Chapter Sixty-Four: "And Just When Things Get Better. . . They Don't."
FIVE DAYS.
Five more days of being in Los Angeles before heading back to Canada for the rest of the school year.
I love L.A., don't get me wrong, and I absolutely loved my time here this break, but honestly after the past week, I can't fucking wait to leaveâeven if that means trouble in Canadian Paradise. At least with Landon, we have no history, and it was just a simple misunderstanding on his end. With Taylor, it's one problem after another after another, and now I guess he misses the old Brooklyn? He's so fucking confusing, both boys are just so confusing and I'm tempted just to fly to the Himalayas and live under a mountain for the rest of my life.
Becoming a mountaineer sounds very tempting at the moment.
Scanning around my room, I try to think of possible places where my parents kept emergency stashes of medication. We always saved doses in case an emergency happened and we ran out (such as my dad's asthma medication in case he forgot his inhaler at work or something) so now I'm hoping that mom and dad didn't pack all of them up.
Finally remembering where they could possibly be, I tiredly drag myself out of my room and to the hallway and go into the closet to fetch the safe.
Punching in one of the passwords, followed by a few others, I come up short by telling me it's incorrect for the sixth time. Still overwhelmed from Monday's occurrences two days ago, I start balling from my stress and rush of emotions and grab my phone numbly. I press number one on my speed dial.
"Hello?"
"I need the password for the medicine safe," I blubber out.
"Brooklyn? Honey, what's wrong?"
"I. . . I forgot my medication in my locker and I'm ill today and I need them." I choke out.
"Can't you get one of your friends to run them over?"
"No, they have clubs after school."
"Baby, are you sure you're okay?"
"Just please give me the password." I cry.
"Okay," she whispers, "it's your name."
"My name is too long, mom. It can only be four digits."
"It's your middle name, hija."
"I have two middle names, mom. Which is it?"
"Oh, shit." She hisses. "Um, try Dita."
I cringe at the name.
My full name is Brooklyn Garcia Amadita May. I hate it. Not only do I not understand why it's so hard to pronounce (Ah-ma-dee-ta) to the American language, but why I couldn't have a regular middle name. Well, Garcia is normal and Spanish, but two Latin American middle names? Come on. I mean I know my mother is all-things Spanish and she believes everything Spanish-speakers do, but again, two middle names? It's a little much. Mexico is a bit different from Spain, but mom somehow manages to squeeze both into one culture.
I actually had so much trouble pronouncing Amadita when I was youngerâI'd mess up Amadita with Garcia and have it come out as Amacia, which is ridiculous because they're so different. So, when people ask what my middle name is, I just say Garcia.
"Mom, none of them work." I growl out, growing agitated. I try another code, and thankfully it works. "Never mind, I got it." I mutter. "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Why is puta the password?"
"I beg your pardon?" She gasps. "Brooklyn May, don't you dare say that word."
"I'm sorry, but 7882 was the password, and it spells puta. . ."
"That's my birthday, Brooklyn." She deadpans.
My eyes widen. Oh shit, did I just call my mom a prostitute without calling her a prostitute?
"IâI'm sorry." I stutter.
"Yeah," she says. I can sense her eye roll. "How is home?"
"Home is home." I shrug, giving her my classic white lie. "Missing it, to be honest."
"Keep your grades above an eighty-five and maybe you might see it permanently again." She promises.
"I'll try." I say tiredly. "I'm tired so I'll talk to you later."
"Alright, hija. Goodbye."
"Bye mom."
Hanging up, I grab what remains from my antidepressants in the emergency stash and immediately pop them in my mouth. I even found some sleeping pills as well, so I take a few of those too.
Well, Brooklyn, I think to myself, you lasted a lot longer than expected, so that's a bonus.
Not bothering to move the case or even close it for that matter, I leave the scattered bottles all over the floor, some having pills pop out because of how desperate and irresponsible I was with the bottles to find the proper medication.
I lay down beside them, too weak and mentally drained to even bother turning off my bedroom light or making my way to my bed.
The medication has an almost instantaneous effect on my body, which I am ever so grateful for because I've had a fucking shit day and I just want to leave.
Maybe I can change my flight to tomorrow?
No, I can't leave without a proper goodbye to my friends. They didn't do anything to deserve my attitude so I'm not going to be selfish about it.
Going through everything that's happened in my mind, I find that everything was inevitable. Had I known anything about Stacy and Annabelle or Taylor and my school, I would have never come back and would've made them come and visit me instead.
However, that still wouldn't make sense unless I was country-bound and couldn't leave, but that wasn't the case because 1) I can't leave the continent and 2) I'll be coming back to this shithole in a few months, so why run when I can't even hide?
I only have a year left of school before I go to college, but depending on my marks and how much they raise, I may even have to skip the rest of this grade like I skipped grade 6.
Whatever happens, I just hope it doesn't involve me, the police, and drugs.
I just want to be happy; is that so much to ask for?
***
I jolt awake when something scolding is splashed across my skin.
My first instinct is that my house was set ablaze and is burning me alive, but then I look down and see a puddle beneath me and my clothes that I've been wearing for the past three days straight are now soaked.
In ice-cold water.
Phew, I thought I peed myself.
A bucket is tossed harshly on the floor and I look up for the source, seeing Johnny and Casey stood above me with scared and panicked faces.
It takes me a lot of effort to even keep my head up, so I drop it harshly, it smashing against the hardwood flooring of my bedroom.
"What the hell were you trying to do?!" Johnny screams at me worriedly.
I barely even flinch. "Sleep."
"Permanently? With a bunch of fucking pill bottles on the floor with you beside them?! What if I was your parents?"
I shrug. "Then they would've seen me passed out on my floor surrounded by pill bottles."
"What is up with you?" Casey asks. "You've been fine since you got here and now you're miserable."
"Your point?"
"Why the sudden change?"
"Can you leave? I need sleep. My mentality isn't up to par."
"No, you're clearly in some state of pain, and we need to know what's happened so we can fix it." Casey replies.
"I can fix my own problems, thanks. Second, I am handling it."
"By what, committing suicide?" Johnny inputs.
"First off, I was sleepingânot trying to kill myself and second, just so you know, frankly how I go about it is none of your business."
"Okay," Casey sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck like he does when he's stressed or worried, "something's happened. You're acting different, Brookie, and it isn't showing positive things."
"So what?" I growl. "Shit happens, moods change. Deal with it."
"Is it Taylor?" He asks.
"Didn't I just tell you to leave?" I snap tiredly. "I'm fucking exhausted and I can't even think straight, so just go."
"I refuse. You're making a scene."
"In front of what, my TV? Yeah, because my life hasn't been showcased on there in ages, huh? Need a new season of Prison Break: The Mental Breakdown of Brooklyn?"
"You're being dramatic." He tells me, rolling his eyes.
"Please just leave." I plead, crawling into fetal position. "I wanna be alone."
"You've been alone for the past three days, Brooklyn. What's wrong?" Casey questions, crouching down to rub my hairâsomething the boys have figured out that makes me calmer very quick and easy.
"Nothing." I whisper. "Now please go."
The massaging intensifies. "We're your friends, Brooklyn. We're here for you and we love you. You can trust us, you know you can, so what happened?"
Suddenly a hurricane of tears start to pour down my face and onto the floor beneath me. The boys immediately sit me up and embrace me. I whisper, "Everything."
"You're gonna have to be more specific, love." Johnny murmurs, his angry persona dropping like a bass.
"Everything as in everything." I clarify. "I'm going insane."
"You're not insane." He assures me. "Just hurt."
"I'm fighting with everyone," I sob, "I can't win."
"You don't need to win, you just need to survive." Johnny tells me. "You're Brooklyn May, you got this."
"Wow, cliché." I mutter.
"True, but it's the truth."
I sniffle.
"What is bothering you the most?" Casey asks.
Out of the whole group of us, Casey is probably the therapist; Justin is good at comfort, Jason is good if it's sex-related and Johnny is good with his blunt words, but Casey overall does the best with how to handle the situation and actually understands.
Justin is my best friend more than the other three boys, but he's my fluffy bear to squeeze when I'm in period pain or when I need a shoulder to cry on. Johnny doesn't help a whole lot, but when he does, he truly works miracles. Like Justin, he buries deeper into my soul to help, and is a fluffy bear as well. Jason is the sex-pert, so if I'm having problems with ways in bed, he's my go-to man. Oh, and if I'm having men/women drama, he helps with that too. He's like a woman expert.
"Landon and Vulcano are tied." I admit. Look at me, having boy trouble when the relationship expert isn't even in the room.
Screw you, Jason for having a perfect fucking happy relationship with the girl of your dreams.
"You and Taylor seemed fine a few days ago," Johnny says with confused eyes. "What changed?"
I had sex with him when I didn't fucking want to, that's what changed. "He doesn't know how to shut the hell up when he's told to."
"Yeah, I need you to elaborate. I don't know what you're trying to say." He deadpans, making me roll my eyes and sniffle again, and recalling the events that happened on Monday during lunch, that lead to me skipping the rest of the school day because I felt sick.
When I'm done, both boys look pretty angry, but to others they just may look slightly annoyed or even constipated if you wanted to take things further.
"Bastard." Johnny growls.
"Don't do anything about it," I whisper. "I'm over it."
"No you're not." Casey states.
"Okay, I'm not, but I'm only here for a few more days, then I'll never have to see him for a while." I frown.
"Have you talked to your psychiatrist about it?" Johnny asks.
"I FaceTimed her on Monday because that's when our sessions are. Sadly, I looked horrible so I had no choice but to tell her."
Casey asks, "What'd she recommend?"
I shrug softly. "Something about taking it easy until I can return. I told her about the pills, too, and she was pretty mad about me not taking them without permission, but she didn't hold a grudge."
"I told you you shouldn't've done that." Johnny states.
"Yeah, everyone seems to be telling me a lot of shit these days." I grumble.
"Well," Casey says, throwing an arm over my shoulder, "if it makes you feel any better, Lacey knocked Stacy out first period and got suspended this morning."
"She did?" I question quizzically. Why didn't she tell me?
"Yep," he chuckles. "I was mad, but then when she explained why she did it, it made sense."
"Why'd she do it?"
"Taylor said something about her attacking you at lunch, so she attacked her for attacking you." He explains. "She got grounded when her parents got called, but now she's just on house arrest without a phone for the rest of the week. She was initially grounded for the rest of the month but then they found out about you again and they softened up."
So that's why she couldn't tell me.
A smile appears on my face at the thought of Lacey hitting Stacy, which makes the smile grow because my best friend got suspended for me.
"She really did that?" I ask softly. "For me?"
They both nod. "Of course she did, babe. She knows especially how hard it was on you, and she wasn't going to take her doing that to you lightly." Casey says.
Feeling better, I pull my two friends into a hug, and they gladly squeeze me backâmaybe a little too tightly. "You both are suffocating me." I giggle hoarsely, my voice strained from all my crying.
I swear, I've probably lost five pounds from crying so much.
"Good, we need to make sure there's still feeling in there." Johnny teases.
"Feelings are growing, don't worry." I chuckle softly. "Thank you guys for coming to see me. I feel better now."
"Better enough to come with us to dinner at one of the most expensive and difficult restaurants to eat at?"
"Mmm, maybe a little." I joke. "Shower first?"
"Maybe two, just to be safe." Johnny smirks, nudging me. I roll my eyes and the two help me up, offering to clean up the mess on my floor. God, I love these guys to death.
When I stand, I guess it does make sense on why they were so freaked out when they came and seen me.
Looking down, I know exactly what position I was in when I fell asleep, and having me like that beside a bunch of scattered pills and their bottles, definitely made a wrong impression.
When I take my antidepressants alongside some sleeping pills I'm dead. The position I fall asleep in is the same position I'll be in when I finally wake up, and I'll be in such a deep sleep, it's nearly impossible to wake me up unless it's in the very beginning when I take the pills, or when they're starting to wear off.
Anywhere in between, you may as well just be talking to a corpse.
That being said, when the boys came in, they probably spent a while trying to wake me up and probably started to panic when I was unresponsive because I was sleeping.
The only way to wake me up from a pill-induced slumber is to splash freezing ice-cold water on me, and that's what they did, confirming that I had just been in a very deep sleep and not dead from overdosing.
My stenchy clothing probably didn't make the situation better either.
"Yessir." I grin, and walk to my bathroom, already feeling better.
The boys are right; I can get through this. I will get through this.