E I G H T E E N
peg the patriarchy.
When you spend enough time around certain people, their lives eventually look normal.
Consciously you know they're not, but Kim Kardashian doesn't go around shocked all the time that people are coming up to her; but she can logically tell you, that's not normal.
Rafe is not normal, he did way too many drugs, had way too much money, and always did the oh-so-gentlemanly thing of offering me a bit of whatever he was taking. It was usually a thinly veiled threat for me to take it—Franny, just fucking take it. You're way too uptight today, it's ruining the vibe.
Eventually, I hated spending time with him so much I just did. I'd snort the coke until my nose bled and my spit tasted awful, or I'd take the tabs.
But the pills, made me feel so out of my head I didn't like regularly taking them, so I'd tell him I was going to the bathroom to get water or wash my hands, and stash them in my pocket or bra if it wasn't hot. Then I'd put them in a box in my bedroom. And there they'd sit, I'd usually only take them if I couldn't sleep or was having a panic attack.
But, looking at them now, I don't entirely know which ones are which. I picked out the ecstasy I didn't want to take once, and I don't know which tabs are downers or will make me see flying pigs, so I also take those out.
I just don't want to feel, just for a second. Or the next eight hours.
There was a mission to break into my own house, climbing a tree and trying not to break my neck while grabbing the box, then climbing back out.
Now, standing under the bright lights of my brother's guest en suite, I don't know which ones to take.
I'm not careful, I never was. When I can sleep I'd do what I'm doing now, pick out the ones with little houses printed on them, because they aren't going to turn my mind off how I want to. I'd then grab a few and throw them back, go to sleep and hope my blaring alarm would make me wake up.
I remember taking too many once, my forehead hurt from where he threw an ornament at me so I threw back a few too many. My skin itched everywhere, I felt so hot despite it being the middle of winter, my face tingled, I was so tired but felt like the world was spinning too and my heart was too loud in my head to sleep.
I didn't do anything about it, it was Boxing Day and I lay on the cool tiles of my bathroom floor to cool down, and I thought of everything.
It wasn't a suicide attempt, nothing like that. But I think there are accidents that are fully accidents where you aren't careful, and you don't care to be, and you die. If I had died, that's what it would've been.
But I didn't. I woke up freezing in the bathroom door, wondering what would've happened if I did.
It didn't scare me. Or at least not as much as it should've.
Right now, my head feels like it's going to explode and I've already taken a few shots because I want to forget the last twelve hours.
I tried crying it out while Hayley held me, promising whatever was wrong would work itself out. And when I told her I felt too broken for that to be true she assured me I wasn't broken. But I sure feel broken. Because, if a boy who was taught you shouldn't express emotions can talk about them better than I can, then I must be broken. Because I was taught to tell people how I feel, somewhere along the line, between my Dad's shouting starting to be directed at me, and Rafe not wanting me to bring the mood down, I stopped telling people. And not even psychiatrists can pry that information out of me.
I'm fine. No, I won't kill myself. That's what they get. Super helpful.
It's only when my Mum points out the fact I didn't get out of bed for three days that, that I can admit maybe I'm not feeling amazing.
Lies, it seems that's all that comes from my mouth.
I recognise one of the prescription painkillers Ward took when he busted his knee, that Rafe stole, and I think a Xanny, so I pick a few of those and drop them on the counter.
My hands shake as they work without much thought, they carelessly use the base of my favourite drink bottle to crush up the bars of Xannax, cutting them into neat lines with the top seam of a moisturiser. I lean down, snort them all, and throw back the painkillers with more alcohol.
My head thumps, but I feel good. Happy with my choice.
Clumsily I clean up my mess, wiping the counter, putting the bottle of strawberry vodka back in my bag and getting into my bed.
When my eyes get heavy, the thought crosses my mind that maybe this is the time I pushed too far.
The sound of shrill screams wakes me up twice in the night as my niece tortures her poor parents—I think my brother said she was teething, whatever the reason I take the opportunity to text Sarah I won't be there to save her tomorrow morning.
Honestly, I cannot read the text, so when I send it I just hope it's at least somewhat readable. So I just knock out again.
I wake up.
And when I realise I didn't die, I really wish I did, because I feel like shit.
Looking at my phone I see it's almost midday, and the text on my phone is a few unimpressed texts from Sarah, a few from Kie, and a text from my Mum that my Dad found out I broke up with Rafe.
When I stumble into the en suite I strip off and get into the shower, washing the sheen of sweat off my body.
Then I sit down with the frigid water hitting my back because I feel way too bad to change the temperature.
My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter so I push the water knob down, and the water stops, and I crawl to grab the phone off the counter and answer the call.
"You alive?" The voice echoes around the room. Bouncing off both the walls and inside my very sore head.
I turn and lay down on the tiles, staring up at the ceiling's neat paint. It reminds me of JJ, so I shut my eyes. "Mhm," I hum and answer Sarah's question.
"Are you okay?" She asks a logical question.
A grin splits over my face, "All good in the hood," I reply.
"Why do you sound like that?" Her voice maintained the initial concern when she asked if I was alive. Kind of a stupid question, surely me answering answer that question.
"I'm all good. Just woke up," I rub the corner of my eye.
"It's midday, don't you have that depression rule of waking up before ten?"
"Mere lapse in judgement," I mumble, wanting the conversation to be open so I can go further break that rule and crawl into bed and ignore the fact I woke up.
"Well everyone kind of thought you were dead for a second," she admits.
My eyebrows knit together, that's a little dramatic. I may have stormed off crying, but I didn't shout I was going to throw myself into the ocean face down with a concrete belt. "Well, thankfully that second is over. Frankie, Mabel, Franny, Francesca, whatever you want to call me, is still in the land of the living," I smooth out the skin between my eyebrows after the small movement tightens the pressure in my brain.
"Where are you?"
"Laying naked on the floor," I tell her bluntly.
"What?" She responds quickly.
"Of a bathroom, don't make it weird," I shake my head despite her not being able to see it.
"JJ said you're at your brother's," She explains.
"JJ says a lot of things," I mumble as I pick at my cuticles that are soft from the shower.
"He was the one who said you were said, then retracted that and said he thinks you're dead."
"You could've just knocked at my brother's door and Hayley would've told you I am, in fact, not dead," I point out what I think is obvious.
"Are you hungover, you're being difficult," Sarah acts like my mother.
"Perhaps."
"Just alcohol?"
I snort—not drugs, more of an amused reaction. "I made so many mistakes yesterday, not all were drinking."
"Yeah, I'm coming over, you sound fucking horrendous. Put some clothes in, and I'll be there soon," she orders.
"Sure thang," I mumble as she hangs up.
I grab out the box of magic after fumbling some clothes on and find a Xanax and throw just one back, alongside my antidepressant. Balance.
The door to the guest room opens and Sarah walks in, immediately going to open the blinds as I make the bed.
She then grabs my face between her hands, they feel warm on my already hot skin. Her eyes flit over my face, taking everything into account.
"JJ Maybank may be more emotionally intelligent than me," I whisper.
Her eyebrows pull together, and her hands drop from my face, I lean back and flop onto the bed. She lays beside me, "Hayley is worried about you. She said you cried about being broke," Sarah looks across at me as I stare at the mould-less ceiling.
"Am I a bad person?" I whisper, scared of the answer because, while I used to be confident in the answer, I'm not anymore.
I feel like a bad person for not being able to show how I feel to someone who's nice to me. I can't explain that I'm trying but I'm scared that he's going to get mad at me and do more than say I'm a bad person for dating Rafe.
Sarah sits up, looking down at me. She shakes her her, looking more confident than I am. "You're not a bad person, Frankie. Why do you think that?"
"Because I'm mean to people I care about—I like the primary school boy that yanks a girl's hair. I just need someone to say girls will be girls," I pause for a second. "And I use people and I'm only nice when I'm drunk or want something. And that's fucked up."
"You keep saying people when I'm thinking you more so mean person," she assumes correctly.
I swallow back the lump emotion that's crawling up my throat, "And you know the awful thing? I'm beginning to feel like I deserved it," I whisper.
She tips her head to the side, "Deserved what?"
"What Rafe did. Because if I can't treat someone right why should I be treated right?" I sit up. "Think about it for a second, if JJ Maybank thinks I'm being a bitch, then maybe I don't deserve better? Or, if I didn't deserve Rafe, then maybe I don't deserve anyone?"
Sarah holds her hands up, "Okay, we're getting ahead of ourselves. The idea that you deserved my brother is fucking insanity. You deserve someone who understands you and doesn't hurt you. Frankie, you're a little rough around the edges, but so is he. It sounds like you guys may have just shouted instead of having an actual conversation."
"Shouting can be a conversation," I pull my eyebrows together.
"No, shouting is a match. It's unproductive and apparently makes you swallow a bunch of pills and mix them with alcohol which is an awful idea, Frankie. That would've killed you," she sees inside my open bag. I really could've his that slightly better.
"I just want him to understand that I care and I'm trying to figure out how to show him. I'm not ashamed of him, I'm not someone anyone thinks is particularly valuable, and the common consensus on me isn't great. So the idea I'm ashamed or think I'm better than him is ridiculous. And I couldn't give a fuck about how much money he has," I explain. "But men are scary. They genuinely frighten me, because historically I've had a reason to be frightened. And it was the second I admitted to Rafe I cared that he flipped, he seemed to think that he'd got his claws in, so it no longer mattered how he treated me. And he was right. I didn't leave him because I respected myself, we pretty much left each other."
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, "So, I'm terrified that telling JJ that I care, and physically showing him in more meaningful ways that sex, will change how he treats me." I take a shaky breath, just word vomiting everything out. "And I don't know who I am, really. I was just who Rafe wanted me to be, and being that girl was killing me. So I'm doing all of this shit with the gold, I'm trying to not see my Dad or Rafe because I've pissed them off, trying to figure out who I am and not fuck everything up with JJ, and I can't do it all."
"You just need to talk to him, because I think he'd be less frustrated if you told him everything you told me. Shouting it isn't all that effective, especially if you immediately start crying. Explain your someone who is being mean is something you do to people who like, because if you don't know that, it doesn't come across great," she smiles.
"I don't want to talk to him ever again, I cried in front of him and I will never recover from that."
"Yeah, I really don't think that was the takeaway of the shouting match," she stands up, zips up my backpack, and grabs my hand. "You smell good," she smiles.
"Thanks. What if I wrote it down, threw the paper at him and then ran? Or, you know when you got your friends to ask you cru—"
"No. Frankie, if you're mature enough to have sex with him, you're mature enough to tell him you like him," she drags me out of the bedroom.
Hayley bounces Amalie as I think they watch Harry Potter. Get them on it young, she's a great mother. "Thank you for letting me stay," I smile at Hayley.
"Anytime, there's always room for you, be safe." She waves Amalie's hand at me and Sarah and I walk out.
"Do you think I'm unpleasant?" I ask her as we get into her car.
"You're spiralling."
"Do you think he's going to just expect me to change right the second I tell him I care, because that's not what I'm going for. More of 'I'm trying please give me time if you can'?"
"Pretend he's me, just word vomit and get the point across," she says while cutting someone off. "Don't be so fucking slow if you don't want me to overtake!" She shouts as the person behind us beeps her.
The second we arrive she spares no time getting out and grabbing me out of the car when I make no effort to get out.
Sarah holds my hand when I try and turn around, we walk around the back of the house, and the smell of weed already hits me. At least we both had a similar reaction—drugs. Mine may be on a different level, but I survived therefore it doesn't even matter.
Survivors bias and all that.
He doesn't see us coming and he presses the blunt out in the ashtray.
Her hand tightens as I try and walk away again, this time toward the water where I decide drowning doesn't sound too bad. Apparently, once you get passed the panic and burning of your lungs screaming from the lack of oxygen, it's quite peaceful.
"Don't be a pussy," Sarah mutters under her breath.
"Don't be a bitch," I mutter back.
We walk on the deck and JJ looks up, Sarah sits down beside me. Tense silence. Very tense, very suffocating.
"I verified she's not dead, but I'm meeting John B right now down at the pier for... bonding time. So I'll leave her here, don't let her run off, she took pills." She smiles and lets go. "Don't shout," she mumbles as she kisses my cheek. She doesn't seem to want to spend a second more in silence as she walks off the deck and disappears.
Kill me.
"Are you okay?" He asks, analysing my face just as he did yesterday.
My tongue wets my lips, and Sarah's reminders for honesty bounce around my head. Don't call him a cunt for being nosey. And don't shout. And don't be snarky, and make sure you explain that you're sometimes mean because you like people.
"Not really, no."
•
Wow, a chapter with a total of three words from Rizzbank. But you get a little slice of the fuckery that is Mabel's head. Because her sanity is a very delicate thing right now.
This is a two(maybe three)-part update, I may get the second part up tonight as a part of a double update, but I may not. I've started but there's a lot of feelings going on and I want to do them justice.
But JJ is going to be actually present in the next part lmao, I just needed Sarah's time. Because sometimes you can't figure your own head out without help, and Sarah is someone Mabel trusts, so her opinion is something Mabel isn't too worried about trusting and believing.
The chapters that are split up and just chapters that used to be one part and end up too long for me to read without wanting to rip my eyes out, so they get split up. They're all about three thousand words, and if this ends up a three-part chapter then it will never get edited, so please understand.
Also, it's heading into summer where I live and I cannot wait to move because it's coming into snake/spider season and I can't keep doing this madness. What is wrong with Australia and why did my parents move here, we were fine in England. The spiders are so big and I cry.
Snakes are pretty cute, though. Not brown snakes, those fuckers will kill you real quick.
I've also begun to realise you should never ask for opinions on the internet because people sometimes mistake constructive criticism for just being ruthless. When I said point out mistakes it didn't mean telling me I'm stupid—to the person who said that, if you're still reading, I will block you. I'm in my don't hurt Gushy's feelings because she's sensitive era.
Also, you can really tell when I am sad because the book gets depressing.
Today I found pills from where I used to channel Rue from Euphoria and pop too many pills because weed didn't cut it, so the pill-popping portion (love the alliteration) is all from when I had a borderline pill addiction at fifteen. I did throw the pills, so progress I guess.
Anyway, moving on, I got some concerned reactions to the last hmotc, but I stand by it. This hmotc hopefully is slightly less out of left field, he is a person and not an animated character voiced by Simon Pegg (still not over that)
Introducing... Woody Harrelson.
He's in his sixties, yes, but more importantly, HIS FATHER WAS A HIT MAN. So that's crazy.
He's also balding which is unfortunate, but so are most men. Think of him in Hunger Games.
Okay, the all-important evidence:
So, do we see it? Because if not look again. And then look again.
I need a shower because I went on a run (my name is Bella, Bella Hadid). Bye. I may see you in a few hours, or I may dip for a few weeks again... you never know with me.
Stay safe, party people and don't do prescription pills, they don't make you cool.