The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  Why?

  She looked round the sterile bright ceiling for triggers.

  And it all came back to her. The bathroom, the cutting, the blissful feeling of it all going away. Then, her mum’s voice. Her mum’s frantic voice.

  What had she done?

  Her body erupted into trembles, like ten million earthquakes were hitting her at the same time. What had she done? What had she done? What had she done?

  “Where’s my mum?” she asked urgently. Her mother. Her poor, poor mother. How much more could she fail her?

  “Shh, Bree, they’re outside,” a doctor said, trying to calm her. “You’re okay. Your parents are outside and they’re very worried about you, but you’re okay.”

  Her breath kept catching in her throat and she struggled for air. “What happened?”

  “Do you remember, Bree?”

  Not really. Then… Oh God, the video. The awful, horrible video. And Logan. Logan! Her heart shattered all over again as the memories whizzed, one by one, back into her brain. She rocked herself back and forth in the hospital bed to try and soothe the trembles.

  “I did something stupid, didn’t I?”

  “I’m not sure if stupid is the right word…unwise perhaps?” He gave her a nice, warm smile and she felt a bit calmer. Like his smile was medicine.

  Bree took a breath and lifted her gown. Yep – it was real. There was a huge white bandage across the top of one leg and there wasn’t one bit of her that wanted to write about it. She gasped, and more earthquakes erupted through her blood.

  “You’re very lucky to be here, Bree. You almost hit a major artery.”

  “I did?”

  That hadn’t been the plan. The plan wasn’t to…was it? No. No! Okay, maybe, on her worst days she’d considered it…but that was so different to actually doing it. What if her mum hadn’t found her? What if her mum had found her, but too late? She had to make this doctor understand.

  “You don’t think I tried to kill myself, do you? I didn’t. I wouldn’t…”

  The doctor perched on the side of her bed, and again, there was something about him that soothed her.

  “What do you think happened, Bree?”

  “I wouldn’t…I don’t think…I just wanted it to go away.”

  “What’s that, Bree? What did you want to go away?”

  “School.”

  “School?” He looked surprised.

  “Don’t you remember being seventeen, doctor?”

  She won a small smile.

  “Yes, and it wasn’t so bad. Now, I’m going to need to ask you some questions.”

  She rolled to make herself more comfortable and as she did she saw the doctor’s ID tag. She ground her teeth.

  Dr Karl Thomas, Psychiatric Unit.

  For once, Bree realized she couldn’t smart her way out of this one.

  “So,” she said, and her eyes filled with wetness for the first time in for ever, “what do you want to know?”

  chapter fifty-one

  So Bree talked to the doctor. She talked and talked and talked. She told Dr Karl Thomas absolutely everything, after checking ten million times about his confidentiality obligations. She told him about her book being rejected, she told him about the blog idea, her makeover, losing Holdo, sleeping with Hugo, falling in love with Logan, and then all the horror that had happened most recently. It was liberating really, being able to tell someone all about it. And psychiatrists are such good listeners. He let her get it all out, nodding only occasionally and making notes on his pad, his eyes sympathetic but not in a patronizing way.

  “…So, yeah, after all of that, I just maybe took the whole self-harm thing a bit too far. I guess.”

  Dr Thomas gave her a small smile.

  “Do you have any idea of the potential severity of what you did?”

  “I do. But I didn’t mean to…” She paused, biting her lip. “Why do people do it, doctor? You must see young people like me all the time. And maybe you see some that don’t have mums that find them in time. But why?”

  Dr Thomas sighed, a sigh filled with sadness at having heard that question asked so many times before. “We don’t know yet. They’re usually just very sick and see this as the only way out…and then…”

  “And then what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Please?”

  He mulled over his words, staring into some vacant nothingness just over the frame of his glasses.

  “Well, sometimes, in cases like yours for example, they just do it,” he said, and looked up at Bree. “They weren’t planning it and they don’t think about what it really means. They do it out of anger, to prove a point usually. You mentioned school – school really is hell for some people. I don’t doubt that. Ever. But what they don’t get is that death is permanent. Whereas every other problem in their lives usually isn’t. And if they’re trying to make a point, they won’t be around to see the point being made. There’s no coming back from…that. I wish I could make them understand it before. I wish I could tell them. This is for ever…you’re never coming back. You’ll never have this chance to live again.”

  Bree winced as she pulled the blanket further up her shaking body.

  “I will always try to live,” she told him, and her voice stopped shaking and rang out clear around the curtained walls. “From now on, I promise, I will always choose to live.”

  chapter fifty-two

  A nurse came in and checked a chart at the end of her bed. Bree waited until she’d left, then she asked the doctor her next question.

  “You’re not going to lock me up in a padded room, are you?”

  He turned over a page on his clipboard. “No…we’re not. But, what you’ve just told me…are you going to tell anyone else about it? Open up a bit more?”

  “I am telling people. Sort of. I write a blog every day.”

  “What about telling real people? Like your parents? Or that nice friend Holdo?”

  Bree pulled a face. “Holdo will never speak to me again, and he’s right not to. I treated him like crap. And my parents…” She stuck out her tongue. “Are you kidding me? I doubt they care. Especially my dad.”

  “You’d be surprised, Bree… Both of them were in quite a state when you were brought in.”

  “Dad’s only annoyed he got called home from work early.”

  Dr Thomas noted that down on his pad, then flicked all the sheets back to the front and stood up, holding it against his chest.

  “Maybe I can talk to him about the importance of spending more time together, if that’s an issue. But, tell me, do people always live up to the awful expectations you impose on them?”

  That was a question and seven eighths. Did she really do that? Bree stuck out her lip.

  “Anyway…” His voice switched to breezy and Bree knew the worst was over. “What bits can I tell your parents? I really suggest you tell them everything, but I understand it may take some building up to. Whatever you decide, I’m not going out there and telling them their daughter hacked her leg to pieces for no reason.”

  Bree started to panic again. “Not the blog…they’ll make me stop and it’s all I have.” She’d come so far, she couldn’t stop now. Plus, if they took away her writing, what did she have left?

  “That’s not true—”

  “Shh,” she interrupted. “I’m bargaining. And not Logan…my dad will go mental.”

  “Quite rightly…”

  “You promised not to tell.” Part of her still hoped she’d be able to sort things out with Logan after Christmas. Even after what he’d said. Her heart didn’t have an on/off switch – maybe his didn’t either.

  Dr Thomas held up his hands. “I know I said I wouldn’t tell. Though the guy has broken the law and, personally, I feel should be held accountable. But, come on, your parents need to know something. You can’t shut everyone out, Bree.”

  Bree lifted her blanket up and peeked at her leg again. She was already dreading the day the bandage would come off, an
d what her leg would look like underneath.

  “Okay…” she said quietly. “The video, you can tell them about the video. That’s enough reason for now.”

  “I’ll tell them for you.” And there was sympathy in his eyes again. The video – that awful video – it would make anyone feel sorry for her. Well, anyone who wasn’t a student at Queen’s Hall. “You’ll need a few follow-up appointments, I’m afraid. I’ll chat to your parents about setting up some talking therapy sessions for you. Unfortunately, it will take a few weeks for the referral to come through.”

  “What? I have to go to therapy? But I’ve told you everything!”

  “Bree, stop arguing, please. Telling is just the beginning of what you need. Remember why you’re here. Remember what you’ve just promised. I’ll go bring your parents in.”

  He pushed through the curtains and Bree heard him start talking to them in a quiet calming tone.

  Bree was scared about seeing them. She rearranged herself in the bed multiple times. First she sat up with a fake beaming smile. Then she experimented with slumping low, her head lolling on the pillow. She wasn’t sure what they wanted to see. Just as she was readjusting once more, the curtains flung open and Bree’s mum hurtled onto the bed.

  “Oh Bree, my darling.” And she clutched at the blanket and sobbed.

  Bree’s father strode in nervously, sat on the chair, and looked at everything other than Bree.

  “Bree, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you, stopped you…oh God…I thought you were going to die.” She was off again, tears making blotchy marks all over Bree’s scratchy blanket.

  “Muuuuuuum,” Bree tapped her back awkwardly. “It’s okay. Stop crying.”

  Mum answered with fresh tears. Bree and her dad exchanged a look, though he still didn’t say anything.

  “Mum, I’m okay. Please calm down, come on, this isn’t like you.”

  Her mum hiccupped then sat up. She appeared to get a grip on herself and wiped the make-up rivers away from under her eyes. “Sorry…I’m just in shock, that’s all. I never expected…”

  “For your daughter to be so messed up?”

  She grabbed her hand. “Oh, sweetie. You’re not messed up. You’re wonderful. We’re going to get you help.”

  “Mum, I don’t want help. I’m okay.”

  “Honey, you’re in hospital. Because of what you did to yourself. You need help.”

  Bree pouted and looked back down at the blanket. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? You don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you’re alright, that’s all.”

  “No. It’s not that.” She could hardly bring herself to say the next words, but talking earlier to the doctor had helped. Maybe now was the time to start being more open. “I’m sorry for not being the daughter you thought I’d become. All together and pretty and popular. I’m still just a loser mess, like always.”

  Her mum’s grip tightened on the blanket. As Bree peeked out from beneath her hair, she saw Mum’s mouth drop open.

  “You don’t honestly think I care about all that, do you? I love you just the way you are.”

  “No you don’t.” Bree’s voice was shaking. “You’re just like everyone else. You didn’t care about me when I had pink hair and ugly clothes and was a massive loser. You were ashamed of me. And then I got all pretty and popular and suddenly you couldn’t get enough of me. Well, sorry I’m such a disappointment, but this is how I am.”

  She was met with silence.

  “Bree. Look at me. That’s not how it is.”

  Bree wouldn’t look at her. “That’s what it feels like.”

  Her mum grabbed her chin and pulled it up. “I’ve always cared about you, Bree. I’ve always loved you. But, these past few months, you’ve finally let me care for you. You’ve finally let me love you. It’s not to do with your hair or your clothes or your workout sessions or who you hang round with at school – that’s not why we’ve got close. We’ve got close because, for once, you’ve let me in, Bree. And I jumped on it – it’s the first chance you’ve given me since adolescence, I think…” She trailed off.

  Bree did a long hard think. “Is that true?”

  “Of course it is. You’re my daughter, I love you.”

  “But I’m a loser. I’m nobody.”

  Then her mum hugged her so hard her ribs hurt. Bree’s dad watched on, still silent.

  “No you’re not. You’re smart and pretty and kind and wonderful and so much better than you’ve ever given yourself credit for. So people don’t get you at school – so what? So you’re not popular and you’re a bit bitter about it – so what? None of it really matters, honey, as long as you love yourself.”

  Bree thought about school and instantly felt sick.

  “I can’t go back, Mum, don’t make me. The doctor must’ve told you what happened…” She went bright red. Oh, the humiliation. Every time she remembered the video clip, it was like being doused in an icy cold shower of fresh humiliation. And her parents knew about it now – that she’d had sex. The embarrassment churned through her stomach. “…He…he filmed it.”

  There was nothing her mum could say. The pity in her eyes was excruciating to see.

  Mum hugged Bree tight. “Don’t worry, love, you don’t have to go back there. It’s okay.”

  “Really, you promise? Dad?”

  It was then that her father finally spoke. “Bree, you will go back.”

  Bree and her mother sprang apart and stared at him.

  “You can’t run away from your problems.”

  Bree was too stunned to talk.

  “You heard what happened. How can we let Bree go back there?” Her mother stood up.

  “It’s exactly why she should go back there.” He stood up too, his chair making a horrible shrill screeching sound on the hospital floor as he pushed it back. “Bree, I can just about handle a psychiatrist telling me he’s not going to section you after all. I can maybe learn to deal with the memory of taking tonight’s phone call from your mother. All this I can handle. But what I won’t tolerate is my daughter, my only daughter, letting herself be a victim. Letting herself get kicked down the stairs by people who are not half the person she is. I won’t take it. I know I’m not around very much because of work, and I’m sorry I’ve not been there, but I’m here now and I’m telling you this. We didn’t raise you to be like this. We raised a fighter. Now where is she?”

  Silence was the most appropriate response to that.

  Her dad, taken aback by his own dramatic outburst, sat back down, looking exhausted. A hint that he cared, that he was worried.

  Bree did another long hard think.

  So much had changed. Her looks, her life, her love. And, yes, it had ultimately made her that bit more interesting, but she’d paid quite a price for it. Along the way she’d lost her ethics, her morals, her virginity, her dignity, her old best friend, her new best friend.

  All those weren’t a tragedy, not completely. Let’s face it, most people lose all of the above at some point.

  But the one thing she had lost, and that she really missed – though she hadn’t realized it until now – was not caring what people thought. She didn’t used to give a holy crap. And that was power.

  Her mother, worried by her silence, jumped to her defence. “Don’t be so unsupportive. Let’s look at good schools she can transfer to. Or how about home schooling? I’m not letting her go back there.”

  Bree cut her off. “Dad?”

  “Yes, honey?”

  It was the first time he’d ever used a term of endearment.

  “How do you propose we fight this?”

  The exhaustion left his face, and an energy fired up behind his eyes. For the first time, she saw him for the powerful man he was, rather than the knackered mess they saw at home.

  He smiled.

  “Well, there’s a reason you and your mother never see me. It’s because I’m a lawyer. And I know lots of those evil lawyers that everyone hates…�
��

  chapter fifty-three

  And so it came to be that Bree and her family managed to get on for a while. She was discharged the next day, with a change of bandages and some stern words from Dr Thomas.

  “Don’t get all cocky now, thinking you’re all better just because you and your family had a chinwag. There’s still lots you’ve not told them. And I still want to book you in to talk to someone.”

  “I talked to you, didn’t I? Didn’t that cure me? And are doctors allowed to say the word ‘cocky’?”

  “See, you’re being cocky. Life’s tough, Bree. I think you need to work on your coping mechanisms.”

  She made a face. “Maybe Santa will give me some for Christmas?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Not that easy, sorry. Coping mechanisms take a bit of work… I’ll be ringing in the New Year.”

  When she wasn’t thinking about Logan, or Hugo, or Jassmine, or Holdo – or anything else resembling her life for the past couple of months – Bree, at first, was surprisingly chirpy in the lead-up to Christmas. Being a social outcast gave her more time to do all her favourite things. Like reading Ulysses (by James Joyce) and pretending she understood it. Writing emotional poetry about what her feet looked like in the bath. Revising for her exams that weren’t for another two months. And watching reality television for the sole purpose of tutting at it (but secretly loving it).

  They stayed in their unexpected version of happy families through the entire festive period. Dr Thomas gave Bree’s dad some stern advice to be around more and so he took Christmas Eve off and took them up to London for a posh meal, before whisking them off to Selfridges for some last-minute shopping. He let them each pick something and Bree chose a key necklace, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She promised herself she’d wear it whenever she needed strength. They got home in the early hours of Christmas morning and watched It’s A Wonderful Life until silly o’clock.

  The next day the mass effort of “being happy together” continued. They wore Christmassy jumpers and oooed and aahed over each other’s gifts. Bree’s dad even bought something called a “Tofu Turkey” with a meat-free wishbone and everything.