Fake (A Pretty Pill)

by Criss Copp

  “I’m guessing he’s not your favorite person.”

  “You guess right.”

  “Is he supposed to be hitting on you?” he asks.

  I shrug. I’m not exactly sure of the protocol surrounding staff relationships.

  “Well it didn’t look like you were very comfortable with him asking you out.” he points out.

  “I’m not. But he doesn’t take the hint. I think he has a personality disorder.”

  “You actually need a personality to have a disorder with it, don’t you?” he says, smirking.

  I can’t help but smile up at him.

  “Just pointing out the facts.” he says, smiling that big shit-eating grin I’ve now been privy to several times this morning.

  “You’re going to get me into trouble you know.” I point out.

  “Nah, I’m never in trouble. I don’t have any problems or behavior issues; everyone else does.”

  “Right, of course.” I reply chuckling.

  “True story.” he feigns innocence.

  I have no idea why I do it, but I find myself punching him in the shoulder and turning to leave. It’s a signal to him that I like his company. It’s a dangerous signal to be sending.

  “You off now?” he asks, following me down the hallway.

  “Yeah. I have to be at the units in 15 minutes.”

  “So you do morning here and afternoons there?” He asks.

  “Yep.”

  “So I’ll see you for the entire three months I’m here.” He reasons.

  “Sorry.” I apologize.

  “Why are you sorry?” he asks.

  “You’ll be sick of me by the time you go.”

  “No way. I haven’t got many friends here in The States. Come to think of it, I haven’t got many friends period.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” I scoff.

  “I’m serious.”

  I turn around and look at him. I give him my best ‘I don’t believe you’ look.

  He takes a big breath in and begins to explain.

  “I’ve been wrapped up in my ex-girlfriend Shae for years; until she called it quits in June. I have two friends in Australia, a number of mere acquaintances here; and then there’s my sister Jade and my best friend Ben, who also happens to be her partner, here in San Luis. That’s it.” he says completely seriously.

  “Wow, I guess good looks don’t buy you popularity.” I say, unlocking the cleaning cupboard and pushing the trolley inside.

  “So are you friendless too?” he counters.

  “Hah, not really? I have friends, not many that I spend a lot of time with anymore though.” I explain.

  “Don’t connect with them since your experiences?”

  “Something like that.” I grumble.

  “Sorry.”

  I look at him, and he’s looking vulnerable in that moment, obviously hoping he hasn’t caused me any distress or crossed any lines.

  Despite my misgivings, I feel like I need to explain.

  “I used to be your typical Californian rich girl. Cheerleader, good grades and I lots of rich friends with great wardrobes. However, I chose to enlist and become a medic. Totally and utterly wrong decision if I wanted to perpetuate the Country Club lifestyle and marry a rich doctor.” I explain. “So yeah, I don’t really connect with any of my former friends anymore. I have a couple of ex-Army friends I talk to and see from time to time.”

  “You and I are very similar. I don’t go for any of that fake shit either.”

  Damn Silas, just tunnel in a little further there why don’t you; it’s just not enough that there’s a bubble, a significant age gap and my reluctance to let anyone in. You’ve just waltzed on in and claimed a little corner in my world.

  I like him too much, so this could get awkward.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I croak, smiling at him while pulling the cupboard door closed and walking off.

  Silas.

  I like her. I really like her. Much more than I should.

  And I really don’t like him. It took an excessive amount of control not to punch him in the face when I came upon them. Her body language when he had her trapped between himself and her trolley was literally screaming ‘Fuck off.’ He should’ve totally seen it and reacted correctly to the situation.

  I’m sure she can handle herself in a fight, but emotionally she seems a little shuttered. Or maybe it’s just with him. Who cares, I need to carefully watch that douchebag. Douchebag? Man, I’m becoming so American. It makes me chuckle to myself as I make my way to the dining room.

  There are way more guys than girls here. The ratio is obvious; for every girl there are three guys. I notice the nervous chick seated by herself in the corner and I look around for a seat to perch myself on. I finally settle on sitting at a table where a nerdy looking dude is sitting.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” I ask him.

  He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his magazine, slowly eating the sandwich he has before him.

  I’ve grabbed a chicken salad roll, a blueberry muffin and a serving of chips, which I asked them to drizzle gravy over.

  The guy looks up at me just as I take a huge bite of my roll. What is it about people that wait till you have a mouth full of food before beginning a conversation?

  “Male or female?”

  “What?” I garble rudely around my food.

  “Who do you prefer, men or women?” he rolls his eyes.

  Shit, that’s the second time today.

  “Women.”

  “Shame.” he says, looking me up and down.

  “Your gaydar isn’t working well if you can’t pick that up.” I reason before taking another bite.

  “It works fine. If it wasn’t, I’d have asked you back to my room instead of clarifying first.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at that.

  “Let me share my knowledge about the girls in the room.” he says, conspiratorially leaning in.

  “Susan will blow you if you give her a nod, she’s a bit of a slut.” he’s indicating a peroxide blond at the centre table; she’s pretty in an obvious kind of way. “But she won’t let you fuck her. Then there’s Fran over there,” he nods back over his shoulder at the mousy looking girl with glasses, “don’t go near her unless you want your dick cut off.”

  “Fair warning.” I nod.

  “Then there’s the trio, Diana, Peta and Lauren. They do each other, so you don’t stand a chance.” he nods to a table where three girls hold court with each other.

  “Then there’s Felicity, she’s actually nice. But she’s not likely to go there with you. Unless you plan on marrying her first. And lastly, there’s Gretel.” he indicates the shy, young looking girl in the corner. “She’s an unknown. She’s been here for a week.”

  “Um, thanks for the hookup advice.” I say, turning to my food again.

  “Otherwise you can always jump the fence and the fun can be limitless.” he grins.

  “Nope. Thanks, but no.” I firmly state, putting an end to that line of questioning.

  “Cool. I’m Luke by the way.”

  “Silas.” I reply reaching across and shaking hands.

  “Bipolar.” he indicates to himself.

  “Same.”

  He nods.

  Ethan walks into the room, and Luke’s body language does something similar to what Isi’s had.

  ‘Stay away from that one if you can. He’s cruel and seriously fucking weird.” Luke whispers.

  “Okay.”

  “No really; stay away from him.” Luke says pleadingly.

  I totally believe him. “How long have you been here?”

  “This is fortunately my last week.” he says, just as Ethan walks directly to our table. That means he’s been here three weeks.

  “Luke.” Ethan sneers.

  “Ethan.”

  “I see you’ve been ingratiating yourself with the new comers again.”

  “Just offering some advice.” he grumbles.
>
  Ethan’s eyes burn before he turns them to take me in.

  “Dr. Jensen has just made herself available for you; and since she’s got a busy afternoon, she’s asked me to come and collect you, Silas.” Ethan conveys.

  “Can I take my food?”

  He nods, so I grab my food and stand.

  “Thanks Luke, catch you later.” I say, ignoring Ethan’s angry look.

  Luke nods.

  ***

  “I’d steer clear of him. He’s gay.” Ethan suggests, walking me to the offices.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was catching.” I respond.

  He sneers again. “It’s unnatural.”

  “Okay.” I say in a completely unconvincing fashion.

  “If God wanted people to screw their own gender, he’d have made separate planets for them to occupy.” he reasons.

  Say what? And I’m in here because I have a mental illness?

  “I don’t believe in God.” I offer.

  He actually draws in breath like he’s just surfaced from a deep sea free-dive and has been starved of oxygen.

  “So you’re in league with the Devil?” he asks.

  Are you kidding me? He’s kind of pissing me off, and that just makes me want to punch him.

  But I’m also seriously thrown off guard. Who the fuck is this person? And I’m considered to be a psycho? I can hear the frantic music of the Hitchcock classic playing loudly; the electric atmosphere currently surrounding me is suffocating. I’ve got to say something.

  “You see Ethan; the problem with that scenario is that I’d have to believe in God to believe in the Devil. And since I don’t believe in God, I can’t possibly believe in the Devil… so, no. I’m not in league with any supernatural entity.” I argue.

  Ethan is shaking his head and looking at me in shock.

  “You just haven’t found Jesus yet.”

  Oh, you’ve got to be seriously fucking kidding me; this guy has moved beyond annoying and is swiftly travelling towards infuriating. Where’s the cameras, I must be getting pranked.

  And then I recall a line in the movie Forrest Gump. The bit where Sergeant Dan is whinging about finding Jesus and Forrest simply says he didn’t know that he was supposed to look for him. It turns this around and saves Ethan’s face from being pummeled, because it makes this all funny, so I chuckle.

  “It’s not a funny matter. I’ll pray for your soul.” Ethan says.

  I’m just gobsmacked. He opens the door to the therapy and counseling room and a slight, elderly woman is seated in a comfortable chair across the far side with a folder on her lap. She rises, so I go towards her and shake her hand before we both seat ourselves down. I place my food on the coffee table in front of me.

  “Thank you Ethan; that will be all.” she says and Ethan leaves. I couldn’t be bothered to watch him go. He’s a fucking nut job.

  “Feel free to eat Silas.” she says.

  I nod, “You have a whack job on your staff.” I risk saying.

  She sighs, “Ethan.”

  “He’s seriously fucking weird, he’s lucky I didn’t punch him out.”

  “He’s a good nurse. He’s just… I can’t talk to you about staff.” she reasons. “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m okay.” I respond, wondering if Ethan really is a nut job or just playing me.

  “What happened to your hands?”

  I look down at my hands and notice that the sleeves are still in place.

  “Nothing.”

  “Why do you have bandages on them?”

  “I’m a fighter, I feel comfortable at the moment having them strapped.” I lie.

  “Who strapped them for you?”

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “Okay. But we need to wean you off the strapping. You need to get things back to a state of normal.” she reasons.

  “How did you know I had my hands strapped?”

  “I could feel it.” she explains, “When I shook your hand.”

  “Oh, okay.” I mentally berate myself.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  “I’ll let the staff know you like them strapped, but you’ll need to wean off.”

  “Just give me this week.” I beg.

  “Okay.”

  Fucking close call, but I think she’s simply humoring me.

  “Do you have a gym? A punching bag and boxing equipment?” I ask.

  “Yes and no. All acts of violence are frowned upon. You’ll need to take up jogging and cardio styled exercises to release angst while you’re here.”

  I nod.

  “We need to discuss how you came to be here, or how you came to be sick this time around.” she says smiling.

  “Okay.”

  “You spent 12 weeks in Gateways.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “I wasn’t a model citizen there.” I explain. I feel stupid about it now.

  “Do you plan on being sensible here?”

  “Yes, I don’t want to go back to an acute setting. I want to get better; actually I feel better already.” I explain.

  “That’s good. You tried to suicide twice while at Gateways.”

  “Yes.” I say, and it makes me wince that she would have all the paperwork surrounding the attempts, probably in her hands right now. I can’t lie about them.

  “Both times you attempted to asphyxiate yourself.”

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  “They put you into observation both times?”

  “Yes, the second time for much longer.” I explain.

  “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

  “Over Shae.”

  “Your ex-girlfriend.”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you still feel that way; like killing yourself?”

  “No.” I answer completely honestly.

  “And you can think about Shae and not feel overwhelmed?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “Do you feel like you’re over her?” she asks me.

  “No. I’ll never be completely over her.”

  “But you understand the need to move on?”

  “Yes. I can move on and put her behind me.” I explain.

  “What about the possibilities of meeting another partner? Do you think that will ever happen? Do you feel there’ll come a day when you can give yourself to someone again?” she asks.

  “Yes, but she’ll have to be remarkable. I wouldn’t be able to feel the way I did for Shae with anyone that wasn’t remarkably special.”

  “Well it’s good to know you’ve at least entertained this thought. It shows you’re willing to put things behind you and move on.” she says smiling. “Now, tell me about the parcel.”

  Shit, she knows about that? I give her a quizzical look.

  “I spoke to your sister just before you came in here and asked if there was anything we needed to address.” She says.

  “It was a parcel from Shae. It took me completely off guard.” I explain.

  “You feinted.” she says.

  “I…” damn. I did, I was so shocked I forgot to breath and I feinted. “I did. I was shocked to be touching something she had recently touched; something that she had written on.” I explain, groaning and placing my head in my hands.

  “It can be hard at first.” she says soothingly.

  I nod.

  “What would happen if she walked in here right now?” she asks.

  I quickly fall into a panic. Oh, she noticed that.

  “I think we both know you’d not manage that very well; don’t worry she’s not here and I don’t know her.” she explains softly.

  I sigh in relief.

  “I’ll be fine, I’ll move on and I may even find someone else to love. I just won’t be very successful at it if I have to constantly be around her or reminded of her.” I reason breathing hard.

  “I think that’s a very standard response for the human condition.” she
smiles at me. “People who divorce are hardly likely to buy houses next door to each other and be best buddies; although it can happen in some obscure cases. Most people require a complete departure from their previous relationships.” she explains.

  “I agree.”

  “Where do you see yourself after you leave here completely.” she asks.

  “Living somewhere around here and getting back into fighting.” I answer.

  “What about dating?”

  “I, I’ve never dated. I was with Shae since we were in High School together. I don’t know how to date.”

  “Do you know how to approach people? Or do you find that hard?”

  “I’m cool with talking to new people, but I’m pretty selective at who I let inside my inner circle.” I explain.

  “What do you consider are qualities you need in a person, to let them into your friendship circle?”

  Friendship circle? How Sunday School is that?

  “I can’t stand prejudiced and judgmental people.” I suggest and she smiles at that, possibly thinking of Ethan, as am I. “I like people who don’t care that I have this illness. I like people who have real experience with life; you know, have learned something about reality. I like people who are funny and can take my sense of humor the way it’s intended. Loyalty is a clincher. I also like people who don’t let me push them away.” I explain.

  “So strong and reliable people are people you allow in your inner circle?” she clarifies.

  “I guess, but they still need to have that special something. That unquantifiable something that makes me want to hang out with them. I don’t know what that is, but I know it when I feel it.” I explain.

  “When was the last time you felt that?” she asks cocking her head to the side.

  I go to say ‘this morning,’ but I stop myself. It might be true, but I don’t want her to know. Isi will be my secret and I’m not about to fuck up this new friendship.

  “A long time ago.” I lie.

  “You’re a gregarious and handsome young man; I find it difficult to believe you don’t have a multitude of friends.” she smiles.

  “Believe it; I can count my friends on one hand.”

  I can… Ben, Beau and Seb; and then there’s Jade and now Isi, if she wants the fifth spot. I suddenly realize that I’m replacing the fifth spot. It used to be occupied by Shae; well actually she occupied the number one spot, but Ben has since been promoted.