Fake (A Pretty Pill) (12 page)

“Put your clothes back on,
JOHN.
” She screams for my father.  He won’t come.  He’s not even in the house anymore.

“Fucking look at me
.” I scream at her.

She’s
refusing; she’s storming out of the room and into the kitchen.  I’m following her.

“FUCKING LOOK AT ME MOM
.”
I scream ferociously.

She grabs the wine fridge door, reefs it open and grabs the first bottle her fingers touch.  I’m watching her; the ritual has walked
its path.  Here we are again.  The only difference is I’m standing in the kitchen with my bra and panties on, and only them.  I’m huffing.  I wouldn’t care if she screamed and lamented the loss if she could just look at me and tell me she loved me.  Could look at what I’ve become and not let it bother her anymore.  It’s been years.  I don’t remember the last time she looked at me with any pride.

“Are you going to look at me?” I croak.

No, she’s going to ignore me.  She’s going to open the bottle she just liberated from the fridge and she’s going to drink the whole thing. 

What have I become?  What is it about me that means everyone has to
walk away and leave me, lamenting the loss as though I’m dead. Horrified and hurt as if it were them in that blast.  I haven’t been with a guy since the blast.  I can’t even show myself to my Dad.  This is the first time I’ve exposed myself to anyone in 12 months, since the last grafts healed.

She begins to open the bottle; a stern and frigid look across her pretty face.  I can’t take it; a seething rage takes over and I grab the bottle by the neck, right out of her grasp and smash it down on the edge of the counter, shattering the glass everywhere and splashing wine in a grand cascade onto the floor and bench.

I don’t wait for the fallout; I storm out of room and up to my bedroom.  I grab a dress and flip flops, throw them on and head for the beach.

***

This morning I wake up bright and early.  I have a spring in my step because I’m leaving this God-awful house and going to work.  Surviving Ethan’s advances are still superior to listening to my mother’s drunken raving.  Last night she got mega-pissed.  Tuesday night and all.  She still didn’t come and tell me she loved me.  I guess that means she either doesn’t, or doesn’t know how to.  Either way, it’s not conducive to a blissful mother and daughter relationship.

Fairs fair though, I’m not sure I love her either.  I feel too conflicted with her to know what I feel for her, because emotive responses to people these days tend to be within the realms of boredom, despising, flat or rage.  With the exception of Silas yesterday who made me feel my first positive emotion in years.

To be truthful, I’m kind of excited to be seeing him again too, so I eagerly ready for work and because I don’t want to see my mom this morning, I decide to eat there as well.  We’re allowed to if we get there 20 minutes early.  Usually I don’t, because Ethan eats there.  He’s a tight-ass.  He doesn’t spend any money on anything he can get for free.

When I pull into the parking lot, I notice the usual cars.

I pull into the space I tend to frequent and hop out.

“Is
obelle.”  Ethan yells over to me from wherever he is.  I groan, but look up to locate him.

He’s walking toward me now.  I
swear he looks out for me.

“How are you this morning?” he asks.

“Good.”

“Come for breakfast today?”  He asks enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I thought I would for a change.”

“That’s great, you’ll have to sit with me.” he offers.

“That’s okay, I’m just going to eat and run.”

“Oh you can’t do that.  You’re not allowed to take food out of the kitchen.  Staff aren’t allowed to eat with the patients.”

“You’d know.” I grumble.

“I insist you sit with me.” He says.

I groan.

“Come on, we’ll have fun
.”

About as much fun as shoving a hot poker in my eye
.

When I’m finally seated next to him, noticing that everyone else there are at a minimum of two seats away, I scoff down my food and give myself heartburn.  Ethan talks to me about the benefits of chewing my food
25 times before swallowing.  I just think that’s nuts; but then, he’s nuts.

I break away from the crowd and begin my rounds.

After an hour of cleaning the north wing’s floors and railings, I’m about to begin the rooms.  People are already up and having their breakfast.  I always start with the north wing first and then the East wing, where Silas’ room is.  Undoubtedly he’ll be in therapy when I go over to that side, but I hope I’ll see him in passing.  I open room 11, propping the door wide.  I begin as usual by opening the windows.

Upon returning, I see a haughty Silas leaning up against the door frame, just outside in the hall.

“Howdy stranger.” he says in a ‘Western’ movie accent.

“From Australian to Western.  You’ve got skills
.  You could go and do some cattle rustling in the old west and work up the angst of a lynching mob.” I smile.

“I thought I could help you instead.” he says.

“No, you can’t.  You’ll get me into trouble.” I explain.

“I’ll stand out here, and if you need something, I’ll peg it at you.” He says.

“You’ll what?”

“Throw it,
I’ll throw it to you.” he smiles.

“Oh, well you’ll have to stand out there regardless.  You’re not allowed in a room alone with me.”

“I’ve already done that.  And I’d like to point out that the sky didn’t fall and the world remains in orbit around the Sun.” He states.

“Only because Ethan didn’t find out.”
I grumble.  And then I remember his knuckles and stroll over to the door.

“Come on, quickly.
Before anyone sees.” I gesture with my hand for him to enter.

“Wow,
my powers of persuasion are working really well today.  What do you have planned for me miss?” he says with a grin plastered across his face.

I give him an annoyed look, so he looks up and down the halls and steps over the threshold.

I walk over to the windows where the light is better and he follows.  I’ve left the door open this time.  I’d still get into trouble, but it would be worse if the door was closed.

I peel the bandages back slightly to look under them.

“You’ve got them on display.” I say.

“Dr. Jensen noticed them yesterday.  I fed her some bullshit, saying I needed my hands strapped for comfort till I felt more at home.”

“That’s,”
I don’t know what that is
, so I give him a sour and scornful expression.  “She believed you?”

He shrugs.

I can see they’re looking much better.

“They look good.”

“I know.”

“Of course you would,
now get out.” I chuckle and point to the door.

“You’re a scornful woman Miss Mulligan.” he pouts, walking to the door.

“I don’t want to get into trouble.” I explain.

“If you get into trouble, can we make it worth the
dilemma by doing something really naughty?” he asks, smiling his cheeky grin.  He still hasn’t left the room.  He’s still inside the door.

“Do something naughty?” I laugh.

He winks at me.  So I walk over to him and shove him out the door.

“No
.” I mock disgust.

“
I’m shattered.” he swoons.

“You’re an idiot
.” I counter half-heartedly.

“A likeable idiot nonetheless
.”

“Bravo… you are definitely a likeable idiot
.” I smile.

“You know, I think we should swap stories.  One story a day
.  I’ll tell you one story, and then you tell me a story.  Then we’ll repeat it tomorrow and the next day and so on.”  He surmises.  “It will help with the boredom.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yep, definitely.”

He looks excited.

“But they have to be on par with each other.  I don’t want to tell you
my story about jumping off a roof, only to hear a story about you having a cute bunny rabbit named Waggles when you were five.” he bargains.

“Waggles is more of a dog’s name, and you jumped off a roof?”

“All in good time.  Deal?” he asks, putting his hand forth to shake on it.  I shake.

“Okay, can I tell you what your first story is going to be about?” I enthuse like a little girl waiting in line for Santa.
  I’m surprising even myself this animated enthusiasm.

“Ah, okay
.  But before you do, you should give the little girl you channeled just then back her soul.  It was way too convincing. Stop stealing children’s souls; Ethan will accuse you of being in league with the Devil.” he says with a mocking seriousness.

I gush,
“I know.” I say shockingly, “He’s super weird.  Did he accuse you of something?”

“He warne
d me away from a guy named Luke, who’s gay.”

“Oh
wow I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you about him because he’s really odd.  Something’s not right about him.  But you’re the first patient I’ve had anything to do with.” I explain.  And then I think to add, “I’m still not sure why I’m willing to risk my job spending any time with you.” I smile.

A shy smile crosses his face.

“Wow, I feel really special.” he says.

“Just stay away from him.  I don’t know what his deal is, but he does it to everyone that isn’t higher up the food chain than him.  I still think he has a personality disorder.  He’s really
, really weird.  I’m sure it’s just an act.” I reason.

“I plan on staying well out of his way.  He came across as a complete and utter fuckwit
.  I seriously wanted to smash his face in.” Silas shakes his head in dismay.

I grin at his definition of Ethan.

“Okay, now tell me about your tats.”  I blurt out.  I can see the half sleeve today, because he’s wearing a t-shirt.  But of course yesterday I got to see them in full; I got to see most of him in full.  It was really nice.  Really sexy…gah, I’ve really got to stop thinking about him like that.

But I ca
n’t help my humongous grin and I’m kind of bouncing like a kid right now.  I’m confused as to how we got to be friends like this so quickly, but I just don’t care; I’m enjoying this way too much. 
I’m allowed to have friends aren’t I?

“Really,
give that kid back her soul and channel Isi back in please.  I’m getting confused as to who I’m talking to.” he says, smiling.

I just smack his arm and turn
away to begin dusting and cleaning while he talks.

“My sister
Jade paid for half of it as a birthday present, and I paid for the rest of it out of my severance pay.”

I look at him to say more but he’s just standing there staring at me.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re fucking terrible at telling a story.” I grumble, throwing down my cleaning rag on the trolley.

“Language
.” he mocks.

I narrow my eyes. 
“Why did you choose biomechanical art?” I ask.

That’s got his attention.  His eyebrows are raised and he’s decidedly impressed looking.

“Somebody knows their stuff.”

I shrug, “TLC.” I say.

He laughs, “When I was younger, I always felt the outside of me hid the real me.  When I was a kid in Armidale, I felt like no matter what I did to myself I’d always make it through. You know, life threatening kind of stuff.  It was almost like I wasn’t real, almost like I was actually a robot with human flesh on the outside, because I felt like I was kind of indestructible.  So, I wanted to reflect that idea.  I went with the biomechanical because I felt like I was a robot and not a real person for so long.”

“Do you still feel like that?”

“Ah no, not for years.  I feel decidedly real.  And after Shae left, my world collapsed. It brought home very much how real everything is. Very painful and very devastating.  I still like the art though.” he says, looking at his arm.

“Do you still feel like your world is devastated?” I ask meekly, chang
ing the rags so I could move into the bathroom and do the wet surfaces with a spray and wipe technique.

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you?” he asks me.
It makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Shit,
is it really that obvious?

“Yes,
most of the time.  Sometimes no.” I whisper.

“I hope I can help you with that.” He offers.
  I look up at him and he looks genuine.