Fake (A Pretty Pill, #2) Read online

  Shae disagrees with me though and she says that I’m different than I used to be. Admittedly, I can be a little quick to anger at times, but never with her. Road rage appears to be somewhat of an issue, but with all this fucking traffic around LA, who can blame me? Newcastle wasn’t anything like this. Today we’ve taken a cab though, so there’s no rage to contend with. Yet still Shae is behaving distant, rigid and strange. This is the standard of her recent behavior with me, and I can’t say that I like it; because I seriously don’t. But I don’t want to argue about it either. I just don’t understand it, all I know is that it feels wrong and I’m waiting for her to explain what the problem is, but she doesn’t.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing; I’m just nervous about the flight.” she grunts quietly, looking down at the floor rather than me, another new thing she has been doing.

  She used to look at me when she talked to me. Now she looks everywhere else.

  I decide to change the subject.

  “You’re going to miss out on the birth.” I chuckle. Jade, my sister, is having a baby with her partner, Ben; my best friend in the world besides Shae. But Jade is totally packing it. She’s not baby friendly, though I suspect she’ll be singing a different tune once the little devil comes out.

  “I might make it back in time.” she mumbles.

  I find myself shaking my head and sighing.

  This girl in front of me isn’t my Shae; I’m not sure who she is, and it’s really giving me the shits.

  It all started a month ago, when I turned on the paparazzi after Ben won his fight here in LA. He had gotten on his knees and proposed to Jade and some of the photographers had challenged me when I asked them to step back. Of course I got into a tussle, because I’m not one to back down from a fight, but Shae was disappointed in me. Her disapproval oozed from her for days like a toxic sludge. I’d never seen her like it before. I assumed she was embarrassed, and no amount of ‘sorry’ was going to change that.

  Then there were the beginnings of phone calls. Her parents were calling to ask what the deal was with my scuffle, which of course was reported in the news back home. Shae explained, but they were concerned. I think they worked it all out, or they were told, or they did some digging and found out about my bipolar; because they began phoning and speaking to Shae at length. International calls are not cheap. And they weren’t interested in talking to me in the slightest. I went from being a part of their family to an ostracized anomaly.

  I knew that this situation was perpetuating my escalation into a mania; because I just didn’t know how to cope with it. So of course I have since become a little on edge myself; consumed by my paranoia at times; regardless, I know my behaviors have been out of whack, especially regarding the phone calls.

  I found it increasingly suspicious that Shae began taking her calls from her parents in private, away from my earshot. Even when I walked into the room if she was on the phone, she’d walk out of there and find somewhere else to talk. I could also see how upset the calls were making her, because more often than not she’d been crying when she got off the phone.

  And then there was this trip back to Australia, which was a complete surprise to me. When she explained she needed to return a week ago, I told her we should talk to Ben about it; that maybe he could help sort things out, but she was adamant that it was unavoidable, and that she didn’t want to involve Ben. Her parents had booked and paid for her ticket. I had wanted to pay them back, since I considered it my responsibility but she wouldn’t let me. This again peaked my suspicion that Shae was moving on, and that her parents were behind the changes in her.

  And then there was last night, when she turned to me in bed and began to kiss me and it felt like good bye.

  Like I said we made love, at least that’s what I did. For me it felt like I was trying to reconnect with her increasingly distant soul, because I craved the connection. I needed to feel her and to show her how much I love her; but I swear for her it was just simply goodbye. She cried intently after the experience and I felt like an asshole. I was confused.

  But again, I’m being paranoid. I get paranoid – I know I do, because I get told to stop being paranoid all the time.

  “Shae, I know I can be a bit of an asshole at times, but that’s nothing new. I’ve been a bit moody since we started going out. But something’s going on and I don’t understand what I can do about it.” I say.

  “I know. But nothing’s going on.” She replies, looking down with her silvery blond hair hiding her expression. I put my hand out to adjust her hair out of her eyes, but she pulls her hand up and prevents me.

  “Why are you being so cold?” I ask her. I’m just so confused, because we’ve been together for 3 years and this rapid deterioration has happened in under a month.

  “I’m not cold.” she argues. “I…” she changes tact, I can tell. She has thought about something to say and it isn’t what she originally intended, although it is a legitimate concern. “I just can’t stop thinking about how you’ve only had your meds in the evenings this week. You’ve missed nearly half your dose.” she reasons; clutching at my medication inconsistencies like they’re the answers to everything in this moment.

  I’m a little taken aback about her increasingly obvious deception and twisting of the issues. Right now I’m thinking about us, about fixing what is going wrong with us; and she’s claiming to be thinking about my medications.

  I run with it. I have nothing else to go by.

  “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  She nods, looking at me pleadingly with her big blue eyes and a slight pout to her lips. I can’t help but realize she holds my heart in her hands; and I want her to be happy.

  “If I take them every day while you’re gone, the way I’m meant to, will it make you happy?” I whisper, moving my body in and dragging hers toward mine so that we are meeting in the middle.

  She nods, so I lean down and kiss her softly on the lips. She briefly kisses me and pulls away first; it’s breaking my heart.

  “Okay; I promise I’ll take them so that when you return I’ll be the same guy you fell in love with.”

  She gives me a pained expression and I notice the tears in her eyes. I feel her slipping away, like an undertow is pulling her away to where I can no longer see her. I know she’s leaving me now, I can feel it but I’m hoping I’m wrong.

  “I promise Shae. I’ll do anything for you.” I plead; my heart rate climbing.

  “You wouldn’t do it for me before.” she whispers.

  “I didn’t know it affected you so much before. I’m sorry.” I explain.

  Then the announcement for her to enter through the gates and leave me behind sounds. I feel as though I’m rushing to say something that will make everything okay, that will stop her from leaving me, not only physically but emotionally as well.

  “I promise I’ll do anything you ask. I love you Shae.”

  She nods.

  “Do you love me?” I croak. I’ve never had to ask before. She’s always repeated my declaration with one of her own; although recently they’ve been a little delayed.

  She nods. No words.

  “Can’t you tell me you love me too?” I make light of the situation with a slight chuckle, ducking my head to look into her line of sight, which has been explicably drawn to the departure gates.

  “I’ve got to go.” She whispers.

  “I love you Shae.” I repeat, holding her to me in order to gain her attention.

  She simply lifts up and kisses me hard on the lips. Not sensually, not with passion, just hard and clinical. My heart slams into my feet and I step back as though she’s just assaulted me; dropping her arms in the process.

  I can’t say anything, because my breathing is erratic and she’s just crushed my heart in her hands. She turns and walks to the gates, I think she is shivering, or she’s become emotional now too. I watch her look over her shoulder at me as she walks down the corridor away from me… and
I know. I instinctually know that this is forever. That she’s torn my heart out and stomped all over it with a cool efficiency that has nothing to do with the Shae I know and have loved since I was 14. The Shae that I lost my virginity to at 16, and the Shae that gave me hers. That is not this Shae. The Shae that sat with me through hospitalization, promised to love me forever and had begun to talk of our life together with 2 adopted kids is lost; because this Shae, in Shae’s skin and with her smell isn’t her.

  But of course, she is her. And my world has just been sent into a tailspin. I need to get home, and I need to calm down and wait to hear from her before my rapidly rising rage and upset becomes a real situation, and not just a fucked up dream.

  I wander around the terminal for a short time gathering stares from people as I stumble into things and attempt to get my head together. I manage to get outside and I stand in line for a cab, but I’m annoying the person in front of me. Perhaps I’m too close, or maybe my anxious tapping and movements has her lamenting the fact that she’s standing next to a psycho. If she’s thinking that, then she doesn’t know how right she is.

  Logan, the name I gave to my auditory hallucination years ago has just now decided to break through my carefully designed barriers and begin throwing about his verbal diarrhea. I’m tapping, jigging around on the spot and doing everything I can to stop hearing him. I logically understand that he’s a hallucination and that nobody around me can hear him and that he’s not real. But fucking damn it all to hell, I wish I couldn’t hear him too, because right now he’s bawling me out for the loser that I am. He sounds fucking real to me.

  I think it’s about the time I start to whimper that the woman in front steps aside and offers me her cab. I kind of don’t understand, because she could’ve just hopped on board and left me behind. Perhaps she’s concerned for her fellow citizens. Perhaps she should be concerned for them.

  “Where to?” The driver asks.

  I manage to give him my address details and then I resign myself to rocking in the back seat of his cab. Rocking makes me feel better normally. It’s soothing, and right now I need to get away from people and feel soothed.

  ‘Admit it; you just want to reach through the plexi-glass and snap the guys’ neck for looking at you weirdly in the mirror.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up Logan; I’m not like that.’

  ‘They think you are.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Shae thinks you’re capable of it.’

  “SHUT UP.”

  “Sorry?” the cab driver demands.

  “Not you man, not you. I… get me home quickly please, and I’ll give you a fifty as a tip.” I reason, pulling a wad of cash out of my pocket and holding up the offending bribe.

  “You’re freaking me out mumbling in the backseat to yourself like that.”

  “I’m sorry.” I growl an apology and then bite down on my tongue, literally, to stop myself from saying anything else. I can taste the metallic tang of my blood.

  “Well, I’ll get you home as fast as I can.” He accepts my offer.

  And he does, because the moment he stops talking to me he’s rapidly speeding up.

  I’m rocking and keening in the back of his cab; and I know I am, but I can’t stop it. I just know that I’m in two minds at the moment. The one where I want to tear the world apart; for which Logan is currently the cheering squad; and the other that logically understands I’m scaring the hell out of this poor guy. The issue right now is who’s going to win the fight for supremacy in my head. Logical reasoning or rage.

  Chapter 2: The Fallout

  SILAS.

  It’s an out of body experience for me once I ascend. I’m not able to make sensible decisions. I’m not able to properly care about the way my actions affect others. I’m simply not able to see that I’m doing anything remotely wrong. That is until I come back down and remember what I did and how I behaved

  I’m in lockdown now, and I have plenty of time right now to go back over the events that put me here, and analyze them correctly.

  Logan was shouting at me to come to my senses. He was indicating that I’m weak and that I’m ugly, both on the inside and the outside; that nobody could love me because I’m a monster, a dangerous monster that needed to be tethered and locked up for good. The goading did nothing to assist me to maintain my hold on sanity; and so I slipped over into my manic rage.

  There’s a peaceful sweetness in slipping over to the unfettered state of mania. I like the euphoric feelings I achieve in that state. It’s like sex, and like the being on a drug induced journey. It’s addictive, and once you’re there, you never want to come back down.

  At first the front door was in my way, but I managed to get inside the house using the insignificant piece of metal I had in my hand. Wow, that was weird, where did you come from? I remember thinking about that twisted piece of metal I could no longer tear from the lock. No matter, the door was open; I was inside.

  A letter on the kitchen bench with my name on it grabbed my attention.

  My name was written in block letters, and it just looked so damned funny to see it there like that, that I laughed uproariously. Nothing else was on the bench, just the letter. I looked around to see which of my demons placed it there; but nobody materialized to claim responsibility. I practically tore my gift open, hang on; I did tear it open. I tore it in half and had to try to piece it together in order to read it.

  I remember blaming the table for not letting me place the pieces back together properly. I remember picking up the edge of the table and throwing it out of my way. Of course I had to move the chairs as well, so I could crouch down on the floor and put this puzzle that was mine back together. I threw one over the breakfast bench and laughed at the sounds it made when it crashed through the mirrored tiles along the wall above the bench and below the overhanging cupboards. There was a tinkling sound like bells as the pieces fell to the granite top bench. I did it again, but the second chair wasn’t as effective. That made me annoyed, so I grabbed the third chair and threw it into the lounge area. It had a nice sound too; a shattering tinkling sound. Glass windows have the most amazing sound when they shatter.

  I then grabbed the fourth chair and ran to the entrance, where I used it to smash out the window paneling beside the front door. The tinkling on the tiles was beautiful. I threw the chair through the open door and managed to get it clear across the front yard and onto the verge. What a fun game, I remember thinking. Logan was laughing now and telling me I was a legend and we were on a roll. I ran back into the dining area to grab another chair but there wasn’t one, which made me angry. I remember growling, or perhaps it was a roar. I remember seeing the stools under the breakfast bench and thinking that they’d do nicely, but then I trod on my present and I began to chastise myself.

  Fuck, don’t wreck your present; someone took time out of their day to get that for you. Someone went to a lot of trouble; in fact it looks home made.

  I bent down and got onto my hands and knees to analyze the gift. It was a letter, not exactly a gift. Perhaps it was actually a poem; that would make it a gift right?

  I toyed with the idea of taping it back together; but then I saw the word ‘sorry’ and everything stopped dead still. Logan shut up, my heart stopped beating and my breathing ceased to continue. I read the words on the paper. None of them made any real sense.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I can’t be with you.’

  ‘I want you.’

  ‘I’m confused.’

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘I won’t be returning.’

  ‘I’m sorry. So, so sorry.’

  “Gutless fucking bitch.” I screamed at that point. I ran to the phone. I dialed the country code, the area code and the number for Shae’s parents.

  “Hello.” A groggy male voice answered.

  “Where the fuck is Shae.”

  “Silas, calm down. Have you put her on her flight?”

  “Where the f
uck is she?”

  “Silas… this is Terry. Did you take Shae to the airport?”

  “She’s there; I know she’s there. Where the fuck is she?” I screamed.

  “Silas.” Terry firmly stated down the line. “Did you put Shae on her flight? Did you take her to the airport?”

  “Of course, why would I be phoning you if she was still here?” I argued. I mean come on; I had dropped her off there that morning. She was bound to be there by now.

  “She won’t be home for another 20 hours then.” he sighed.

  “Don’t lie to me. She’s broken up with me. She wrote to me that she’s broken up with me.”

  “I know its hard Silas, but it’s the best thing for her and you would be happy with that if you really loved her.”

  “What the fuck?” I screamed down the line and then I was smashing the phone down repeatedly, until it was just a bunch of shattered plastic and wires.

  And then I was crying. The pain was excruciating.

  Anything that wasn’t bolted down was now flying through the air. I didn’t discriminate, I didn’t care about the size; I just tossed it all. I stomped on it too; I stomped, kicked, punched and threw out the pieces of our life together.

  I was screaming so loudly and roaring that I couldn’t hear myself anymore. I’d either become immune to the sound or my voice had broken and could no longer speak, despite going through the physical act of drawing breath and forcing it out in a wail.

  The pain in my heart was complete.

  And then I had an idea.

  I walked back into the kitchen, pulled a knife from the magnetic strip above the preparation area and walked over to the sink at the breakfast bench.

  I was going to cut out my heart and mail it to her. It couldn’t hurt any more than I was already hurting. I turned the blade towards me and went to plunge it in.