T E N

The notion of "the back of my head is none of my business" is one I have embraced for a long time. Because it truly isn't, I can't see it, it doesn't matter to me.

Unless it's got dandruff, that is my business.

But profuse bleeding? None of my business. It'll stop, or I'll bleed out and die. I'm too busy contemplating and drinking to care.

I'm sixteen, sitting in a bathtub, eating the rest of the spaghetti that I didn't throw at Rafe, drinking just straight vodka now, trying not to lean on the back of my head. Little Frankie did not think this would be my reality, even the little idealist I was only a few years ago, she's dead and gone. May she rest in peace.

She wanted to be like Barbie, good at everything. Pretty, capable of being an astronaut, doctor or president. I really thought I'd be the first female president.

I'd be an awful president. I both don't care if people like me and need people to like me. So, people loathing my guts and wanting to assassinate me wouldn't work for me. I'd have a breakdown on day one. As for a doctor or astronaut, the thought of accidentally floating off into the never-ending abyss makes me want to shit myself. And a doctor is too much pressure, I barely keep myself alive.

I just need a rich man that doesn't throw me into coffee tables.

Or woman, men ain't shit anyway.

I'm not crying. You know when something is too depressing to cry, so you just sit catatonic and occasionally laugh. That's where I'm at.

I don't think I have ever felt so alone, despite my phone sitting on the toilet seat where I could contact the half a dozen people I know. Despite my brother living a stone's throw away. Despite it all. I still feel alone.

I don't think you're ever ready for something like this, even if you knew it was coming, even if you kind of brought it on yourself. Because I set him off, I cheated on him. In shows and movies, or when you hear about other people's relationships, and you see or are told someone cheated on someone else, you automatically hate them. They are a terrible person, how could they do something so despicable? I never thought I would be that person who deliberately, and repeatedly cheated on someone; for months. I am the villain in Rafe's story, when he explains what happened, everyone will see me as the despicable person who you hate without a second thought.

Or maybe he'll go the psycho route? Kind of funny, all things considered. While I am not sane, I, personally, don't think I'm crazier than him.

I shift to put the licked-clean bowl of spaghetti bolognese onto the tiles, and feel the blood that covers my upper body crack. I need to do something about that. Still sitting in the bathroom, I pull my clothes off and throw them to the other side of the bathroom. Grabbing the plug from where it sits on the side of the bath, I put that in the drain and turn on the tap. As the initially crystal clear water fills the tub, it begins going a copper colour as my blood mingles with the water.

My knees, elbows and back sting as the water covers them. I slip down a little so everything up to my neck is inside the steamy water.

I shut my eyes, enjoying the warmth. I should've filled it a long time ago, this is nice.

I lean my head back, careful not to actually get the wound in the water, I don't want it to start bleeding again, but enough that I get the bulk of the blood out.

Eventually, the water goes cold and I risk pissing in it, so I get out. I think sitting in cold, pissy water is a low I could not recover from.

My movements are slow, I tend to get dizzy standing up at the best of times, right now is not the best of times. The world goes a little wavy, but not enough to concern me. With a little effort, I get to stand on the bathmat, then look at myself. If that was not a jumpscare I don't know what is. The evidence on my face isn't that obvious, just my lip that has a small crack in it. Although me biting the skin of my lips is not uncommon, so that too isn't a concern. My eyes float up to the scar that cuts its way through my eyebrow, one that Rafe put there. Despite not being touched, it hurts—although my brain is probably a little messed up right now, so that may explain. Still strange.

His cruel words fill my head, not letting me forget them. He said them with absolute certainty. And I don't doubt he will make good on his threats, or attempt to at least.

He will stop at nothing if he sets his mind on something. He will scream until everyone sees me as the crazy girl Rafe was lucky to get rid of. I will be the bullet he dodged. And once you have a label like that in a small town you're stuck with it for life, and then no one will touch me with a ten-foot pole.

Pulling on some clothes I clean up the bathroom, brush my teeth and walk down the stairs to deal with the mess. Luckily the only blood on the carpet is half a dozen drops scattered around the coffee table. Most of the blood ran down my back and got caught in my hair. Not great either.

The TV is now playing some underwater documentary that is already freaking me out. I just turn the TV off and pick up my phone, I send a text to Kie, explaining I've come down with a mystery illness that I have no clue when will get better. But probably not for a few days. I debate on adding detail, but my head hurts so I just send the message after a brief spell check.

Twisting my body I kick my legs up on the sofa and stare up at the roof. Contemplating my existence for the fiftieth time today.

It seems like I blink and the sun has risen, the birds are squawking. I can see some in the bird feeders hung outside the living room window. They fight over space, eating the seeds until they want to fly to the next bird feeder, then the next. Perhaps rolling around in a bird bath at some point, then, if they need some excitement, shitting on someone's head.

My life would be so much easier if I had wings, I could just fly away from all my issues and find another bird feeder. Perhaps I could catch a ride on a ferry and head to the mainland, it'd be free, everything is free when you're a bird.

I'd have to be careful of cars, though.

The day floats by, I take the occasional shot when I feel the hangover creeping in. The best way to get rid of a hangover is more alcohol. Keep the shots flowing and the vomiting away. I have a headache either way.

My phone buzzes occasionally as I watch whatever trash is on the TV. Everything from the latest natural disaster, to a murder, to a politician making rules to cater for rich men, to some niche story they tack on the end so people don't kill themselves from all the depressing shit. It's usually about animals, it works for me.

I can't really dodge people forever, I'm not a bird, I can just fly away with a chirped 'bon voyage,' U don't have wings. And after the tale of Icarus, I'm not about to make my own.

I also should probably warn the group that Rafe may be out for blood. He doesn't know who, but he does know it's someone.

There's a thud on the door, I almost shit myself. I sink myself down into the squishy sofa, hoping whoever is at the door can't see me. Another thud, not a courteous knock, more like the side of a fist slamming the door.

"Mabel, are you alive?" JJ shouts through the door. I sit up, looking at him through the window. He doesn't see me, I stare at him for a second, thinking about what to do. "I can pick a lock, so just tell me if you're alive or I'll come in."

Sitting up on the sofa I reach over and slide the window open, the noise gets his attention. "I'm alive. Living and breathing." I tell him in a monotone voice.

"You look..." He trails off.

"Shit? Well, I'm sick, so best you leave." I try and get him to leave, he doesn't look like he's leaving any time soon.

"I wasn't going to say shit," he tries to defend himself. He was definitely going to say something like shit, we both know it. "I just got concerned, you know, with Rafe."

"Well, Rafe isn't a problem anymore," I mumble.

"Is he dead? Did you kill him, it's oka—"

"What? How is that where you went? I didn't kill him, we broke up." I continue the conversation through the fly-screened window as I lean against the back of the sofa.

He is quiet for a second. "Did it go okay?" He sounds like he doesn't truly want to know, but he feels the need to ask.

"I threw pasta at him," I tell him quite possibly the least important detail of the story.

He sees the large crack in my lip, it's constantly burning from the shots. And I keep picking at it. It's free lip-filler, though, so I can't complain. "You gotta go to the police." He urges.

"Think, JJ. He's a Cameron–even if he's the crazy one—he's got money and power and a last name that commands respect. He's got the Dad who built an empire and lives in the big house. I'm the girl that had a mental breakdown at an event they hosted, I started sobbing during a toast, that event had most of the police I'm attendance. It won't go my way, he'll get a lawyer that will tear me to shreds, and, when all is said and done, it'll just hurt more."

JJ looks past me and onto the coffee table that I currently have beef with, I glance back and see the bottle of tequila. I ran out of vodka. "Are you drunk?" He asks.

"No, I'm curing my hangover." I give a weak excuse.

"With alcohol?" He looks confused.

"If you don't stop drinking then you don't get the hangover, plus, I'm only a few shots deep as of now." I look back at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Gonna go with no for that question, buddy." I give him an amused look, trying to convince myself this is all an amusing situation.

"Mabel," he looks at me weirdly.

"Wanna come inside? This is a weird conversation to have through a fly-screen." I offer. He nods, I stand up, putting my hand flat against the wall so I don't fall over. I swing open the door and gesture for him to walk inside. "Welcome to the humble abode."

He takes a few steps inside and then his gaze fixes on the floor near my feet. "Is that yours or his?" He asks. I find what he's looking at a small smear of blood. Maybe he should join the police—not that they would ever accept him, no matter how desperate. They'd sooner accept people in nursing homes with dementia.

I walk to the kitchen and grab a wipe, "Mine. My fight response includes throwing pasta and spitting in faces. I thought I got it all." I explain, wiping off the smear from the tiles.

"How much blood was there?" He grows more concerned.

"Well, he didn't stab me in the neck, so not enough to kill me." I don't look him in the eye as I throw the wipe in the bin.

"You're acting like this is normal, Mabel." He actually sounds frustrated.

"If I start feeling sorry for myself I will go actually insane, and I really can't afford for that to happen. So, we're both going to pretend yesterday didn't happen and it was a completely amicable breakup where we patted each other on the back and lied about staying friends."

There's a second of silence where we both process my demand. He stands awkwardly near the door, I stand in the kitchen, almost exactly where I stood when I threw pasta at Rafe.

"So, you're single," he asks a seemingly obvious question.

"There's not a long line of people desperate to start dating me. So, yes, I'm single." I answer his question.

"Oh," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. Despite the mildly awkward silence I don't regret inviting him inside. He looks around the house, despite all the times I've been at his house, he had never been at mine.

"I honestly think I'm done with the male species," I murmur while turning to grab a Diet Coke from the fridge. "Want one?" I ask, looking back at him. He gives me a nod so I grab two cold cans out.

"So this thing is over?" He takes the can I hand him.

I crack my own can, "Do you want it to be? Because he is going to destroy my name to the point where everyone will avoid me like the plague just in case my crazy is infectious. I don't think you want to be seen interacting with that."

Another second of silence. "My name isn't great."

"True," I agree to the obvious. The fizzy liquid fills my mouth as I take a mouthful to take my mind off the conversation that's going in a direction I didn't think it would.

"So, I don't care if people think I've been infected with crazy," he says with finality.

"Well, then I guess I'm not completely done with males. Although they're in thin ice," I add the final statement so he doesn't get too much confidence.

"Good to know I'm an exception," he looks quietly ecstatic.

"Something like that," I mumble and walk out of the kitchen to the tequila, ready to take a shot.

He grabs just above my elbow gently, less to actually stop me and more to suggest stopping. "Maybe it's time to sober up, you're going to have to eventually."

I turn to look at him, he has a valid point. "One more?" I ask.

"I'm not going to stop you, just friendly advice." He shrugs.

"I usually avoid taking sobriety advice from people that love drugs," I smirk.

"Yeah, that's fair enough."

I ditch the idea of a shot, the advice is actually good. "Wanna watch something?" I ask.

"Sure," he nods. Still awkwardly hovering. I have never seen him so awkward, I think he's actually gone stiff.

"Grey's Anatomy?" I suggest.

"I don't know what that is," he admits an atrociously.

I grin, I love making people watch things I like. Especially if I can be there when they watch it. "You are in for a treat, buddy," I tell him, walking onto the sofa and grabbing the remote.

I catch a look at JJ's face, he looks slightly disgusted. "Don't call me that."

I turn on the TV and pat the space next to me, "I'll call you whatever I want, bud. Now, sit and appreciate." He does what he's told. "I'll even start from the beginning so you can fully appreciate." I turn on the first episode. It plays for a little, but I can't help but ask the question that's burning my brain. "Why do you care."

He looks confused, "About the show? Because I'm five minutes in and couldn't care less," he admits, I'm slightly offended.

"No. It's a slow start, have faith. I meant why did you show up at my house and threaten to break in, you are aware I am related to a lawyer." I remind him needlessly.

"Because I was worried," he says like it's obvious.

"But why?" I press.

"Because I don't like the idea of people dying. Well, I wouldn't mind some people dying, but you're not on that list." He corrects himself.

"I'll agree with you there." I nod, pulling my knees into my chest.

"I hope I'm not on your kill list," he looks across at me, I don't look at him.

"You're on top, buddy. That Diet Coke? I poisoned it, you've got about twenty minutes."

•

Hope you enjoyed, my children.

I think it's a pretty universal experience to have, like, a world and characters you think of to go to sleep, but I have taken that to the extreme. I genuinely have an edited (probably better than this,) full-on book. That may be dramatic, but there are five versions depending on my mood, and I think they total at least thirty-thousand words. And that shit is juicy and dramatic. Just wanted to know how many other people have one, or five. Or more, if you're really weird.

I think there are like twenty characters with intricate backstories and intense interpersonal relationships. I read the plot twists like I didn't write them.

If you don't have one, write one. It's great.

Also that TikTok of the dog in the elevator? Oh my God it's been stuck in my head, and I'm honestly not complaining, it's my official pump-up song.

This chapter's hot man: Adrien Brody.

Now, I don't think this one is controversial. He is a sexy, sexy man. I love big noses, and he is in possession of a big nose. And he is only getting better looking, ageing like fine wine. Although I have had push-back from friends. 

Evidence (please look before judging):

So... what do we think? I think he's disgustingly good-looking.

I do know some of the spacing is messy (like the texts don't quite line up like I want to) it's because my phone won't let me edit on my phone, I can only edit on my laptop. Hopefully, wattpad fixes that, and then I can clean some of this up. Hopefully, it doesn't bother you!

Stay safe, and don't use a fork to get your toast out of the toaster.