“Oh, thank you, you too,” said Peyton, glancing over at me momentarily, as if asking how she should interpret that.
Although it lasted only a microsecond, the tension was already starting to get under my skin. People exchanged glances, smiles, nods, handshakes. All the while their mannerisms revealed their hidden undertones.
“Where’s Nathan?” Christian asked.
“Oh, he stayed home, he said he wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I had a whole boy’s night planned, so you ladies could hang out. Well, how ‘bout we get ready to eat? I’m cooking some steaks tonight, special occasion for our special guest,” said Christian.
“Sounds good,” I wanted to get inside, separate the energy in this place.
As we entered the house, I exhaled a deep breath. Peyton nudged me.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing, just feeling a little uneasy,” I said fidgeting.
“You seem more than uneasy,” her voice communicated concern.
I didn’t respond, what could I say? My mind was caught in a weird loop where things weren’t processing as they should. I sat down with them in the living room and pretended to watch whatever was on the TV. I tried to focus on one thing, just one thing, but my mind was running wild. It jumped from one thing to another, and then to three things at once. It was starting to become overwhelming. We were staying here all night, so I needed to snap out of it. I noticed Peyton sitting next to me on the couch, trying not to make it obvious that she was glancing over at me, not knowing what to say.
In a flash, I realized what the problem was.
“My medication,” I exclaimed, panicking, and reaching into my pockets for my cell phone. I hadn’t missed a dose since I’d started taking them almost three months ago.
“What’s wrong?” Peyton said.
“I didn’t take my medication, I need it,” I said dialing my mom’s number. “Mom, can you see if my medication’s in the kitchen?”
“What?” said my mom, obviously not expecting a question so quickly.
“My medication, is it in the kitchen?” My hands starting to shake as I spoke.
“Yeah, it’s here. Why?” she asked.
“Cause I forgot to take it, and I need it.”
“Dani, it’s past five already, you can miss a dose for once,” my mom’s voice was unconcerned.
“No, you don’t understand. I need it now, mom,” I noticed I was becoming more agitated by the second.
“Dani, we’re eating dinner, then your brother needs to shower and get ready for bed. Your dad’s not here, so I can’t just leave,” she said.
“What do you mean you can’t leave? Just put him in the car. He can sleep in the car. There’s no school tomorrow, what’s the fuckin’ problem?” I saw Peyton’s shocked reaction as I spoke this way to my mother.
“What did you just say to me?” she asked. “Dani, it’s past five, you’re not going to take it. Just wait till tomorrow.”
“When I wake up tomorrow is it going to appear magically here when I need to take it? No!” I became irrationally furious, “If it’s not here, then how the fuck am I supposed to take it?”
After this outburst, I clenched my phone as hard as I could and slammed it down onto the floor, shattering it. I slumped onto the floor beside it, striving to calm down.
“Fuck,” I repeated through gritted teeth.
Apparently, everyone was listening. It would have been impossible not to overhear. Christian and Cindy were peaking in from the kitchen. Peyton knelt down next to me.
“It’s okay, Danielle, I’ll drive you over there. We can go get it, it’s not a problem,” she said, cautiously. I dragged my fingers through my hair trying to get a grip. I held my hands out in front of me, and they shook uncontrollably. I clenched them into fists and closed my eyes.
“I got this.” I heard Cindy’s voice. She inserted herself in front of Peyton.
“Get up,” she said. She reached down and pulled me up by one of my arms. When I was standing, she wrapped one arm across the front of my body over my shoulders.
“We’ll be right back.” I glanced down for a second to see the worried and confused look on Peyton’s face.
Cindy half pulled me up the stairs into her room, and then into the bathroom where she sat me down on a seat. I remained there staring at the ground, trying to comprehend how I had just spoken to my mother; how I had just behaved in front of my friend.
“What’s going on with you?” Cindy asked, fidgeting with something by the sink, not turning toward me. She didn’t seem at all worried. In fact, she seemed perfectly calm.
“I don’t know,” I said, honestly.
“You always act that way in front of your girl?” she asked, turning around to face me.
“She’s not my girl.”
“But you want her to be?” she asked. I stayed silent.
“No offense, Dani, but you can’t go around acting like a fucking idiot if you want her to stick around,” she said. “Is she worth it?”
I didn’t respond.
“Well, I don’t know if I like her, but you obviously do. So, before you go out there you need to put on a different face. Call your mother and tell her you decided to stop acting like a bitch, and then we can get on with tonight. I’m not looking forward to this charade any more than you.”
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t control it.”
“Well,” Cindy said with a smirk, “I know something that always calms you down, puts things into focus for you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said winking and stepped aside to reveal her surprise for me.
Laid out on the granite counter, sat a little pile of white powder.
I smiled.
I remembered the first time I’d encountered this substance. I’d walked in on Cindy snorting multiple lines off the counter in that same bathroom. I remembered the terrified expression on her face when she noticed I was there and asking her what it was and what it did. It seemed she wanted to decriminalize herself more than distract me. I’d grasped the opportunity and told her I wanted some and remembered how reluctant she was the first time she handed me that straw. I will never forget that first experience. It had given me the peace I sought every waking moment. I knew the way I felt when I used it was different from everyone else’s experience. I felt calm, collected, safe, and focused.
Cindy appeared more high-strung and agitated. I always wondered why she even bothered, but I would never forget that first time. After that, our bathroom get-togethers had become more frequent. Our little secret. We would stay up all night talking about anything and everything, smoking cigarettes indoors, and philosophizing about life and the universe. I hadn’t had any since I met Peyton, which had been almost four months ago.
After probably twenty minutes, we emerged from upstairs. I’ll admit: I was feeling much better. I felt numb to the things that made my mind run wild. I was calm, and I had called my mother and apologized profusely. She said that she would come over right away; that she didn’t know I would have such horrible withdrawals. I assured her it wasn’t necessary.
As we walked downstairs, Peyton and Christian sat in the kitchen, clearly on edge. I smiled reassuringly.
“All better?” Christian asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, then switched my attention to Peyton, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah,” she said, getting up.
We walked out onto the back porch by the pool; she sat down on the bench outside. I cleared my throat. Feeling residue running down the back of my throat brought more comfort to me.
“I’m sorry for how I acted,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she replied.
“No, it’s not, I shouldn’t lose control like that,” I said, “I just uh─” I tried to continue, but began to drift away a little. What I wanted to say made sense in my mind, but at that moment I just wanted to enjoy the feeling pulsing through my body.
“Look at me,” Peyton said suddenly, reaching up to my face and gazing directly into my eyes. I tried to give nothing away.
“You’re different,” she said, searching my eyes.
“Different? I usually don’t get that upset . . .”
“I don’t mean then, I mean now. I saw you before, as upset as you were, but I don’t see you now. Your eyes don’t look at me the way they normally do.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like . . . what did you do upstairs?” she asked, changing the subject, her eyes penetrating.
“We just talked,” I tried brushing it off.
“Right . . .” she turned away from me.
I wanted to know what she needed to say but didn’t want her to question me further, so I dropped it.
We all congregated inside. I prayed that Cindy wouldn’t be obnoxious and make it obvious that something had taken place. We sat around Christian’s huge table, set just for four. Christian sat at the end, Cindy on one side, and Peyton and myself on the other. The food looked amazing, but I no longer had an appetite.
“Wow, looks wonderful,” I said.
“Why, thank you, Danielle,” said Christian. “Sometimes I know what I’m doing. Oh, I forgot drinks. Sodas or . . ?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Yes, please,” said Peyton.
Christian fetched four drinks from the kitchen. He set them all out in front of us and saved one for himself. My eyes fixated on him for a long time, not wanting to believe what I saw.
“What’s that?” I asked, indicating his can.
“This?” Christian said, holding up his can. “It’s a beer, pretty standard domestic if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re drinking again?” I asked in disbelief.
It suddenly became quiet and extremely awkward at the table. Christian didn’t seem offended by the question.
“It’s not like before, Dani. I’ve got it under control. Tell her, baby,” he said, nodding toward Cindy.
“He really does, Dani, just a couple every now and then,” she said with a smile.
“I don’t understand,” I said, wondering how he would ever even consider drinking again after it ruined everything for him before. Peyton put her hand on my leg as if to say ‘calm down.’
“Dani, it’s okay, relax,” said Christian with a smile, raising his hands in supplication.
“Yeah, Dani, who are we to judge?” Cindy said, winking at me.
I knew I was stuck. She was right. How could I judge Christian after the performance I’d just given? The remainder of dinner was mostly small talk. I didn’t have much to contribute.
As I got ready for bed in the room I normally slept in, I felt Peyton’s eyes on me. From the other room, I could already hear arguing in low voices. It reminded me of how it used to be, except back then Christian didn’t have someone to take it out on.
“Come sit with me,” Peyton said from the bed, already in her sleepwear.
I walked over to the bed and sat on the side.
“No, come over here,” She said, dragging me into the bed. I put up a token resistance as she tried to pull me further into the bed. Eventually, I gave up and sat next to her.
“Tell me something,” she said running her fingers across my knee.
“Tell you what?” I asked.
“Is this why you didn’t want to come,” she asked.
“What do you mean,” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
She let the room get quiet so that we could hear Christian and Cindy arguing in the other room, “That.”
I was quiet. I felt so embarrassed for bringing her here. I knew she would never want to come again. Who would? Not that I cared. I just didn’t want her to see what it was like. What I was like. Not to mention, I didn’t know Christian had starting drinking again, which added insult to injury. This was probably the worst way her visit could have gone.
“Hey,” she said, “it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, with frustration, “It’s really not.”
“Listen, you know the worst parts of me. Do you think I expected everything about your life to be perfect? Do you think that matters to me and our friendship? I want to know who you really are, and if this is a part of it, then I need to know that too. No matter how bad it is.”
I stared at her, realizing why I cared for her so much. She was the most genuine, most unselfish human being I had ever met.
“Got it?” she asked with a flicker of a smile.
“Yeah.”
I lay back on the bed, and she lay next to me, propped up on one elbow. She began to brush my hair away from my eyes with her fingers, then continued running her fingers through my hair. This always relaxed me.
I asked her, “What if there are worse things about me? Things that you don’t want to know?”
“There is nothing you could tell me that would make me doubt who you are. I’ve seen the best part of you, and as long as I know that exists, I will always believe that there’s a way to go back to it again.”
She patted my chest in a reassuring manner, then slid her arm down so it was across my waist. My left arm was behind my head, gripping the sheet tightly to prevent any reaction registering on my face. I looked up at the ceiling trying to avoid Peyton’s stare. Her fingertip strayed across the skin between where my shirt and pants met and I turned to face her, our faces inches apart. I could have sworn she inched closer to me.
“I’m not sure what you think you see in me, but I just don’t see it.”
“You don’t have to see it,” she said rolling over and grabbing my arms to wrap around her. “Just know that I feel it.”
I pulled her close to me, and my arms rested around her.
“This right here, being in your arms. This is the only place I feel safe. This is where nothing else in the world matters,” she whispered to me.
I awoke later that night and tossed and turned restlessly. I attempted to fall back to sleep with no avail. Eventually, I got out of bed and went downstairs for a drink of water. Just as I had reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed Christian was in the kitchen. I reluctantly continued to the kitchen, knowing it was too late to turn around to avoid him.
He stood at the sink emptying beer bottles into the drain with a look of frustration. I avoided his gaze and grabbed a cup from the cabinet. I pressed it against the water dispenser and watched the glass fill ever so slowly. I prayed that it would fill faster as I could hear Christian huffing and puffing like he had something he wanted to say or wanted me to ask him. Just as my cup reached half-full, and I determined that there was enough water, he spoke.
“Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, you always somehow end up doing the wrong thing?” Christian asked in a mildly drunken tone.
This seemed to be a hypothetical question, so instead of responding, I leaned against the fridge to listen to what I hoped would be a short conversation.
“Sometimes I just feel like I can’t be a good person, like I wasn’t meant to be good. All I am good at is hurting people, disappointing them, and destroying myself . . . Who knows, maybe that’s the answer.”
“What’s the answer?” I inquired, curious as to what he could be insinuating.
“Nothing,” he says waving off his last comment, “I just thought that there’s this part of me that I would eventually grow out of. I thought I’d get older and wiser. That I would change and one day be able to forgive myself for what I had done and actually be able to ask forgiveness. You can’t ask forgiveness when you just keep doing the same things wrong over and over again. I just can’t stop.”
I was caught off guard by his admissions. Although I had disdain for Christian and wanted to ignore his drunken self-loathing, my dark side empathized with him.
“All I can say is: I know it’s easier, and it feels better to let that side win. No matter how much you think you despise it, part of you loves it. I think if you let that side win enough it becomes who
you are.”
“Do you think it’s too late for me to change? Do you think I’m stuck being this person?” He asked.
“I don’t have any answer for that,” I replied, exiting the kitchen and leaving Christian alone with his thoughts.
* * *
“Why do you think you had such bad withdrawals from your medication?” asked Dr. Joy, jumping right into the questioning.
“Maybe because I’m one of the few people who really needed it,” I said, as if the answer was obvious.
“You were relatively okay until you realized that you didn’t have your medication or access to it.”
“Well, yeah, because I knew it would go from bad to worse.”
“You don’t think you viewed it as some kind of safety net, an excuse to control, or in this case, not to control your emotions?” she asked. It seemed for the first time she might actually be doing the work of a ‘doctor.’
“I knew I felt better when I was on my medication, whether it was physiological or psychological, I don’t know if I could tell you the difference. I felt as if people were safer around me when I took it,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully.
“So, you thought people were in danger when you weren’t on your medication?”
“When I’m not on my medication, I’m more than a nightmare. I despise the person I become.” I tried to make her understand the severity of what I was saying.
“Don’t get me wrong, Danielle, I have no doubt of your need for medication. If anything, it reassures my theory about you.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, from what you’ve told me so far, your ‘episodes’ seem to only occur when you don’t take it, or before you took it. When you’re on it, you have no special abilities, experience no supernatural circumstances, no outbursts of rage. If anything, I would say the medication is doing exactly what it’s supposed to, and limiting your psychotic episodes and stabilizing your mood.”
I sat quietly for a second, waiting for an example to come to me to disprove her theory. The smallest incident would have sufficed. Nothing surfaced.
“I’m guessing this makes sense to you?”
“So, I just imagined all those things?” I asked defensively.
Manifesting Shadow, #1 Page 11
