Fake (A Pretty Pill)

by Criss Copp

  “No.” I mock disgust.

  “I’m shattered.” he swoons.

  “You’re an idiot.” I counter half-heartedly.

  “A likeable idiot nonetheless.”

  “Bravo… you are definitely a likeable idiot.” I smile.

  “You know, I think we should swap stories. One story a day. I’ll tell you one story, and then you tell me a story. Then we’ll repeat it tomorrow and the next day and so on.” He surmises. “It will help with the boredom.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yep, definitely.”

  He looks excited.

  “But they have to be on par with each other. I don’t want to tell you my story about jumping off a roof, only to hear a story about you having a cute bunny rabbit named Waggles when you were five.” he bargains.

  “Waggles is more of a dog’s name, and you jumped off a roof?”

  “All in good time. Deal?” he asks, putting his hand forth to shake on it. I shake.

  “Okay, can I tell you what your first story is going to be about?” I enthuse like a little girl waiting in line for Santa. I’m surprising even myself this animated enthusiasm.

  “Ah, okay. But before you do, you should give the little girl you channeled just then back her soul. It was way too convincing. Stop stealing children’s souls; Ethan will accuse you of being in league with the Devil.” he says with a mocking seriousness.

  I gush, “I know.” I say shockingly, “He’s super weird. Did he accuse you of something?”

  “He warned me away from a guy named Luke, who’s gay.”

  “Oh wow I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you about him because he’s really odd. Something’s not right about him. But you’re the first patient I’ve had anything to do with.” I explain. And then I think to add, “I’m still not sure why I’m willing to risk my job spending any time with you.” I smile.

  A shy smile crosses his face.

  “Wow, I feel really special.” he says.

  “Just stay away from him. I don’t know what his deal is, but he does it to everyone that isn’t higher up the food chain than him. I still think he has a personality disorder. He’s really, really weird. I’m sure it’s just an act.” I reason.

  “I plan on staying well out of his way. He came across as a complete and utter fuckwit. I seriously wanted to smash his face in.” Silas shakes his head in dismay.

  I grin at his definition of Ethan.

  “Okay, now tell me about your tats.” I blurt out. I can see the half sleeve today, because he’s wearing a t-shirt. But of course yesterday I got to see them in full; I got to see most of him in full. It was really nice. Really sexy…gah, I’ve really got to stop thinking about him like that.

  But I can’t help my humongous grin and I’m kind of bouncing like a kid right now. I’m confused as to how we got to be friends like this so quickly, but I just don’t care; I’m enjoying this way too much. I’m allowed to have friends aren’t I?

  “Really, give that kid back her soul and channel Isi back in please. I’m getting confused as to who I’m talking to.” he says, smiling.

  I just smack his arm and turn away to begin dusting and cleaning while he talks.

  “My sister Jade paid for half of it as a birthday present, and I paid for the rest of it out of my severance pay.”

  I look at him to say more but he’s just standing there staring at me.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re fucking terrible at telling a story.” I grumble, throwing down my cleaning rag on the trolley.

  “Language.” he mocks.

  I narrow my eyes. “Why did you choose biomechanical art?” I ask.

  That’s got his attention. His eyebrows are raised and he’s decidedly impressed looking.

  “Somebody knows their stuff.”

  I shrug, “TLC.” I say.

  He laughs, “When I was younger, I always felt the outside of me hid the real me. When I was a kid in Armidale, I felt like no matter what I did to myself I’d always make it through. You know, life threatening kind of stuff. It was almost like I wasn’t real, almost like I was actually a robot with human flesh on the outside, because I felt like I was kind of indestructible. So, I wanted to reflect that idea. I went with the biomechanical because I felt like I was a robot and not a real person for so long.”

  “Do you still feel like that?”

  “Ah no, not for years. I feel decidedly real. And after Shae left, my world collapsed. It brought home very much how real everything is. Very painful and very devastating. I still like the art though.” he says, looking at his arm.

  “Do you still feel like your world is devastated?” I ask meekly, changing the rags so I could move into the bathroom and do the wet surfaces with a spray and wipe technique.

  “No.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Do you?” he asks me. It makes me stop dead in my tracks.

  Shit, is it really that obvious?

  “Yes, most of the time. Sometimes no.” I whisper.

  “I hope I can help you with that.” He offers. I look up at him and he looks genuine.

  I smile at him and go through the bathroom door to begin the cleaning process there, but mainly just to learn how to breathe again.

  “Do you have any tattoos?” he shouts out.

  “Yes one.” I shout back.

  “Can I see it, or is it in one of those rude places.”

  “No, nothing rude; I’ll show it to you.”

  “Are we playing show and tell?” he cheekily asks.

  “Well, sure. Delayed as it is, you’ve already shown me yours.” I chuckle.

  He laughs. So I continue talking loudly,

  “I got it after my first tour. When I came back everyone had practically disowned me, but I felt really proud of the fact that I was there to help anyone; not in an occupational forces sense, but in a medical assistance way. I went to LA and got a design made up and then had it tattooed on my back.” I explain.

  And then I feel him behind me and my heart literally bumps through my chest. Shit, I have goose flesh all over. I can’t be feeling like this, he’s a kid isn’t he?

  “Can I see it?” he asks softly.

  “I’ll show you later.” I offer. “You shouldn’t be in here.” I reason looking nervously over my shoulder towards the door.

  “I’m here now, nobody can see you in here and I hardly think it’s a good idea to take your top off out there.” He reasons.

  “I wasn’t going to take my top off.”

  “Well that’s hardly fair. I had my top off.”

  I turn around and see him smirking once again. I’m standing with my mouth hanging open.

  “I don’t think it’s a comparable situation.” I argue.

  “You can keep your bra on.” he smiles.

  “You are a flirt.” I accuse, pointing my finger at him and everything.

  “No I’m not.” He smirks.

  “Yes you are.” I counter.

  “I didn’t know I was flirting; I’ve never had a female friend. I thought I was just being friendly.” he laughs.

  He knows perfectly well how he’s behaving.

  “Jade is your friend.”

  “She’s also my sister. And I’ve seen her naked I’d like to point out.” He shudders, “I was blind for a week. Nothing can be worse than that, so you’re all good to take your top off for me.” He reasons, folding his arms.

  I’m just slowly shaking my head at his reasoning.

  We don’t bother to mention his ex-girlfriend as having been his friend once.

  “You’d go blind if you saw me too.” I mumble.

  “I doubt it, although I suppose blind can also be characterized with eye loss.”

  “What?” I give him an incredulous look before finding a chuckle escaping me.

  “If my eyes pop right out of their sockets, then I’ll be blind.”

  “Ugh,” I moan. “Who’s th
e juvenile now?” I lament his dumbass sense of humor.

  “I’d say we’re pretty evenly matched.”

  “I’ll undo the top button of my blouse and you can peel the back down and have a look.” I negotiate.

  “Spoil sport.” He says, watching my fingers undo the button. I turn around and he pulls the back down to have a look.

  It’s of a bayonet with two snakes intertwined up it, and behind the bayonet are a set of angels wings. It’s about the size of a small bread plate.

  “I like it.” He says reverently. “The tattoo is great too.” he chuckles, throwing my standard ponytail around into my face.

  I turn and swipe at him.

  ***

  So much for one story a day. I now know he was involved in a car accident at the age of 12, in which his parents died; that he was raised by his sister after that, in less than ideal circumstances; that he was a sheetmetal tradesman for almost two years; and that he has been hospitalized for his bipolar only three times, with the last and current being by far the longest. I also know more about his illness, including his hallucinations. Today has been a fast tracking of our burgeoning friendship and it’s been the best experience of my life in a long, long time.

  Chapter 6: Rules for the breaking

  Silas.

  Finally I can see the home stretch; the beginning of my fourth week and last week has arrived. If it wasn’t for Isi during this incarceration, I would’ve been bored senseless here; as it is, the weekends are somewhat dull, despite finally being allowed to see my family. I’m always looking forward to the weekday mornings with Isi.

  The rules throughout the week are that families are not to visit at least for the first month. Once we’re in the residential units, visitors are allowed and we’re allowed to go out; however, there’s a curfew and residents have to return to the units by that time. The residential units aren’t mandatory though, they’re simply recommended. If I wanted and I had somewhere to go immediately, I could go there instead. Jade and Ben are just interested in getting me better though, and that’s their focus.

  Throughout my stay here, my friendship with Isi has gone from strength to strength. She’s fun, smart, strong willed and always up for a chat. I know almost everything about her now, and she knows almost everything about me. I’ve even seen her scars now; I finally managed to convince her last Friday to show me.

  I was dusting the windowsill of room 17 and she was making a start on the bathroom when I asked her what damage she had sustained in the blast that sent her home from Afghanistan. It had been a subject I had been sort of reluctant to broach before then. She had seemed so guarded about her injuries. But I was determined to know.

  “The right side of my stomach was kind of torn to shreds.” She voiced from the bathroom.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, I know.” she said.

  “Anyone else hurt?”

  “Two soldiers were killed. Another three wounded, although not as bad as me.” She called back.

  “Damn Isi.” I said, finishing up and grabbing a wet cloth and spray bottle to clean the shower head and wipe down the walls before washing out the base.

  “Yeah, it sucked balls.”

  “I bet, what sort of damage did having your stomach torn apart sustain?” I asked, wincing.

  “Lots of superficial stuff, but I lost some of my intestine. And then I acquired an infection – a really nasty one that ruined my uterus and turned one of my ovaries into a gangrenous mush. But apart from that, it’s really just superficial.”

  I couldn’t believe what she just told me. It was kind of shocking; but also weird because although the circumstances were completely different, this was kind of like Shae.

  “You can’t have kids?” I asked softly.

  “No.” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sorry.” I said, and I was… for her I was.

  “Don’t be. There are loads of kids in the world that could use a good home. One day when I sort my shit out, I plan on adopting a couple of them.” she said, finishing up her cleaning of the basin. “I’ll just go and check the scene.” she said and ducked out.

  I think my pulse increased to rapid heights at that moment and my heart swelled a whole lot.

  When she came back, she just jumped straight into the conversation again.

  “You must think I’m a freak.” she said.

  Now where had I heard those words before?

  “Can I see your stomach?” I asked gently.

  She was shaking her head.

  “I promise I’ll show you my scars, if you show me yours; but you’ll get to see a bit more than you bargain for when I do.” I bartered.

  “That’s okay.” She reasoned.

  “No really, I’ll show you mine OR you can show me yours. I don’t mind.” I said and started undoing my belt buckle. I got to unzipping my jeans and pulling them over my boxers before she stopped me and agreed she’d show me hers.

  Her fingers were shaking; and they nervously reached to her jeans button and undid it; then she unzipped just a fraction and peeled back the tops of her jeans, which were already riding low, to reveal just the top of her lace undies underneath, without looking at me once. Then she reached for the shirt hem and began to pull it up. She was so nervous she closed her eyes tightly.

  I looked intently at the scars on display and I won’t kid you, they were kind of shocking to see, because I could just imagine the wound that could’ve made them; but at the same time they were kind of gnarly in a weird, shark bite kind of way. I hadn’t said anything yet and she’d obviously taken it the wrong way, because she started crying.

  “Shit. Isi what’s wrong?” I felt like a bastard for remaining quiet the whole time, I should’ve said something.

  “I’m ugly and I can’t have kids and there’s not a man in the world that would want to be with me.” she lamented, dropping her shirt and putting her face in her hands.

  “Who said that? Who’s the dumbass that knocked you back?” I asked.

  “No-one.” she cried. “You’re the first guy I’ve even shown.”

  I went to her then and grabbed her to me, hugging her. She initially resisted, but then she melted in and began to really cry. I hadn’t hugged her before. Sure there had been plenty of shoulder barging, pushing and some slapping – all in fun; but no emotionally based touching.

  “Cry it out Isi.” I whispered into her hair.

  “My mom says no man will want to sleep with me without the lights off.” she croaked through her tears.

  “Your mom said that? What a bitch.” I pulled her tight to me, letting her cry it all out on my chest.

  “She is… she’s like the biggest bitch I know.”

  “Shit Isi, that’s just fucked up.”

  “She’s rude about how unattractive I’ve become, and how all men in their right mind are only after having their own kids. I wish I could afford to move a long way away, but I don’t want to ask them for money.” she continued letting go.

  “You know, not being able to have kids isn’t a deal breaker for all guys. I wouldn’t have a problem with it; in fact I kind of have no desire whatsoever to pass my genes onto a new generation.” I explained.

  “You don’t want kids?” she sniffled.

  “Yeah I do, but I’ve always thought to adopt. I’ve been of that mindset since I was diagnosed.” I informed her.

  “Wow, that’s unusual.” she sniffled.

  “What - you haven’t met me yet? What sort of hussy are you anyway, jumping into my arms like this?” I pulled back to look at her. I lifted my hand up from around her and put it in front of her in a gesture to shake. “Hi, I’m Silas, and I’m seriously unusual. I’m also mentally ill and go psycho from time to time; and I’ve never been accused of being in my right mind.” I attempt to lighten the mood.

  She smiles at me and bats my hand away.

  “I’m still ugly.” she sighs.

  I pulled back, crouched down and lifted her shirt again.
She went to stop me, but I used her batting the hand away trick.

  “I think they’re fucking sick. I mean, you know, as in totally wicked.” I said, going for the surfy analogies for awesome.

  “No they’re not.” she replied smiling and pushing her shirt down.

  I stood up and gave her a cocky smile, tilting my head to the side and crossing my arms over my chest. For a moment I thought of dropping my jeans and boxers; but then I had a better idea.

  “You calling me a liar Mulligan?”

  “If the shoe fits.” she sniffled, but her smile was increasing in size.

  I tore my shirt off and showed her my tat again. “Look at this please.” I told her.

  “Why?”

  “Look at it and tell me what you see.” I said.

  “A mechanical body under human flesh.”

  “How is it that you can see what’s under the flesh?” I queried.

  “It’s torn and,” she began to quieten down.

  “I paid four thousand dollars for all of that. What did you pay for the same look as me? Nothing? It’s just shitty that two guys lost their lives and you got PTSD in the process of getting some excellent bodyart done.” I reasoned.

  She laughed, told me I was ridiculous and punched me in the arm. It was a good moment.

  And now today begins the final week, and then I’ll be migrating to afternoons with Isi over at the units.

  We’ve travelled under the radar thus far, though there have been several close calls where I have had to duck into cupboards, jump behind doors and crouch down behind beds. It’s always the same person that nearly catches us –Ethan. He’s seriously creepy and he definitely has a candle burning for Isi. I struggle when I’m hiding and having to hear his garbage spew out from his mouth. His offers for intimacy have me wanting to burst free and punch him in the face.

  The one time when he explained they could just be friends with benefits saw me getting really angry, and I pushed the fire alarm beside the door where I was hiding. It did the trick and I got rid of him. I know it’s not really jealousy I’m feeling; Isi’s just my friend after all, right? I just can’t stomach that guy touching her. He’s a fucking serious whack job.

  Isi just pleads with me to let it be. She’s had to calm me down from going after him on no less than half a dozen occasions. The only reason I don’t jump out and punch him when he appears is because I don’t want her to see me really hurt him and I mightn’t be able to stop once I begin. It might scare her away.