A Pretty Pill (7 page)

It’s fabricated... everything I say
. I don’t know what is truly going to happen, but I know what I need to say to make things right again for him, and so I do!

...December…

“I don’t like this feeling...” Silas states, as he settles on the couch beside me.
  It’s 10pm, and since I have an afternoon shift tomorrow, because I’ve managed to argue myself out of pretty much ever having to do nightshift again; I am staying awake to watch a doco on cuttlefish.  At work, I now have morning or afternoons only. I love it!

“What’s wrong?” I ask
nervously.

“I can’t sleep!  These fucking drugs make me have nightmares!”  He groans.
  He’s 17 now and looking like a man; and he’s working fulltime. But he starts his holidays in three days.  I’m just hoping to get him there so he can go and see his doctor on Saturday morning and discuss his meds.  If anything bad happens during his break, at least he won’t lose his job, because there’s no way they’ll know about it.

“Come here!” I request
; he shuffles his arse toward me. “Sit down there!” I point to the floor in front of me, so he moves to the floor and props himself up against my legs.

I begin to rub his head, behind his ears and on his neck, till half an hour later, he says he’s sleepy.

I wish someone would rub my head, my neck and my feet too!

I send him on his way, and
afterwards make my way too.  I’ll lay there and listen to the sounds he makes.  If he doesn’t go to sleep, I won’t either. I’ll listen out to him for the next few days. We just need to get him to that appointment!

***

It’s a whole lot of bullshit!
  Not going to sleep when listening out for someone else living with you!  You fucking do... go to sleep!  I’m just glad the shit finally went down when we were both at home; and that it was the day after his work finished up for the year.

Sleep
, or at least ‘proper sleep’ is an important tool in keeping healthy, for everyone; but especially for a person with psychotic mental health issues.

They’re stripping him back of
f the Risperidone and trying the Sodium Valproate.

On Christmas Day, I go in with enough presents for everyone in the unit.  Of course it’s only magazines and comics... I’m not allowed to bring anything else.  But I’m treated like a celebrity by the teenagers... however; it’s Silas I’m there for.  He’s my family, he’s my heart!

This time while Silas has been in the unit, I’ve taken Rachel’s advice and put up a profile on an internet dating site.

“So what
photos do you have of yourself?” Rachel asks.

“On the computer?” I query in return.

“Yes... on the God damn computer!  It’s the 21
st
century Jade, this is the way people meet these days!” Rachel scolds me.

Rachel is really the only friend that has stuck around so completely.  She’s not a fly by
; she’s a phone me weekly, ask me frequently to come out, type of friend; despite me always saying no, she still tries.  She’s also not scared of Silas, so she comes over fairly regularly, when our schedules match us to a day off, and we aren’t desperate for some z’s.

This development has her enthusiastically bouncing off the walls.

We’ve finished my profile, except we need to add a photo.

“I don’t have any photos on my computer.” I explain.

Rachel groans and grabs her mobile phone.

“Go and tidy yourself up... you look like shit... no-one wants to see you at your worst!” she says
, pulling me out of my office chair and throwing her weight behind shoving me towards the bathroom.

“Well, thanks a bunch!” I sarcastically reply.

I wash my face and brush my hair; leaving it out.  I walk back out to the lounge area, where Rachel is seated at the computer, finalising some of my profile answers.  She swings around to watch my approach.

“Go and put some foundation on... and a bit of gloss on your lips!  I can see all your freckles!” she demands.

“Fuck Rache... you’re scoring on the brownie points tonight!” I say, before turning back to my bedroom to comply.

“And put a different shirt on!” I hear her shouting out from behind me.

When I return, foundation covering my freckles, a black slim fitted tee on; she smiles.

“God... I forgot how sexy you are!” she enthuses.

“You offering?” I chuckle.

“Sweetie... if I was that way inclined... I’d have you slouched over the back of the couch with your pussy in the air... while I chowed down on you!” she says with a wicked grin.

“Eww... you are like my best friend!  Don’t talk about my vagina like it’s an order from the local take out!” I mock disgust.  We work in an industry where this is fairly benign discussion.  Black humour is frequently thrown around.  It’s a good way to alleviate the stress of the work environment.

***

Another week, another guy sending me pictures of his dick; a flaccid one this time!  Nice!

I’m on loud speaker with Rachel...

Silas is coming home tomorrow, and he’ll be back at work the following day!  The timing kind of sux, because it means he hasn’t had time to settle back into routine in the ‘real world.’  But right now, I’m discussing the dating dilemma.

“I don’t get it!” I begin
, “Penis pictures... and messages about how they want to meet and greet me with a turkey slap to my face!  How is that an inducing invitation?” I ask; I mean, really?

“Guys think that the door only opens to a bit of debauchery these days... women are getting more aggressive in their approach
, so men are countering that by trying to tip the scales back in their favour, and prove they’re not pussy’s!” Rachel explains.

“By sending me pictures of their penises?” I ask.  “They’re not even attached to them!  I’m basically looking at a catalogue of dildos!  I can’t see the remainder of their bodies in most of them!  What if their face requires a paper bag?” I ask.

Rachel laughs.

“Rachel... you know how many penises I’ve seen
, you’re in the same business as me!  We get to see more penises and pussy’s than the most sought after rent boys!” I lament.

Rachel is snorting, she’s laughing so hard.

“You’re only laughing because you know it’s true!” I lament.

“Yes...” snort... “I know...” snort... “Funny and true!” she sums it up while snorting!

“I really don’t mind a bit of the wild stuff... I mean; tie me up, smother me with whipped cream... use toys and fuck me hard, but I’m not going to start a relationship based on that as the main conversation!  I don’t want to meet a total stranger and discuss my favourite fuck positions before it’s established that they’re good to look at; actually have a personality; and are reliable!  I don’t want someone waltzing in and screwing me over more than I already have been!” I argue.

“Good for you!” Rachel says, “Look, nice guys who are a great fuck are out there... even guys that are sweet outside of the bedroom and killer in the sack
, but good luck trying to find them!” Rachel explains.  “That’s why I date fellow professionals!” she says. 

I know who she dates... doctors!  Who can blame
her?  There’s fresh meat every six month rotation when the registrars come through.  I don’t actually have a preference for doctors. Not that I haven’t drooled over my fair share!  But I don’t care about the job really; just as long as they have one, and they don’t need me to pay their way!  For me, if it ever happens, it will be about the guy!

This internet dating bullshit has done nothing to alleviate my suspicions about the douchebagery that is men
; despite my desperate need to have one of them of my own some day!  But the Jade of my teenage past which was all about having a quick fuck, is just not there anymore!  I’ve changed... it’s been so long since I’ve been carefree, and I realise I’ve kind of become a hermit. I’ve lost the art of securing and enjoying a one night stand or going out and getting drunk for enjoyment!  I’m a total loser!  I’m like a 50 year old, and I’m only 24!  Maybe I should become bitter and start breeding cats!

“So tell me about this move to Atherton.” I ask.

Benjamin Reynolds.

The phone is ringing... where the fuck is it?  It’s on the floor where I obviously just knocked it by flinging my arms about.

I look at the clock on my nightstand
; it’s 3:30 in the God damn morning!  Who in hell’s name is calling at this hour?  It’s Christmas Day!

“Hello?” I grumble down the phone.

“Ben?” My Mum asks.

“Mum?  What’s up?” I ask.  She knows the time differences
, this is important if she’s calling at this time.

“I’m dying Ben... will you come home?” she says bleakly.

...January…

Ben.

I’m looking over the contract I had to leave in December, and it hits me once again; that I didn’t go through with it because I came home to help my Mum fight an insidious disease and buy her more time on this planet... why would I even be bothered to have brought this along with me... to look at the enormous six figure salary I won’t be getting?  What does that do for me, except help me to realise that I’m living off of savings, and that I remain essentially unemployed for the year?

And what a fucking arsehole am I for even thinking about that.  My Mum is dying of
metastatic breast cancer; what does it say about me, when I mope over dumb and inconsequential shit like this?  I’m a total douchebag!

I don’t know why she waited till Christmas day to tell me, when she knew a week before.  Neither does she
, except to say that it took a while to build up her courage to ask me to come back.

“Benjamin Reynolds... get your arse
up here!” My Mum calls from downstairs.

Sabrina
, my Mum, is from the States, Idaho State actually; but having moved here for her husband, she considers herself an Aussie now.  So after Dad died when I was 7, she decided to stay for me. And she has never, ever returned to live, not even when I moved there, with the exception of seeing me on an odd holiday or five, since I live in LA.

I get up off my bed and fly
up the stairs to see what she needs me for.  I think I’ll change rooms to upstairs; I’ll be in easy reach for her that way.

“What’s up Mum?” I ask her.

She’s sitting on her lounge suite, with her feet up and sipping on some iced water, and beside her is seated a gorgeous girl... all long dark hair, blue eyes, D-cup sized breasts, tiny waste and decent booty.  I can tell she has booty, because of the way she is seated; it is in such a way that her arse is half off the cushioned lounge.

“I’d like you to meet Georgina... she’s Dana’s daughter... Dana
from next door!” Mum enthuses.

“Hello.” I say.

She gives me a shy smile, which says anything but that she’s shy.  “Hi!” she returns.

“Georgina is a Preschool teacher... aren’t you dear?” Mum says.

Oh Mum; she’s always done this, ever since I was 21 anyway!  She tries to set me up with girls she knows I’d go for, and sometimes it works, for one night.  But I’m not trying to find the love of my life right at the moment; I’m trying to spend time with her... because we both know that we’re only buying time.  I’m setting up memories for the rest of my life, not looking for the next girl with a great arse and tits I’d like to fuck!

I’ve registered that this Georgina has nodded at Mum’s claim of her being a teacher.  This is also a dig at the fact that I don’t have kids.

Quite frankly, I don’t want kids yet.  I’m 27 years old. I’m thinking of
starting
to think about that sort of thing when I hit my 30’s, and not a moment sooner.  Even then, I’m probably just a one kid guy... hang on,
why am I thinking about this now?

I’ve lost track of the conversation, but I can tell that Georgina thinks I’m edible
; she has that sparkle in her eye, and that slightly open mouth look that says... devour me.  I’m thinking... nup!  I had five girls like you the month before I left; I know how that goes; from the moment we start to the moment I get bored with you, and then I’d have to see you all the time, because you live next door.

And that’s how the whole conversation goes
, with me waiting for the chance to get away, and remaining relatively silent.  My Mum tells me all her amazing positives, and then tells her all my good points.  I don’t have to talk and neither does she. 

I dismiss myself after the first half hour and go back to my room
to repack my things and ready them to go upstairs where I’ll unpack them in the guest room; with my Mum in the background telling Georgina I’m shy, and that she should ask me out for dinner.

Yeah right... shy! Pffft!