Chapter Text
i sit in my room with a bottle of vodka and i’m questioning my life choices. i believe i am drunk because everything is hazy and the only two things on my mind are self hatred and my boyfriend. i haven’t talked to charlie since last week and i’ve instead got a new bottle of vodka doordashed. every. single. day.
for this week and the next two weeks, mum and dad and oliver are not home, how they trusted me and charlie to be home alone for three weeks? i have no idea. charlie has tried talking to me and it hasn’t worked. i have gotten to the point where i have locked my door and shoved my wardrobe against it. i have blocked charlie’s number and blocked michael’s within the first three days. why am i spending these three, long weeks like this when maybe, i could be going out, i could be making out with my boyfriend without hiding anything for once? i have no idea, and that’s what i’ve been questioning for the past seven days.
when did this addiction to alcohol start? i ask myself. maybe it was after solitaire’s final. maybe it was before. i don’t know.
all i know is that this is my only escape from my life; reality.
michaels’ found my blog. i can’t use that anymore. i can’t have him worrying about me more then he already does. he doesn’t deserve to have to worry about his shitty fucking girlfriend twenty four seven. he’s got enough on his plate, he has skating to do, he has olympics to win, he has all these big things to do in life and maybe, one of my biggest ways of supporting him, is to not let him worry. he doesn’t need to worry.
i can’t fucking write in a journal, who would do that? even though i started going to therapy, it’s not like a fucking journal, a fucking book of words that you write down yourself and complain about how fucked up your life is would work. that doesn’t just fix things. in fact, i tried it once, just to see, and it only made me feel worse, because my problems are fucking pathetic. just because solitaire happened doesn’t mean i have horrible trauma.
everyday i promise myself that this will be the last bottle of vodka i drink. there will be no more. one last sip and then everything will be over. i’ll get out of this phase and everything will be okay. but it doesn’t.
michael fucking bangs on the front door for about the thousandth time this week and i hear charlie having to say the same words ‘she is fine, she’s alive, she does not want to talk to anyone’ and then michael leaves, and then he’s back the next hour, or thirty minutes, even.
i know i could text michael, someone, tell them whats going on, why i haven't responded to anyone all week, i could tell them everything. how horribly i feel. i could tell them all of this stuff and then maybe i could get the right help, but i know it’ll worry people, alot. i’ll be sent to a mental hospital immediately, they’ll tell mum and dad. they’ll tell. mum. and dad.
they can’t tell mum and dad.
i wobble to my feet after chugging the last sip of vodka in the bottle. this time i don’t immediately order another bottle from doordash. i look around. they’re going to see this. someones going to see this. the mess of fucking victoria annabel spring who hasn’t showered in a week and smells like straight vodka. someones going to find out sooner or later. charlie, or michael, will break down my door at some point and find me here. charlie has actually already tried that but he gave up after i just kept piling more of my shit against the door until it was impossible to open it without breaking your whole entire body. nick also tried to help, but nothing would work. theres a part of me that has a desperate need for someone to find me. help me out of this hole that i accidentally shoved myself into, and part of me wants to stay inside, let it devour me until everyone hates me. at least i’ll be happy. maybe i’m happier this way.
vodka bottles are littered everywhere, i lost count of how many after the first day. my room stinks of the worst smell in existence, without a doubt does charlie know what’s happening, he knows what’s going on with me, but maybe i’m right, maybe i’m too far gone for anyone to save me, maybe people have given up on the mess of me. maybe i really am too far gone.
i know the only way to get out of this episode is for myself to put effort into it. nobody’s going to help unless i’m asking, pleading even.
i lay back down on my bed and bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears that have been falling for hours, obviously it’s no help.
my mind fills with a daydream. a good one. charlie, oliver, and michael are here, the three people i care about. everything is fine. everyone is fine. i am happy. i am okay. nothing has happened. solitaire didn’t go far. it was all a prank. all a prank. just a prank. it didn’t go far.
and then i pass out.
.
..
…
‘holy fucking shit.’ a voice gasps, whimpers, yells?someone, something familiar. michael? how did he get in here?
‘SOMEONE CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE.’ michael yells. i feel him grasp my hand.
someones fingers beat against their phone screen, then they’re talking. my head can’t pick up what they’re saying.
i don’t know what they’re saying but michael quickly runs a finger across my wrist, waits for a moment, and then he says ‘i found her pulse.’
then i’m asleep again and i wake up just a minute later to blaring sirens. i don’t open my eyes because i’m scared to what i’m going to see. they know now. they see me. mum and dad are going to know. i’m going to be sent to a mental hospital. something is wrong with me.
two people are crying, one of them is right next to me, probably michael, and one i hear in the distance. i can’t exactly point out who is crying because theres a ringing my ear thats very loud but my guess is charlie. i hear another person speak, maybe nick.
then i’m moved onto a hospital bed and michael has to stop holding my hand, then i’m taken out of my house and put in an ambulance and everything is such a blur again and i black out once again.
.
and then i’m woke up once again, maybe hours later. this time it’s quiet, except for a beeping of a heart moderator and i hear someone whispering, maybe to themself. i can’t quite figure out who they are until a few minutes later. it’s the voice. of michael. my boy.
‘it’s all going to be okay.’ he whispers and then lets out a sob. ‘she’s okay. she’s okay. she’s okay.’ and then he says it once again. i wait to see if he changes it up and he doesn’t, he repeats the same sentence in hopes that maybe, if he says it enough, maybe everything would be okay.
i open my eyes. just to see what’s going on. it’s only me and him in the room. he’s looking up at the heart moderator, still whispering the same thing. he doesn’t realize i’m awake.
then he puts one of his hands next to mine and i can’t help but put my hand on top of his and grasping it, feeling him, his touch, the touch that cures me everyday.
his eyes jump from the heart moderator to his hand immediately, just to see if it’s real, not just a ghost feeling, and then his lip quivers and then he looks at me. our eyes make contact and then he’s crying more then he was. his face upturns into a sad smile.
‘you.’ he gasps.
‘me.’ i shakily say back. it’s hard for me to speak right now because apparently my body has forgotten how to do most things.
he gulps back tears and then he reaches out his hand to cup my cheek. he leans over the armrest of the chair and bed and then i kiss him, one of my hands rests behind his neck. we kiss for a minute or two. maybe five.
and then when we disconnect our lips i press my forehead against his. i’m crying.
‘i’m sorry.’ i say. ‘i’m so fucking sorry.’
‘you could’ve spoke up about it.’ he says.
‘i know. i didn’t want to put more on your plate. you have enough to deal with as it is.’
‘you need to learn how to communicate, tor, i know its hard and i know it because it’s hard for me too, but you can’t leave stuff like that to yourself.’ his lip quivers. ‘i don’t want anything bad to happen to you. it’s more on my plate knowing that something could be wrong. i don’t —‘ he sobs. ‘i don’t want you to — to..’ he doesn’t finish the sentence.
i grasp his hand.
‘i’m sorry.’ i say again.
‘it’s okay. everything’s going to be fine.’
‘how’d you get in my room?’
‘charlie was done with me coming over so he called nick just to try and, yeah.’
‘i’m sorry you had to see me like that.’ i say, because i can’t imagine how traumatizing the sight must’ve been. finally getting the door open to your girlfriends room to see her lying on her bed, on top of the covers, unconscious while multiple vodka bottles and trashbags lay around her.
‘please communicate with me next time.’ is all he says.
‘i’m sorry i didn’t.’
‘why didn’t you?’ and i can read my mind on why he says this. he thinks it’s his fault, and that’s one thing i’ve realized about him, he blames everything bad that happens on himself, and he shouldn’t.
and then i explain everything. i break free.
‘i wanted help. i wanted help really bad. but at the same time i didn’t. i wanted to just keep drinking. bottle after bottle. because maybe, maybe if i kept drinking everything would be fine. nothing would be wrong. maybe if i didn’t interact with reality i’d be okay and everything would go away.’ i pause. ‘i thought it was my escape. i wanted to escape. from the thought of what solitaire did. from everything.’ i say. ‘i thought it’d work. i really thought it’d work, but deep down i knew it wasn’t right and i knew people would say it wasn’t right, so i just lost communication with everyone because i didn’t want to hear anything about it.’
he nods along but obviously doesn’t know what to say, but it’s okay, because sometimes silence is comfortable. his thumb is rubbing circles on my cheek.
‘i’m sorry you felt that way.’ he says. ‘if there was any way i could help you.’ he pauses. ‘please tell me.’
‘i don’t..’
this is giving up. this is giving up hope. but maybe it’s okay.
‘i don’t think theres a way to help me now.’ michael looks at me with deep, sad eyes. and then i continue. ‘i think i’ve lost any way i could get better.’
‘you can’t give up.’ his voice cracks.
‘do my parents know about this?’ i ask suddenly.
‘yeah.’
‘fuck..’
‘it’s going to be okay.’ he reassures.
‘what did charlie say to all of this?’
theres a long pause. michael keeps closing and then opening his mouth. and then he finally speaks.
‘he said that you need to go.’ he pauses. ‘for a bit.’
‘where?’
he tightly shuts his eyes and then reopens them. he looks afraid to say what he’s about to say.
‘i think — we think, me, nick, and charlie think you should go to — to,’ his voice cracks. i know he doesn’t want to admit it because i know it’s going to be hard on both of us from my guess of what it is.
‘we think you should go to the psych ward. but it’s your choice. the doctors have offered and recommended it though.’
i think about it for a second.
‘i think so too.’
‘theres an opening at one thirty minutes away. and they’ll offer rehab there too.’ he says.
‘i’ll do it.’
‘you will?’
‘i want to get better.’ i say. ‘therapy wasn’t enough for me.’
he smiles, and then he kisses me.
‘i’m glad you want to get better.’
and then i start crying a little more. sometimes i forget that people actually care.
‘can you get charlie over here?’
‘yeah.’ michael backs away from me after what feels like a century and texts charlie. he’s at my door in less then two minutes and michael opens the door for him.
charlie is crying and immediately hugs me before saying anything.
‘you’re awake.’ he says.
‘i am.’
‘i’m sorry.’
‘i’m sorry too.’
then a doctor walks in.
‘what a beautiful family reunion!’ the doctor exclaims, obviously trying to give the room a bit more of a happy mood, which doesn’t seem to work too well because charlie and michael are still obviously very confused and sad and happy at the same time.
charlie moves away from me so the doctor can do whatever he came in to do and he asks me a few questions, one of which asking how i am and instead of just asking ‘how are you’ he says ‘tori spring, how are you?’ and i question how he already knows my nickname as most doctors call me victoria, but then again, i’m sure michael told him that i prefer being called tori, he asks if i read through the pamphlet i was given that talked about the psych ward and stuff and i said no, because i hadn’t, i was only informed about it, but i did say i was interested in it which obviously made him very happy. then i question how many people don’t read or listen to the pamphlet when it’s given to them. it must be a very large number. eventually he leaves after running who knows how many tests, then it’s just me, charlie, and michael.
‘mum and dad are on their way.’ charlie says after awhile.
‘is oliver coming too?’ i ask.
‘yeah.’
‘i miss him.’
‘i miss him too.’
we sit in comfortable silence for awhile. michael’s hand is holding mine.
‘where’s nick?’ i ask.
‘he went home to make a care-package for you.’ charlie laughs. ‘he’s supposed to be back soon.’
i smile.
‘how long am i staying here for?’ i ask
‘i think the doctor said four days.’ michael chimes in.
‘my visit was like that too but for different reasons.’ charlie laughs. ‘i had four days here, then three days at home, and then a week after going to the hospital i was going to the psych ward.’
‘i know’ i laugh. ‘we’re siblings, you think i don’t remember that?’
charlie blinks, and then he quietly says ‘oh fuck.’
then we all start laughing and for a second, maybe a little longer then a second, everything seems to feel okay for once. maybe if i’m just here a little longer around people who care maybe everything bad will fade away.