𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

13. midsummer night's nightmare

T H I R T E E N
midsummer night's nightmare.

I have a few problems with edibles, one being they don't hit quick enough, and two they always taste so fucking good. These issues combined mean I don't think the edible is strong enough, so I eat a little more, then I realise it's delicious and eat it all, and then I'm destroyed for hours.

After I took the Plan B my stomach hurt. Now, it is listed as a common side effect, but I diagnosed myself with stage three metastatic bowel cancer and started having a panic attack, so I made pot brownies. Naturally.

Life is good. Like really, really good.

So what JJ got arrested? It's his own damn fault. So what I got a little emotional eating the Toberlone he stole for me? I'm probably going to start my period.

So what everything.

The kitchen smells like vanilla cleaner, and the aftershave-esque candle stinks up the rest of the house. No weed smell at all. So I'm relaxing in my room.

I stare at the show playing on the TV in front of me, the characters dance across the screen, all while blood squirts out of someone's neck.

The door to my room opens, and I sit up like I've been struck by lightning.

"Are you trying to learn German?" My mother asks me.

I stare at her blankly, she just spawned out of nowhere. She wasn't meant to be home for hours. I look at the clock sat on my desk. Nope, she's right on time. How the fuck did six hours go by so fast? "What?" I ask, tipping my head to the side, completely lost in the question. My brain swims in confusion. And THC. Especially THC.

"The movie, it's in German," she points to the TV.

I look at it, and finally, the speech I thought I understood suddenly sounds a lot like German-sounding gibberish. I swear I understood that. "Language learning is a passion project," I tell her with a wide smile.

She nods, "Well I came in to give you your dress, we leave in an hour and a half. A nap may serve you well," she smiles at me and walks out, leaving the dress on the hook on the back of my door.

"Ciao," I mumble as the door clicks shut.

I don't think she realised I'm high, I've always been good at acting sober.

Laying back in my bed that feels more comfortable than usual I stare at my roof, free of black mould and with a creak-free fan. There are no bubbles of paint on my doors, or water stains in the corner of my roof, the carpet has no stains and no coils from the mattress poke through the top, threatening to give me tetanus. I find myself wondering what jail looks like. It probably has a lot more concrete and brickwork than my room, and of course, bars cover the windows. Kind of like shark cage diving, the inmates being the sharks, and the being the general populous being humans watching the show. Or a zoo, that one makes more sense. A lot less long-winded.

Getting out my bed I walk over to my desk and rub my face with moisturiser hard, trying to sober myself up. I took the brownies about three hours ago, give or take a few hours, so they should be wearing off, depending on how many hours you give or take.

I get ready messily, and, by the end, I look a little questionable. I don't feel like Frankie, or Mabel or whoever people want me to be. Dressed in a silky beige, floral dress, I feel weird— although that may have to do with the prickly feeling of the hairs on my leg catching the material, it's very off-putting.

A knock on my door scares me, I mumble a come in, and my Mum walks in. She, as always, looks great. Like she belongs in nice dresses, with her hair done to perfection, and makeup flawless.