Our Barbie Dream House

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Chapter Fourteen


“Sweetheart?” I hear my mother’s sweet voice, and I hold my breath. “Baby, why are you still in bed? It’s two in the afternoon.”

My chest has become heavy, making it hard to breathe, and to make it so much more shitty, my throat feels as if it has been stuffed full of cotton. I pull the warm covers tighter around myself, bury my face into my pillow to keep her from getting a glimpse of my watery eyes.

Not today. Please, I’m not ready to break all over again. But maybe I’ve been broken all along. . .

The bed dips, springs creaking from the added weight, and then I feel her hand smooth back my wild hair. That’s it– that is my undoing.

My cries are pathetic and loud and I think I might be drowning, but no one knows how to save me. Can I even be saved? I’m beginning to think I’m too far gone.

Mom breathes in a startled breath before shushing me quietly, brings me into her arms, and I suddenly feel like a little boy all over again. I feel like that sad kid that would wake up crying from a night terror, and there my mom always was, sitting on the side of my bed with her arms open wide for me to crawl into.

I’m thankful no one else is in the room to see me like this– a snotty, crying mess. I shouldn’t be crying. Why the fuck am I crying?

“Why are you crying, sweetie?” Mom asks softly, kisses my burning forehead tenderly.

Funny, I just asked myself that same damn question.

The breath that I suck into my greedy lungs is shaky, and I can’t help but wrap an arm around her side.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen my mom, the last time being the night I was kicked out of the house for spitting out the utter truth to Jonathan at dinner. That was months ago. I won’t deny the fact that I have missed her, I’ve always been a Ma’ma’s boy– no doubt.

“Do you not feel good?” She’s so full of questions, just like the beautiful brunette downstairs.

Mabel’s just like my mother– so full of curiosity, and beauty. I’m beginning to think that I need her more than drugs.

“I haven’t felt good for a long time, Mom.”

My family left. I miss them already, but I know they had to leave, and be back home before Jonathan got off work. That retched man would not be happy if he finds out they came to visit without his permission– he’s always been so controlling.

I’ve been avoiding Mabel like the plague, even though she is just downstairs, and refuses to leave my house without having a certain talk with me. A certain talk that involves three almost empty pill bottles that taunt me from where they sit on the nightstand beside my bed.

The medication I took a couple hours ago should have kicked in long before now, but I’m still lying in bed miserable with a mind that’s louder than the damned organ in my chest. All I can think about is darkness– obsidian black. I just want to paint how I feel, grip a wooden paintbrush in my hand, and slash across a clean, white canvas with thick black paint. But I don’t even have the motivation to get out of bed, the depression has hit me hard today, and my medication isn’t even helping.

I haven’t painted in weeks– haven’t drawn in months.

It’s completely sad in all honesty, the fact that I don’t even have enough energy to do the one thing that makes me slightly happy– able to forget. I don’t think I have the energy to even continue breathing anymore.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door, and I grip the side of my mattress with my sock covered feet pressed against the carpeted floor of my bedroom. I wish the floor would just open up, and I could fall into nothing. But I hate wishing for stupid bullshit, so I swallow down the last bit of my sanity along with the stuffed cotton in my throat.

“You can come in.” I force myself to speak because I know if I didn’t sooner, I would have never done it.

Mabel peaks her head in, forces a smile because she’s still so unsure how to approach me, and awkwardly waves. I huff out a laugh through my nose, and despite the shitty way I feel, I manage to force a smile. She shuffles her feet awkwardly, stares down at the carpet before clearing her throat.

“Look, Mabel, I don’t want you to be all awk-”

“I know what the pills are for.” She speaks abruptly, takes in a deep breath to calm down the nerves I can clearly see that are eating her alive.

I press my lips together, not really knowing exactly how to respond other than to nod my head after looking away from her.

“I’m sorry,” Mabel walks further into the room, closer to me. “I was just so anxious and I wanted to figure out how the fuck I could possibly help you and I couldn’t wait any longer, so I just wrote down the name of your pills, and I started Googling away.”

I rub at the back of my neck, and actually laugh softly this time.

“I just want to help, Hayes.” She takes a seat beside me, and rests her hand on my sweatshirt covered shoulder.

I stare at her for a moment, fighting the urge to scoff in her face because she doesn’t fucking understand.

“You can’t.” I whisper.

“Hayes, just let me help.” The beautiful blue eyed girl urges, and I’m shoving her hand off me.

I’m pushing myself off the bed to be face to face with her, my eyebrows drawn together in a deep scowl. I don’t know why I’ve suddenly grown so angry, but my heart is running marathons in my chest, and my hands are shaking.

“You can’t fucking help, Mabel,” my words are an angry growl, and my teeth are clenched so tight it’s beginning to cause a terrible headache. “Do you not fucking get that? These pills hardly work, they don’t help at all. Do you even know which ones are for which disorder? Do you even know how many times a day I have to take them?”

I don’t give her even a split second to respond because I’m already grabbing an orange pill bottle with a shaking hand, and shoving it out towards her so she can see.

“This one is for my depression.” I don’t know how she can hear me because my words are so fucking breathy, but she’s nodding her head softly like she understands. “I have fucking depression and I’ve had it since I was little and I have to take these stupid ass pills two times a day, every fucking day.”

I throw the bottle on the bed, and am quickly grabbing for the next bottle on my nightstand where I grip it tightly in my shaky hand. I breathe in a sharp breath, and it sounds like a pathetic wheeze.

“And this one’s for my bipolar disorder,” the organ in my chest is hurting like a bitch, and I suddenly feel like I’m going to break all over again. “They just recently diagnosed me with this annoying disorder, and they told me I’ve always fucking had it. My doctor said that I definitely got it from my shit for a dad! He said it’s fucking hereditary.”

I’m slamming the pill bottle back onto the nightstand just to pick up the next one, and shake it in front of the girl’s face.

“And the fucking icing for the damn cake of flaws!” This time I’m yelling, and I have no damn idea why. “This one is fucking painkillers for the totally rad migraines I’ve been having. It could possibly be a fucking tumor, Mabel. I’m probably fucking dying right now, and you can’t fucking help me!”

I breathe out a frustrated breath, drop the bottle to the floor, and thankfully the pills don’t go spilling out onto the carpet. My fingers shake as I scrub them through my messy hair, and squeeze my eyes shut so tight that they ache.

I need a moment to breathe– to think over the things I just spilled out of my retched mouth, and out into the open. Now Mabel knows about everything, well, not everything, but most of it, and I honestly don’t know how to feel.

Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out.

“Hayes.” She speaks softly, but her voice sounds closer.

“Mabel, I want to be dead.” I whisper before she can say anything else, and my eyes are still closed when I feel her standing right in front of me. “Do you not get that? I want to be dead now, and that’s how I’ve always felt.”

I open my eyes to look at her, but when I see the terrified expression on her face the only thing I want to do is close my eyes all over again, and never even think about opening them.

Mabel is silent, staring up at me with her big blue eyes that are filled with so much fear, and shock. She thinks she can save me. Why the fuck does she think she can save me?

I can’t be fucking saved. I’m a lost cause. Even the doctors don’t know how the hell to help me.

“You can’t mean that, Hayes.” Her words are air, but they suck the breath from my lungs. “You’re just–”

She doesn’t get to finish with her rebuttal because I’m pushing her down onto my bed and her beautiful fucking eyes are so wide they look like blue dwarf planets on her face and she’s parting her lips to squeal in shock. My hands are shaking and I literally can’t fucking breathe as she stares at me and without a single, uttered word I begin to unbutton my jeans.

I didn’t think it was possible, but Mabel’s eyes grow wider. The girl slaps a hand over her large blue orbs just as my shaking fingers grapple at my zipper, and I pull. Her shoulders are tense as she sits completely stiff on the side of my bed, and I stand in front of her just about as stiff as she is with my hand at my pants.

If anyone were to walk into this room they would totally get the wrong idea.

“Hayes,” she gulps, lets out a shaky breath that’s probably shakier than my hands are. “Please, button your pants.”

She needs to see this. She needs to see my flaws.

I use one unsteady hand to pull up the bottom of my sweatshirt, just a bit, and my other to push down the waistband of my jeans. The cold air hits my scars, the ones that are over a year old– the ones that I had inflicted upon myself.

“Mabel, open you eyes.”

The girl shakes her head vigorously, hand still plastered over her blue eyes, and lips pressed tightly together.

“Believe me, I’ve seen plenty sides of you, but this,” she motions to my groin blindly with a wave of her hand. “Is a side I don’t think I’m prepared to see.”

I can’t help but chuckle despite the situation, and I pull my sweatshirt up just a bit higher.

“Please, Pooh Bear, just trust me.” I know calling her by her nickname will get her to listen.

She sighs, but doesn’t move her hand away from her eyes.

“Fine,” she gives in. “But if it looks like a tictac I promise you, Hayes, I will not hold back from cracking small dick jokes.”

I roll my eyes.

My heart hammers against my rib cage the moment she pulls her hand away from her face, and I don’t think I’m breathing when her blue eyes land on the pink scars on my lower stomach. She’s quiet, but her eyes are still so wide, and they show so many emotions that feel like a punch to the chest. I clear my throat and suck in a nervous breath and blink once– twice.

Maybe this was a bad idea. This is a bad idea.

“D-did you do this to yourself?” She finally questions.

One short question, but it makes the two worthless lungs in my battered body completely deflate and I think I’m nodding my head but I can’t really feel a thing. So I have to force myself to wet my lips and open my stupid mouth and think of shitty words to say to the beautiful brunette who sits in front of me.

“They don’t end there.” I manage to force out, and part of me wants to show her the others, but I’m afraid she’ll leave. “They go all the way down my right leg, and stop just above the knee.”

I’m afraid.

I don’t want her to leave, but I might be the selfish one who leaves her.

Mabel swallows. I stare at her for a second too long, and then I force myself to glare down at the carpet.

I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

“Why’d you do it?” I can tell her question is forced.

The sadness in her eyes is enough to kill me more than myself. I swallow hard, and I taste dreadful salt at the back of my throat.

Don’t you fucking dare cry.

“I-I don’t know,” my voice is breathy, and broken. “I couldn’t– I couldn’t feel anything, so I stole a knife from the kitchen, and just. . . went at my leg.”

Fuck everything.

Tears are welling up in my eyes all over again, and I honestly feel so damn pathetic. Mabel is quick to stand up, tries to reach out for me, but I’m quickly turning away from her to walk out. But she grabs onto my sweatshirt sleeve, keeping me from going anywhere.

Sometimes I wish people would just stop intruding, or caring too much because it would make everything so easier. It would be so much easier to just pop a handful of pills, or jump from the top floor of a building. It takes all my courage to stay alive instead of taking my own life.

I turn around to face her, but that’s my biggest mistake because she smiles sadly at me, and stands on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my shoulders. I can’t help but suck in a startled breath, and then the tears fall on their own accord. Half the time I completely suck at hiding my pain since there’s so much of it.

Burying my face into the crook of her neck, I can’t help but wrap my arms around her. I haven’t had a hug from someone other than my mom since Jordan’s funeral, and that was exactly a year ago.

So when I hug her back, and cry silently into her shoulder, I can’t help but think that maybe I could use a friend.

But it’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever thought.

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