paradox Page #2

"A neurotic is a man who builds a castle in the air. A psychotic is a man who lives in it. A psychiatrist is the man who collects the rent." ~Jerome Lawrence There's something wrong. Elisa wakes up in a foggy detachment from reality, with no idea what's going on. From there it only gets worse. It's almost as if she just, broke.

• Fiction
• Horror
• Short story
• Drama

								

	I snickered, “I thought we were against shaming.” I intended to say fat-shaming, but my mouth apparently missed that part. 
	“She started it.” Izzy harrumphed. I just smiled, I love my best friend. 
	“I think I remember someone telling me it isn’t right.” I teased, but it came out sluggish. I was assuming I was coming down with something and hoped that Izzy thought the same. 
	“Well, I don’t remember saying that.” She crossed her arms in mock indignance.  “I do remember someone saying they’d sleepover tonight though..” She trailed off, looking at me with puppy dog eyes. 
	I really wished I could take it back, because tonight is not the night I need to be sleeping somewhere else. 
	“Is there a way we can reschedule?” I asked sheepishly. 
	She pouted, “If you’re not feeling well I can’t hold you hostage… I’ll see you tomorrow?” She gave me such a bright smile that I couldn’t help but smile back. 
“Of course. Love you.” I hugged her, staggering a bit when I pulled back. She held her hands out as if to catch me, which would be very sweet if I wasn’t currently seeing doubles.
I staggered into my house, crashing on the couch. I think the stairs are far too dangerous right now. 
There was no one home, so I thought maybe sleeping it off could help. No one could need me for something if I was home alone? Right?

Sleeping it off did not help. 

    I slept from four-thirty P.M. to seven A.M. the next morning. 

    I woke up to the electric mixer whirring in the kitchen. The foggy lens had turned into a sort of tunnel vision feeling, but that was something I could ignore a little easier. 

    I yawned as I made my way into the kitchen where my sister was making something. "Morning." She said without turning around. 

    "Morning. Need help?" I asked, feeling more confident in my ability to function. 

    "Sure. You put the pancakes on. I want to cut the fruit and practice my hand-steadiness." Bexley moved to the side and I took her pervious spot. 

    She was a spitting image of our mother, with short blond hair and acid green eyes. But she got dad's height, I got moms. 

    "Don't you take classes for that?" I questioned, thinking back to the countless dinners where my sister complained about the difficulty of her labs. 

    "Yes, but to practice extra is to be better than the rest of the class." She said seriously. I rolled my eyes while she turned the other way. 

    "You get em' sis." I used a small ladle to pour the beige batter onto the gridle. I watched tiny bubbles appear on the top of the batter, then when it was covered, I flipped it with a green spatula. 

    I watched the golden brown batter for a moment, then turned to where Bexley was studiously cutting fruit. She had a carton of strawberries, blueberries, grapes, and a sliced watermelon. 

    "Are you making mom an entire fruit salad for breakfast?" I asked, plating the finished pancakes and beginning the next batch. 

    "I'm using some of these for breakfast, then the rest are going into yogurt bowls for mom and I's foo prep breakfasts for the week." Bexley separated some of the fruit into a porcelain bowl, then the rest went into small containers with vanilla yogurt and granola inside. 

    "That's nice. The pancakes are done." I set the plate of fluffy pancakes on the counter and turned to unplug the griddle.

    "Thanks. You and mom are going to lunch right? It sucks that I have to go to class." She sighed, leaning against the counter.

    "Yeah we are." I ignored the part about class. All Bexley does is complain about school. If you don't want to be a nurse don't go to nursing school.

    She complains about everything, and I mean everything. The fake patients, her classmates, her professors, the material, it's too hard, it's too easy. 

    Like I said, everything.

    "Where are you taking her?" Bexley asked, still not turning towards me. Nothing new, Bexley has always had a one track mind.

    "I was thinking the diner she loves so much. The one right down the road." I said, grabbing the small board for eating breakfast in bed.

    I put a plate of two pancakes on a small hotplate and set it in the center of the tray. I moved the tray to the other end of the counter, where my sister was somehow still cutting fruit. 

    "Let me know when you're done. I'll bring it up to mom with you." I said as I poured a cup of orange juice and put it on the left corner of the tray. 

    Bexley nodded in understanding, but said nothing. 

    I took her silence as the end of our conversation. I headed up the stairs to go to my room, but my peripheral vision was gone. Tunnel vision wasn't much better than fog, but at least I can see, kind of. 

    I still felt as if there was a layer of fog between my mind and my body. 

    I changed and put my hair up, trying to brush it into something presentable before giving up and just settling for a messy ponytail. 

    I met Bexley by my parents' bedroom door. gently pushing it open.

    "Morning mom." Bexley said softly, in the gentle voice she only used with our mom. She was never this gentle or sweet with anyone else, instead she was straightforward and strictly scientifical. It was as if she had zero emotions for anyone other than my mom. 

    "Good morning girls. Is this for me?" She asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

    "Yep!" I forced the cheeriness in my voice, something I don't usually have to do. 

    I felt apathetic, in a way. Like there was a disconnect not only visually or mentally but emotionally as well, from everyone I loved. 

    I shook that idea from my mind, it's my mom's birthday and today is all about her. 

     "Whenever you're ready we'll head out. I was thinking we could do some shopping before lunch." I suggested.

    "why would she want lunch right after breakfast?" Bexley asked with a deadpan expression. 

    "It's okay girls, Elisa, that's a wonderful idea." My mom, ever the peacekeeper, smiled. 

    "I've got to go to my lab, I'll see you for dinner. Love you mom, bye." Bexley hugged mom and left.

    "I'll be in my room whenever you're ready." I smiled. 

    I went to my room and thought another nap would fix my weird fog problem. But I'd slept so much in the last day that I simply  couldn't sleep. 

    So I got up, took a shower, and dressed a little nicer. I changed out of my sweatpants and into a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, with my lace less slip on. 

    I walked out of my room at the same time as my mom, bumping into her accidentally. 

    "I'm assuming you're ready?" My mom joked, nudging me with her shoulder. I jerked to the side, catching myself on the railing of the stairs. 

    "Are you okay? I didn't mean to push that hard." My mom fretted, waving her hand around. 

    "I'm fine, I think I'm just jumpy today." I rubbed my forehead. "Let's go." I led the way down the stairs, wishing this stupidly weird feeling would go away already. 

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