It's a good thing we go to bed so early, since Tasha and I take turns having nightmares all night long. I'm afraid to ask what hers are about. I'm learning that...there are some horrors just best concealed. I used to have nightmares about rejection and failure and losing my boyfriend—you know, the usual types of bad dreams, not too different from Dawn's—but since I was Called, they've been steadily becoming less metaphorical and more violent. Even my just bad-dream-nightmares, even taking out the prophecy dreams. This is what my world is becoming; I die in my dreams every night. It scares me.
Not that I can mention that when the nurse asks how I'm feeling at about three in the morning! Like a dope, I say "scared," but then I have to make up a lame reason, and it takes at least twenty minutes to convince her to go away. Amilyn, that's her name. Score one more nurse who told me I wouldn't let them help me. At this rate I'll have the entire staff on that list...but I don't care what they think of me so long as they send me home.
I fall back into a restless sleep.
"The darkest place I've ever been?" says a redheaded girl who I should know but don't. "This is what lies beyond that."
It frightens me all over again. I feel like I've been carrying the burden...the weight of the world; that's a cliche but that's what it feels like...for much longer than a couple of months. For almost as long as I've been alive; for as long as I've been really Buffy. I'm supposed to be the leader. Yet I can't win. It's like one of those games of Capture the Flag, where you come up with all these great strategies only to get tagged in the first five minutes, where reality defeats you before you even have a chance to get started.
I almost sleep through breakfast; I wake up and make myself as presentable as I can as Dr. Taylor barges into my room.
He asks if I've seen any vampires lately. I tell him the truth: I haven't seen one since Tuesday (and that one's dust). He smiles and makes a few notes on his ever-present clipboard, and then he starts describing how he's going to adjust my medication. I zone.
"...release as early as Monday."
"You mean it?" I whoop. "I can go home?"
"You're not crazy, Buffy," he says. "We have people who have different types of disturbances," and he draws me a little diagram. It makes my eyes hurt and I unfocus them, but it was nice of him to try.
"...and you're more at this end, you're neurotic as opposed to psychotic, and neuroses tend to responds better to drugs like Paxil and..."
It's worse than Mr. Ritgar's tenth grade Greek History.
Note to self: never read that huge file-folder chart they're keeping on me. Cancel note to self, because if they ever let me, which doesn't seem likely, I won't need the reminder. Give me a vampire's nest any day, with something to pummel. Wow...I check the thought; I'm even thinking like the Slayer now. Is this what my world is turning to? For about the twenty zillionth time this day, I wish that I had someone to entrust those questions to.
"Any questions?"
"Do you have a punching bag in this place?" Lovely. That's going to help my reputation as sane ordinary student Buffy.
"We have an exercise bike. Exercise is important in dealing with various types of anxiety..."
I nod and smile until he finishes the lecture.
"...just open the far door in the common room."
"Thanks!"
I've only missed one group, but for the nurses' benefit I pretend I'm still talking to Dr. Taylor for the rest of the morning so I can keep the door shut. I borrow Tasha's handheld cd player and check out her music collection. For thirteen, I heartily approve of her taste...no, wait, she's too young to listen to a few of these songs!
It works great for me to unload all of the morning's tension, though. Monday. A weight has been lifted.
I get a message after lunch that my family is planning on spending the whole day with me tomorrow, but they have other obligations today. I don't really mind, even. I find that exercise bike. After I ride conventional-style for long enough to be really jittery, I start doing handstands and vaults over the seat. Tasha pokes her head in the door and we amuse ourselves until Shellie comes in and tells us to cut it out. Tasha draws a picture of Shellie under assault from weird external voices. I mentally add a few vampires.
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