A Pretty Pill (2 page)

The music morphs into
Jealousy
by
Sparkadia
, and Tim is grabbing my hand and nodding to the bar.  I don’t say anything, but I nod and begin to move so he knows I accept his offer of a drink.  When we get there, he orders two shots of Tequila, which of course come with the mandatory salt and a lemon wedge.

Tim turns to me and gives me an incredibl
y sexy look, and then he proceeds to slide across my shot and lemon wedge.  He then takes my hand and licks a line on the side of it, below my thumb, before pouring some salt on it.  He offers me the salt, to see if I’d like to return the favour, which of course I do and then we lick, toss and suck.

Tim is grinning and motioning to the bar tender for further service.  We’re both tall... way taller than the average person standing there, so it’s
pretty hard to miss us, and he’s stunning to look at, so the female bar tender gravitates fairly rapidly back over to us... who could blame her.. I would too!

Tim purchases my Vodka staple a
longside his rum and coke.  He then motions to where his friends have been seated, watching us from a distance.

“Yep!” I agree to the unspoken question.  So we go and sit with the friends and backup
that he brings.

***

I’m groaning... my body right now is all kinds of sore!  After meeting Tim’s friends, we all made our way to their house and I managed to find myself sharing breathing space with Tim; ‘Hot Tim,’ as my girlfriends referred to him by the end of the night. 

When the three of th
em took a cab home, back to our college accommodation that we were to evacuate today; since the Christmas break was upon us; and our exams were over, I stayed at Tim’s house; in his bed, and shared some body heat, despite the 30 degree (Celsius) evening temperature; it is a bit hot for this time of year, and a heat wave is sucking the life out of everyone, up and down the East Coast.

Despite the heat
; it was still a good decision.  Tim had his mojo on!  He was having me up against the wall, in his computer chair, on his desk, over his desk, on top, underneath and orally too.  Fucking amazing!  I’ll be lucky if I can walk!  He totally owned me!

“What’s the time?” I groggily ask.

“Um... 10 something?” he responds, draping an arm over my naked torso.

I’m in an instant panic.  I reach down to my bag and realise I’ve missed... 27 calls? 
What the fuck?  What’s happened? 

I look at the numbers, and there is only one call that is from a number I know
; from my parents in Armidale last night.  The others are pretty much either private or Newcastle numbers.

I dial into my message bank, and as the messages begin to play in descending order of time
; back from the most recent; I begin by first feeling signs of confusion, which are very soon replaced by intense emotional pain; made obvious by my wailing and screaming.  My maternal grandparents go from tearfully lamenting my whereabouts to explaining that I’m needed at
John Hunter Hospital
... my parents have been involved in a terrible car accident... and they are both currently in surgery, as is Silas, my brother.

***

I make it into the hospital because Tim drives me there.  I don’t ask him to stay; I pretty much give him brief and forlorn thanks and don’t bother exchanging phone numbers.

I make it to the family waiting rooms, where I find my grandparents being consoled by the counsellor... and the social worker
... with a doctor on the wings?  Oh shit; this is so not good... I’m already crying, and I don’t know anything about what’s going on... yet!

My grandmother sees me and begins wailing, “She’s gone!  My beautiful girl is gone!” 
She cries, with deep, rolling waves of crushing defeat.

I’m already falling into a chair and looking up to my grandfather for confirmation; who has his face in his hands and is unable to look at me
; his shuddering shoulders and dripping tears from his enclosed fingers are enough of a confirmation... my Mum is dead!

I’m going into shock... I know about it, because I’ve studied about it! 
I have so much adrenaline in my system at the moment that I could probably do a significant improvement on my PB, and jump over 1.92 metres, without even trying, if I could move!

My breathing is
tachypnoeaic; meaning it’s increased.  My heart rate is tachycardic; in other words it’s rapid. And it feels so damned hot in this air-conditioned room that I am sweating like I did on the dance floor last night... and in Tim’s arms.

I realise I’m rocking when the counsellor comes to comfort me and explain what has occurred.

...December
...

This is so fucking stupid!  Silas has been in
the children’s ward now for three days; and they won’t let me see him all of a sudden... not until the Nurse Unit Manager has had him assessed by the Mental Health Team.  I’m fighting a bout of tears, which are easy to come upon me lately, given my grief at losing my parents, and the churning aftermath of dealing with everyone around me.

Silas
was in ICU straight after surgery, staying there for five days, and then he was shuffled across to the HDU for a further two weeks, and now he’s been totally relocated to the children’s ward; where for the last two days, I have been assisting staff with him, and bringing him junk food from the outside world.

He’d had surgery to patch up his broken pelvis, a punctured lung
and a perforated bladder.  He also required treatment for head trauma; but considering the way the car looked after the tree fell on it; with my parents driving at 100 kilometres an hour; I was shocked he got off so lightly.  Of course my parents hadn’t, they’d died from their injuries, and I was still screaming out my despair at intervals when it all became just too damned overwhelming; no matter where I was or who would observe me.

My latest melt down
on Sunday, was in traffic coming up Croudace Street towards the hospital.  I hit a red light and had to pull up.  Beside me a van full of kids in their Sunday best pulled up; parents oblivious to their snotty little bastards in the back sticking their tongues out and showing me up their noses.  I jumped off my bike and slammed my hand against the side of their van.  The parents just about shit themselves being forced to jump out of their reverie... perhaps discussing the latest grace their good Lord delivered into their hands; and the kids just about fucking pissed themselves.  I then spent the next two minutes screaming into the sky and threatening passing motorists who dared honk their horns and curse me for holding up traffic, before I managed to pull things together enough to tear through an amber light and ride off like a demon possessed.

The problem is I seem to have developed a bit of a hair trigger.

When I remember what the counsellor said about this whole ‘incident’; like my parents’ death was an occurrence slotted under number 387 in the
‘Incidence and Occurrences Book of Ways to Die’
; ...being an act of God, and it was nobody’s fault, I just about tear my face off!  When I think of the insurance assessor telling my grandparents, in front of me, that it was an act of God... I want to run someone through with a blunt object.  When I then think about the funeral, and several people assuring me that it was their time to go, because God called them home... I am bordering on a psychotic breakdown! 

My parents weren’t even religious!  I don’t have an opinion on religion really
; but as for God, if I see that arsehole any time soon, I’m gonna fucking take him on!  I’m going to rip his throat out and scream down into his lungs to give me back my fucking parents!  At these times I scream in a rage at the sky and my whole body goes extremely tense and rigid.  I’ve also been known to kick, punch and slap at things.

Worse still is how I feel in an everyday sense, like I can’t seem to gravitate beyond the base level of dismal.  I feel
alone, so alone; despite sleeping on Graeme’s couch; which is a seriously fucked up situation, because Scott has no idea about the ‘sort of’ relationship that I had been in with his boyfriend for the last ten months, and is being all nice to me.  If anything, I’ve informed Graeme that this friendly sex thing we had going on is over.  He’s okay with that; he’ll probably find someone else sometime soon, but at least I can step back and just be friends without adding any more guilt to the piling heap over here.

“What is going on?”  I ask Francis; a nurse I’ve been bonding with over the last couple of days.

“Y
our Grandparents were in an hour ago, and they were talking to Silas about your parents’ funeral.  Silas was okay at first apparently, but then he just snapped... went completely off at them!  He hasn’t been very cooperative since, and he’s basically had to be seen by the mental health team... and sedated!”  She says softly.

“You’re
kidding me; is this protocol?”  I ask.

“I’ve not had to
deal with it before, but Sheryl says it is!” She states, referring to the NUM.

“
Why do my grandparents insist on discussing this shit with him?  I know they think that he needs to deal with it and move on with life, but they’ve got it all wrong!  He needs to see someone professional about all this... I need to see someone professional about this shit!”  I reason, shaking and becoming emotional.  I pull myself together internally and then I sigh and droop.  Francis gives me a warm welcomed rub on the back.

B
efore thinking too much about it all, I think that perhaps I can help.  So, I stand straight and start to talk to Francis about the situation; beginning by outlining Silas’ background.

“
You know he’s diagnosed as ADHD.”  I say, thinking he can be a bit over the top at times.  “And last year, the child psych said he probably has ODD as well!”  I add.

“Oppositional defiant disorder?” 
She asks.

“Yeah... but the school counsell
or is basically wanting to add Conduct Disorder to the mess as well.”  I explain.  “Oh, and he’s got depression too!”  I say, thinking of the diagnosis given by the paediatrician four years ago.

“Shit honey... that’s a whole lot of labels right there!” 
She points out.

“Yep,” I nod.  “
But I can help calm him down you know; I helped a lot when he tried to suicide when he was between the ages of 6 and 8.”  I explain.

“What?  What do you mean suicide?” 
She looks appalled.

“It will be in his files!” I offer, “But when he was 6, he wanted to die
; so he got naked, and hopped into a huge suitcase, which he had stored under his bed. I remember it was like a forty degree day, and it was scorching since we didn’t have air-con; and he did the bag up from the inside.  It was lucky that I had seen him go into his room and close the door, otherwise we wouldn’t have found him in time.”  I explain, nodding my head and sighing.  “Dad found him, all limp and lifeless with just a tenuously beating heart.  He was under surveillance for three days and in hospital for five.” I say.

“Why does a 6 year old kid try to kill himself?” she asks in shock.

“He just said he didn’t want us to find him until he was a skeleton.  That was the beginning of all the therapy and doctors.  It was the beginning of me wanting to be a nurse too.” I say smiling weakly.  She nods but her face is shocked.

“There were other times though?” she asks.

“Yep,” I nod.  We’re standing at the nurses’ station, and I have noticed that a couple of other nurses are listening in to the conversation.  “He tried to drown himself when he was 7, by dragging a heavy rock from the garden inside and placing it on his chest in the bath.  The splashing brought him undone.” I sigh.  “The last time was when he was a day short of turning 8.  He jumped off our roof.  He overshot the fall to the concrete, and landed on a bush.  Still, we have a two story house, so essentially, he was three stories up.  He should’ve succeeded, but instead, he only broke his arm.  He’s been on Sertraline for depression since then.”  I explain, using the generic name for his meds.

“And he has the Dex instead of the Ritalin for his ADHD
doesn’t he!” she mentions, nodding her head in thought.

“Yep... he’s a junky
; gotta get his amphetamines.” I try to make light of it all.  She smiles bleakly and places her hand on my arm.

“Hang in there kiddo
; there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, even if you can’t see it yet.”

“I hope so Francis... I can’t see
very well at the moment; I need some light!” I reply morosely.

“I’ll go and see if you can visit yet.”  She says, wandering down to his room that has a security guard standing at the door.

In a few minutes, she comes out the door and motions me with her arm.  When I get there, she whispers fiercely in my ear.

“You owe me Tayte... I pulled strings for you that your body can’t cash!” 
She smiles conspiratorially.

I beam at her with a smile that’s totally fake...  I’m hollow inside!