gesture purposefully ignored by Dr. Crane, "—and I know we've discussed how your dreams often take a position of learning, for you, built on a foundation of something you're currently scared of. Or have been thinking of."

She nodded slowly. Her lessons hadn't been forgotten. Because of the weird repetitive nature of Mae's dreams — replaying for nights, weeks, months until she unraveled their mystery — Dr. Crane made Mae analyse every detail of her nightmares like she was a detective working her hardest case. Only every case was the hardest, and every time Mae was put through the wringer without mercy.

She knew it was for her own good. But did that have to be at her own expense, too?

"Do you recognise the city you're standing in?"

"Not especially. I..." Mae hesitated, running through the surroundings of her last few restless nights. "They're all apartment buildings. But none I've seen around here or anything. They're smaller, and thinner, and half of them have laundry or something hanging out of them. It all looked...a little out of date."

Dr. Crane's hand moved rapidly across the yellow paged notepad, seemingly taking in every word her patient was saying. "Is there anything that stands out around you? It can be anything. Street signs, shop names, faces are especially good, but..."

"No. I can't think of anything like that. It's all just buildings, and it feels...cold." Her eyes dart down to her lap, watching her own fingers with a sort of reproach. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry Madeleine. You're doing just fine." Dr. Crane sniffed and flipped a page, pausing before continuing. "Let's return to the main fixture of this nightmare. You said you felt trapped, and that you had to get away. Those are quite common themes in bad dreams."

"I guess. Yes."

"Can you expand on them a little?"

Mae always felt a little silly, walking through every moment of her nights. Still she did, even if the logical part of her brain questioned if it helped at all. She replayed the nightmare, etched onto the sides of her brain along with all the others. She explained how she could walk at first, but slowly her steps slowed, until she was stuck in place like she had stepped in cement. Everything remained the same, the strangely old-fashioned buildings and the uneven stones beneath her feet, but she could feel a cold, brutal wind sweeping through the area. Bringing a sense of fear. Paranoia, but also a familiar terror as something invisible approached her frozen frame.

Dr. Crane ate up every detail she fed, no matter how small or vague. She insisted on breaking down every part of it, too, and Mae could feel the familiar sense of a migraine building between her temples. That part, was always the worst.

Just before she could correct Dr. Crane, that she did not in fact see any cars around, she paused. A brief flash of gold caught her eye in the memory, and like a magpie she chased it, following the thread until she found its source.

"Madeleine?"

Without even realising, Mae shut her eyes as tight as she could. Her fists made two similar motions, trembling with force on her lap. It wasn't gold at all. It was tar, inky and black and hot, spreading across her body with every replay of the scream. The horrific, high, desperate cry for help that Mae had been trying to reach. A child, a—

"—Madeleine. Stay with me."

"I-I-I—"

"—follow my voice, Madeleine. Okay? I am here, with you. Stay with that voice."

She sucked in a tight breath and clutched onto the string of sound. "I-I-there's something—"

"—open your eyes, Madeleine." She did as requested, feeling almost like she was under a spell, and stare forward at Dr. Crane's face. The older woman nodded, baring her teeth like she was trying to smile. "Good. You're still here with me. Don't lose yourself to your memories."

But god, it was hard when it was something so tumultuous and so raw, ripping at her skin and trying to find a way out. She could feel it all over again. The fingers gripping onto her forearms, so tightly she worried the limbs would spring right off. The screams of terror mingling with her own gasps, so young and so innocent. The blood on her lips from being bitten straight through, she could taste the iron mingling on her tongue, but there had been no marks on her face when she woke.

Mae turned her gaze away from Dr. Crane's. The woman asked, but she ignored her, staring past her to the door. The child's hands still gripped her tight. It was getting too much. Why did she have to give him up? Why did she have to force him off, and into this woman's arms? She had to get out, her brain implored, run and run and save the kid and find a way out. She had to leave. Soon. Immediately. Out.

Out. 

Out.

"Madeleine. Stay with me, please."

Mae tore her gaze from the door. But she avoided Dr. Crane's cold blue marbled eyes, knowing she wouldn't be able to look away again. "I — I want to ask you something."

"Is it pertaining to this dream?"

"No. Not really. I..." she wrapped her hands around one another, trying to fight the urge to bolt. "It's about these sessions."

"Well, let's stay on topic until we—"

"—I need to ask!" SHe didn't mean to shout. Her voice never raised beyond a civilized tone; Mae almost felt ashamed, letting such a loud, shrill sound leave her throat. Still the words hovered, and she tried to look confident enough to stand behind them. "Please?"

"I — fine. What do you need?"

"Do...do you have to tell my parents about these sessions, still?"

Dr. Crane frowned. Clearly, she hadn't expected that. "Of course. Why are you asking?"

"Well, I think...I think I've gotten much better, haven't I?"

"Madeleine, I think it's best we go back on topic."

"Well, I just...why don't I get a say in it? What if I don't want to do it like this?" Her hands separated and flew through the air, accessorizing her point with wild motions. Something wasn't working; her logic wasn't clueing her back in. But she needed to fight, the rest of her brain implored, needed to take change and stop waiting for others to fix her. "I think I'm established enough to control these sessions."

"We've already discussed why. These sessions are for your benefit, but your par—"

"—it's my life, isn't it? My future? I think I'm well enough to—"

"—Madeleine," Dr. Crane hissed, and her hand stopped racing across her notepad, the first time that session. "I'm not sure where this is coming from, but I suggest we stay calm and talk it out. Can you do that, for me?"

"I-I-" she hadn't even realised she had stood up, but there she was, towering over the poor psychiatrist, fists shaking by her side. She probably looked absolutely mad, and not like someone who deserved a say in her treatment — not if it was what kept her from hurting someone.

But she wouldn't have hurt Dr. Crane. Not intentionally...not even, Mae assured herself, but she still felt uneasy. Something about the voice made her angry. Irrationally so. She still wanted to lash out and hurt someone even if she knew now it wasn't real. 

Slowly, silently, she sat back down in the well-worn seat. Her fists unraveled and her fingers peeled apart, splaying their pale selves against the velvet chair arms and clutching tight. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to — I wouldn't — I'm so sorry, Dr. Crane."

"It's okay, Madeleine." She sounded much more sure. The writing started up again. "You're allowed to express your feelings however you need here; in fact, I expect it. Working through trauma is a messy road, you and I both know that."

"Still," she mumbled, eyes darting around the room like she couldn't decide where to lay. Nothing felt right; she still wanted to move, run, leave...even if she knew she wasn't thinking straight. "I didn't mean to act out of line. I hope I didn't upset you."

Mae dared to look back at the psychiatrist, only to find her cold blue eyes fixed on her skin, watching her as close as she could. Slowly the older woman smiled, but there didn't seem to be any emotion behind the expression. "Trust me, Madeleine, you're perfectly fine. Would it be easier to drop this subject and move on?"

She shook her head slowly, knowing that was just Dr. Crane egging her on. If she said yes, the woman would press twice as hard later, and her mother's phone call a day later would be ten times worse. She'd act like Mae was destroying cities and demand she came to town immediately — and while her love for Elizabeth Delacour ran deep, it wasn't enough to brave that sort of visit.

"I'll be alright to continue with the dreams."

"Good." Dr. Crane looked pleased then, or as pleased as an emotionless woman could. Her pen tapped an uneven beat against her notepad. "I'm guessing your outburst stemmed from your dream. Correct?"

"Yes. There...it was an unpleasant detail."

"Of what kind?"

Mae sucked in a shallow, shaky breath and tried not to think about it too much. It was just in her head, she reminded herself, just a child's overactive imagination stuck in a fragile adult's brain. "It was a k-kid. In my dream, there was a kid."

"Was he with you? Do you know what he looked like?"

"No. No, I didn't see him. I just heard him. Or I did see him, but I didn't. Not really. And..."

"...and what, Madeleine?"

Her blunt fingernails dug into the velvet chair arms, but it didn't offer the satisfaction she needed to ease the traumatic memory. "I...I couldn't save him. Every time. I can't save him."

EVEN AFTER DR. CRANE'S MANY INSISTENT OFFERS TO DRIVE HER, Mae chose to walk home after their session. Most days she wouldn't want to, especially not with the brisk chill late March still brought. It was wasted time and if she could cut it down to half, she'd do so gladly. But her mind was in fragments and she needed air, real cold air that cut through her lungs and bloodied her cheeks into a thousand shades of pink. Air that made her remember she was still breathing it.

Like always, she tried not to dwell on her therapy sessions. One, because her mother (or sister as of recent) would always call a day later to discuss Dr. Crane's updates, and she'd rather save her energy for that. Secondly, though, and maybe selfishly, Mae just didn't want to care about that stuff. There was no time for the feelings she kept boxed in the back of her mind, not with the pile of unmarked essays waiting at home and unmade dinner and a dozen other chores. It weighed too heavy and it never made her feel better. Only sick to her stomach and lost.

And if she could help it, Mae would steer way clear of either of those miserable symptoms, and continue living her life as meticulously planned. Ignoring the bad parts, leaning into the good ones.

So she hurried down the small sidewalk, focused on the ambient sounds around her and not anything Dr. Crane had tried to make her think about. It was only a ten minute walk back home and an easy one, with few crowds so early into the Thursday evening. With any luck, she'd make it back by five, easy. 

"Mae?"

Apparently, Madeleine Delacour was fat out of any luck.

There was no way to avoid the interaction. She had already stopped, swaying awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk (much to the disgruntlement of the strangers behind her, who bumped and grumbled their way past). So she bit the bullet and turned slowly, shuffling to the side of the walk so one Diana Merritt could catch up with her.

Mae cringed as Diana came racing over — literally — and flung her arms around her. At least the blonde realised her mistake fast and peeled off just as quickly as she had come on. She smiled apologetically, "sorry! Forgot you're not a hugger, sweetpea!"

"It's fine," Mae told her shortly, brushing down the front of her taupe peacoat. "Hello, Diana."

"Hiya, Mae! How's life been for you?"

Diana and Mae were not friends, because Mae did not have any friends outside of Theo. They only knew each other from work — Diana had been their school's resident geography teacher, until she left to teach German halfway across town (apparently — the other teachers had plenty of other reasons why she left, but Mae never cared enough to listen to them). She was nice enough, and always made a point to greet anyone she vaguely knew. Which was sweet...if the greeted person liked being called at in the middle of their walk home while walking home from a particularly gruesome therapy appointment.

Which Mae, did not in particularly, enjoy.

"I'm doing well, thanks. How about you? What are you doing down here?"

Diana shrugged to the other side of the street towards the large set of duplexes. "I was just here to visit Ben after my class, is all. I'm on my way over now, but I saw you in the crowd and knew I had to say hi!"

Mae forced a polite smile. "Thanks. How's Ben doing?"

Ben, the asshole who Diana had fallen madly in love with. Madly being the key word, because nothing about that off-and-on relationship was sturdy or sound. Mae never liked him, but she never cared that much about Diana to tell her. If they were happy...well, she couldn't really judge. She couldn't even say she'd ever been in love; who was she to police others on theirs?

Diana fidgeted with the hem of her red flared coat, smiling. "He's swell! Still aggravating as ever, but still as adorable as ever. You know he told me we should move in some time?"

God, would that be a mistake. "That's so nice."

"He wants to start up our life together, once he's graduated and such," she replied. The blind love for the man was evident in her chocolate eyes; she never saw the pain and torment they both put themselves into, but only how happy he made her when they weren't locked in a screaming match. "We were actually looking into getting a dog, you know?"

"Oh, that's nice."

"Yeah! Ben wants it to train us for having kids."

Nightmare number two. What good would a man Ben be as a dad? Someone who'd spent thirteen years pursuing a bachelor's in sociology (five of those years, lost in Thailand somewhere 'finding himself', as Diana put it) and who throws a hissy fit if he doesn't have a stocked beer fridge sounded like a nightmare father. Not that Diana was much better, much to her limited knowledge. As someone who came from good, hardworking parents who pushed her to be her best? Well...Diana and Ben seemed the biggest goddamn opposites of that.

Mae avoided Diana's smile and stared at the ground. "Right. Well, dogs are wonderful creatures. I hope they're happy with you."

"Right?" Diana patted her shoulder and wriggled in her place like an overgrown garden elf. "Anyways, so lovely seeing you! Buh-bye! Hope to see you soon!"

She nodded and whispered a 'yeah' after her, though there was nothing but relief running through her mind as the other woman hurried off. There was only so much a girl could take, and Diana was so much more than that in just a few short minutes.

The route to grabbing a loaf of bread and the ingredients necessary to make a good salad was not hard; after visiting the tiny store so many times on her way home, it was almost automatic for Mae to steer through, grab what she needed, and head out. The owner, Mr Douglass, always gave her a cheery smile and tiny discount too, an added bonus that usually made her feel just the tiniest bit better about the day.

After waving goodbye, Mae continued her brisk walk home, weaving her way through until arriving on the street. It was cautioned - mostly by Theo - to not walk alone when it was darker outside, but unlike most places, she didn't worry much. The neighbourhood they had chosen was warm and friendly and unlike anyone she had ever bought a cheap apartment from. Her knapsack held a tiny pocketknife and emergency pepper spray, just in case, but walking down an open street like that wasn't ever one of her worries.

Just as she paused at a light, tapping her foot impatiently as the cars whizzed past, a shadow pierced the woman's vision and captured her attention, leading her eyes away from the traffic light and to the darkened alleyway between one the apartment building and another. It was so fast and so sudden that Mae hadn't been able to truly get a look at the face, and in the darkness, she could only imagine a figure, but-

"—'ey, kid. You goin' or not?"

She snapped out of the trance and hurried across the street, realising her mistake of teetering at the edge and irritating anyone who was waiting to race past. It was probably nothing but a shadow. One-hour-of-sleep Mae was not ever reasonable, and neither was slightly-peeved Mae. Mix the two together and it was just a heaping mess of no sleep and daydreaming in the middle of traffic.

She was just in desperate need of sleep, clearly. Hopefully Dr. Crane's newest prescription helped with that. Though, Mae wasn't a woman of much hope, or faith in much at all, so...she would just have to wait and see.

SISYPHUS: the son of Aeolus and the cunning King of Corinth, who was said to have cheated Death. The most famous way was told in Albert Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus*, in which Sisyphus chained Death up so that no more humans had to die. The gods were angry about this and came to free Death, which then took Sisyphus as their first victim. However, Sisyphus still didn't want to die, and asked his wife to keep him unburied. When he got to Hades, he complained that he hadn't been treated to a proper funeral, and was allowed to go back to punish this disrespect. However, he managed to avoid going back to the Underworld, and lived a second long life until he reached a natural death.

After the gods realised what Sisyphus had done, they decided he deserved an eternal punishment. He'd spent the rest of time pushing a rock up a mountain, only every time he almost made it to the top, the rock would slip and he would have to go right back down and start over again.

I feel like this chapter is super exposition and random detail heavy — sorry, for that! I'm not trying to throw all the plot in at once. Just want to get everything set in stone before introducing the main plot in, because I didn't do that very well the first time. I'm not totally satisfied with how I wrote the therapy chapter, either, but I'll probably rewrite that a bit further down the line.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought.

REWRITTEN: o3/21/21.