S E V E N T E E N
meetings and meltdowns.
A knock on my bedroom door makes me jump, I mumble a 'Yeah' to signify I'm not stark naked.
The door opens and my Mum slips inside, shutting it behind her. She looks tense, something's obviously bothering her, and that puts me on edge. I base so many of my reactions on her, as I have done ever since I was young. If she's on edge, so am I. If she's happy, I know things are okay. If she's angry, I'm worried.
Her perfectly manicured eyebrows knit together slightly as I watch her mind turn, trying to broach whatever topic is about to be brought up with a delicacy. It's obviously going to be sensitive.
"You're not with Rafe anymore, are you?" She asks, obviously double checking I wasn't stupid and got back together with him.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I bite down on them, dreading where this conversation is headed. I shake my head, "No, I'm not." I answer.
She nods and walks to sit on my bed, one of her dainty hands smooth over the paisley covers I just changed. "Do you think Rafe would ever sabotage your father's job?" She asks.
My heart drops. "Yes. He threatened to a bunch of times–it was one of the things stopping me from breaking up with him in the first place. I felt responsible for his job," I refer to my father. "Dad mentioned the debt, and how if I stayed with Rafe he would likely get a raise and we could start paying it off."
"Frankie, there is no we. You don't have any responsibility for the debt, that debt has nothing to do with you. You're a teenager, you shouldn't be worrying about that," she asserts. "What I came in here to talk about is that Ward called for an urgent meeting with your father. He seems to think this may mean a raise—he doesn't know about your breakup, and I don't think it's wise for you to be here when he finds out."
I nod, "Yeah. That's probably not a good idea, I'll stay at a friend's." I stand up and grab my bag.
"I'll text you what happens, okay? It may just be a raise, or it could be anything, I'm just thinking it could be better for you not to be here when he finds out." She smiles and gets off the bed, walking over and kissing my forehead. "Make sure you keep in contact with me."
She slips out when my Dad shouts for her to iron his shirt.
I pack a change of clothes, some toiletries, chargers and my antidepressants. All a girl needs.
Heading out the door my Mum catches me at the bottom of the stairs, watching the yellow monstrosity roll up to the house. "Be careful," she says as she pinches my chin between her fingers and presses a kiss to my cheek.
"I'm always careful," I smile and shut the door behind me.
Running down the stairs my backpack jostles. I get an open-door service once I meet the van, I smile and thank Pope as I climb in—getting hit in the face by the stench of weed. Someone's obviously lighting up. And it can only be one person.
John B glances over his shoulder at me, "You good?" He asks, eyeing my bag.
I nod, "Yeah, I think my Dad's getting fired and I shouldn't be near him when that happens, so can I crash at yours—at least for tonight?" I ask, hoping I can stay there, mostly for convenience, I get there every day anyway, but either that or I stay at my brother's. Which would probably be nicer.
He nods and gives me a smile through the rearview mirror, turning over the key for the engine and it splutters back to life; it doesn't sound healthy in the slightest. "Of course, you can, Frankie. Anytime, you don't have to ask."
I thank him and clip myself into the car, an anxious bubble brews in the pit of my stomach. My pretence of everything being okay with my family; of all of the shit happening sliding off my back as I keep it moving, it's wearing thin. I'm going to snap, and it's not going to be pretty. But right now I need to focus on the plan.
Getting Kiara Carrera and Sarah Cameron stuck together on a boat, in the middle of the open water, to try and make them hate each other less.
Not my idea.
Either we're going to come back tomorrow to a massacre where one of them is a victor and the other is reduced to a pile of mince, or they are going to tolerate each other. And hopefully not hate me.
I'm being naive when I say I hope things go back to the way they were before Kiara and Sarah's relationship blew up. But I do hope that.
I wasn't good at making friends as a kid. I was weird and I was anxious and I was self-aware that I was both of those things. Not a good mix. It didn't lead to much success in the friendship recruitment. Who I played with was mostly decided by who was brave enough to go up to the weird kid and ask if they were any good at handball or tips—I was boss at those, and that's how I became friends with Sarah, I'd smash her at handball. And I became friends with Kie through Sarah.
JJ looks back at me, a blunt pinched between his ringed fingers. "You don't think Ward would actually fire your Dad? He's worked for him for like a decade."
I shift, putting my backpack on the floor and reaching out to take the blunt from his hand, he doesn't put up a fight. "The only positive thing is that Ward doesn't really like Rafe all that much," I mumble as I twist the handle to roll down the car window. "But Ward does love his family, and he'd do a scary amount for his family, so I don't know," I conclude, putting the blunt between my lips, taking a deep breath, blowing the air out the van because that's just the right thing to do; I'm not trying to hotbox poor Pope.
I hand it back to JJ as he stares blatantly at me, he takes it and sticks it between his teeth.
"What would happen if he lost his job?" Pope asks hesitantly, obviously wanting to know if this is a minefield he's venturing into.
My tongue pokes the inside of my cheek as I think over the question because, beyond the obvious, I really don't know. "We'd lose the house, my parents are drowning in debt and my Dad refuses to let my Mum get a job. But my Mum seems to be waking up to his behaviour, so maybe a divorce? I just knew the house would need to be sold," I mumble, taking back the blunt.
"My Dad will probably kick me out for breaking up with Rafe because that's the whole reason who got the pay rise that began helping my parents climb out of the debt," I continue.
"Well you can always crash at my place," John B smiles. "There's always someone there anyway."
JJ shifts to look at me, "You brought your pills, right?" He asks quietly.
"Yes," I whisper back.
As time goes on and the plan unfolds my mind begins relaxing, it's been going and going without any time for a break, so I'm letting it have a break. Spending time with people I call my friends is healing. They help me forget the dumpster fire and possible explosion that may ensue soon.
Once we begin driving the small, rickety HMS Pogue away from a trapped Sarah and Kiara, a genuine smile smears over my face. "I love you both!" I shout, pressing both my hands to my lips and pulling them away in an exaggerated kiss motion.
I hear all kinds of insults and curse words thrown at mainly John B and me. Mine mainly consist of 'bitch' and 'traitor', but those slide off my back. Girlfriends call each other bitches all the time, the insult is truly lost on me.
I lean back to my seat next to JJ, he hands me my lukewarm beer glancing across at me his eyes weigh heavy on my skin. His gaze feels heavier today like he's looking at me with more purpose, it less feels like he's looking at me and more like he's watching me—analysing me. "They won't kill each other, right?" He asks carefully.
I snort, "They'll probably try."
The boat splutters as it drags us back to the pier, where we collectively walk to the Château.
I dump my bag inside and head out, with JJ's glasses that I so often commandeer on the top of my head, to sit out on the beach chairs JJ and I dragged out to sit near the bell in the back garden. We shared a blunt a few nights ago as we watched the water refract the moonlight—it's much prettier when you're stoned, watching the white light dance across the subtle waves the gentle tide provides. Almost brings a tear to your eye.
Pope splits after the agreement we'll meet up tomorrow morning and John B goes into town for something. Leaving just JJ and I, sitting on the deckchairs.
I lay back, comfortable sitting atop the warm, white plastic. Despite the rocky start to the day, this feels good.
I hear JJ shuffle beside me, I don't move, my eyes are closed and the warm sunlight is pulling me in for a late afternoon nap. A hand brushes my leg and I jump, thankfully it's not a serial killer, instead, it's JJ who sat up.
The rough finger slides across my thigh, and I pull the sunglasses back to the top of my head. "JJ, I'm on my period, you're going to have to go back to the old faithful," I mumble as I rub the corners of my eyes. Only slightly annoyed he woke me up from almost nap.
"That's not what I want, Mabel," he starts, sounding unsure.
"Okay, what do you want then?" I ask.
"Can we talk?" He shuffles to fully face me, his blond hair fully glimmering in the golden sunlight. He looks pretty.
"We already are, but sure. What do you want to talk about, bud?" I grin. He doesn't.
"You. Me. Us."
I stiffen slightly and push to sit more upright, my jovial nature suddenly dies. The pre-nap happiness is fully dead. "JJ, I really don't want to talk about that right now. I'm not in the mood," I tell him.
His fingers scratch the back of his neck as he seemingly ignores my words, "I'm not someone who thinks about how I feel, I wasn't brought up with parents who gave a fuck how I feel. But I make an effort with you. To tell you how I feel, I've been very forward, and all you do is skirt around the question like the answer is Kernobyl."
"Chernobyl," I mumble.
"You knew what I meant."
I sigh, my hands wipe at my forehead, annoyed that the trajectory of my day, which for a few hours, pointed up, has sunk back down. "What do you want from me, JJ?"
He shifts again, clearly wanting me to look at him. I give him that much. "For you not to just be nice to me when you want something from me," he accuses.
I scoff at his words, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You think I'm using you? JJ, we both knew from the start that this was mutually beneficial—I scratch your back, you scratch mine," I refute his accusation.
"Just think about it for one fucking second before you ignore me. You're nice when you're drunk, or when you want something. What the fuck else am I meant to think?"
"This is just how I am, JJ. You always knew what you were getting into when we started sleeping together," I remind him. I never lied to him, I never pretended it would be anything more than hookups at least at the beginning, and I never hid that I was in a relationship. I was so upfront about everything so this very thing would never happen.
His eyebrows raise, "So that's still the way you see me? A fuck buddy?" Another accusation flies from his mouth.
I sit up from the back of the deck chair to get on the same level as him, "That's not what I said. Don't twist my words." I shake my head.
"It's like you don't think I'm good enough for you. Is it because I'm not rich enough, you don't like the look of my bank account? Or is it the fact I don't have a fat trust fund?"
I actually laugh at the insane things he keeps saying. I must be dreaming, because this is ridiculous. "This is unbelievable, you cannot be serious, JJ."
"I am being serious, Mabel. For once in my fucking life, I'm being serious," he asserts.
I take the sunglasses out of my hair and hold them in my hand, my hand wants to throw the stupid stolen knock-off Raybans into the murky water.
"What the fuck do you want from me? Just take one Goddamn second to think about everything going on—I can't stay in my own house because my Dad may start throwing things at me like I'm a dart board, all because I broke up with my boyfriend who beat the shit out of me. Sue me for not wanting to jump into another relationship," I spit.
He begins getting mad, the frustration melting into anger, "I'm not asking for your fucking hand in marriage, Mabel. I just want you to stop acting like I'm something to be ashamed of."
"Stop projecting your insecurities into me." I rake my free hand through my hand, and my fingers grab at my roots, pulling them tight. "Did you ever think that, maybe, just maybe, I'm not a good person? What's that you said the other day? About my morals for being with someone like Rafe—maybe I am just like him."
His hands run down his face, and I stand up, dropping the sunglasses into his lap. I begin walking up the garden, and he follows behind me.
"You know that's not what I mean. You're always so fucking nice to John B and Pope. Fuck, you're nice to every other person but me. What am I supposed to think?" He shouts.
"Maybe I treat you differently because I like you! Maybe because I wasn't scared that if I acted like myself around you, you would find a reason to shout at me, or hit me." I turn to face him, frustration leaking into every word. "I thought you understood me, I never treated you like I treat everyone else because you're not like everyone else. I'm trying so fucking hard to not be scared of showing I care about you. Because, for as long as I remember, most of the men in my life have only given me reasons to be scared! I wanted you to be different, so I'm trying to retrain my brain to not be scared when you stand behind me or when you move too quickly or when I say no or when I don't do what you want. But it's hard, and it's not going to change overnight. Just because I broke up with Rafe doesn't erase everything that happened in my head. A kiss and a promise you won't slap me isn't going to cut it—you can't fix me, you need to give me time so I can fix me." I don't realise tears drip down my cheeks until I run out of breath and my tirade stops.
I'm crying in front of him. I never wanted this to happen.
I frantically wipe the tears off my face and walk inside the house, looking for my bag.
"Mabel b—"
"Don't you fucking dare say that," I tell him as I grab the bag. "I'm sorry I can't fix myself quick enough for you, and I'm sorry you think I'm using you because I'm not. I like you and I was trying to find a way to express that without making myself dissolve into a panic attack because vulnerability only ever has led to me being hurt—case in point."
I move to walk through the front door so I don't have to pass him, but he grabs my wrist.
"You're meant to be staying here, you can't go back to your place," he says. The fingers that usually burn my skin and my stomach feel warm, now feel cold.
"Don't touch me," I spit and he immediately drops my hand and takes a step back.
"Please don't cry, I didn't want you to cry," His voice becomes quiet.
"I'm going to my brother's place, tell John B I'll still be here tomorrow," I sniff back more tears open the shaky front door and walk out, pulling my backpack onto my back.
•
Drama, eek, gotta love it.
I swear you can immediately tell what Wattpad books are written by millennials and which are written by Gen Z. The jokes, the memes, all of it. Look, a good Wattpad book is a good Wattpad book, I'm under no delusional this is anything but bottom-of-the-barrel, but millennials are really millennialling sometimes.
If anyone thought I was a millennial I am not. I'm fragile, don't say that.
Also, I swear everyone has that one friend that—peace and love—is so dumb, and because they know nothing, is convinced you (someone of average intellect at best) are a genius. Because I've had a few and they always make me laugh because how do you not know how evaporation works? You're nineteen. You learn that at nine. It's also astonishing how many people don't know their times tables. They crop up semi-often, so learn them.
This rewrite is finally getting to the point where things are getting rewritten, Long gone is the cuddling in a hammock and sweet childhood memories, and welcome the depressing realisation that Mabel likes JJ and him being nice doesn't fix everything
My intention is to flip the normal wattpad standard of the female lead acting like she cares before the male lead.
Basically, Mabel is a mafia man with daddy issues. Aren't we all?
Anyway, onto the most unhinged hmotc yet because I took a few (prescribed, don't be mad, government) pills and am not the most coherent right now.
Introducing... Buck from Ice Age!
This hmotc is brought to you by little Gushy when she was shown Ice Age. And big Gushy when she found out he's voiced by Simon Pegg. Yes, he is a weird ferret thing with one eye, but while everyone was having the hots for Diego, I was obsessing over Buck.
This is for little Gushy. Shout out to you, you weird, funky-looking kid. Look where we are now... writing ff, be proud.
The all-important evidence:
I'm scared to know what you all think.
There isn't really much to say.
This chapter is very all over the place, I started crying while writing, someone wrote a mean comment and I thought about taking the book down (that won't happen, she's up to stay up) and now my nose is bleeding and I stained a jumper.
How is Gushy doing? She's great. Really. Truly. About as good as Mabel.
Anyway, stay safe you deviants and don't think too much about death.
This A/N got a little unhinged at the end. Soz.