Deciding on You || a.i. (Book 2)

03 | Maddie

I shake the one container of medication on my desk while I wait for my dad to pick up his phone the next Monday afternoon. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, anxiety meds -- it's all there. Thankfully, they figured out the right combination before I left the hospital. 

I'm only allowed to have one dose of everything in my possession at all times. My dad gave the actual bottles of pills to my brother, since he's home at night more often than my mom, and he gives them to me. I don't know where he keeps them, and I wouldn't dare to look either.

No one wants what happened to happen again, and it's almost scary how much they have to lock up now. Any knives that were in the kitchen are now somewhere I don't know about, there's no alcohol in the house, and they confiscated all of my razors. I even have to ask my mom for one every time I want to shave my legs.

I know they're doing it to protect me, but it feels so much like a punishment. I just want to shake them and tell them I'm not going to do it again. Not if I can help it.

"Hey, darling," my dad says when he picks up, "How was your day?"

Every day, now, I have to call my dad and fill him in on everything. It's the only way he would let me stay here to finish high school instead of moving back to California with him.

"It was alright," I say, putting the meds container down and opening one of my drawers to grab a notebook. I'm still trying to think of things that make me happy. "I had a practice test in AP Lit. We're starting to prepare for the AP test in May."

I start to brainstorm while I give him the summary of the day, starting with what Michael pointed out last week: dogs.

"How did you do?" he asks.

"I got a 2," I sigh, tapping my pen and willing more things that make me happy to come to my mind.

I write down abandoned/antique things just as my dad asks, "Isn't that still passing?"

"A 3 is passing. But most colleges only accept a 4 or 5," I say, "I don't know if I'm even going to take the exam. I wasn't focused when we practiced the multiple choice all last semester. It's the hardest thing ever."

"You should at least try. You've got four months."

"I guess," I say, writing down chicken nuggets just because I can.

"Have you eaten today?" My dad asks, reading my mind.

"I ate lunch," I say. I haven't tried it, but I don't think Michael will let me get away with not eating lunch anymore. Now that we're the only two at the table, he isn't afraid to make a scene. "And I think mom is making dinner now."

"Good," he says, "Hey, have you asked about being moved away from Ashton in Chemistry yet?"

"Dad, I told you, I'm not going to do that."

He has been telling me to every other day for the past week. He doesn't seem to understand the fact that I told Ashton we could still be friends. If I moved away from him and asked to change lab partners, I'd only cause drama, and that's the last thing I need.

"Okay, fine," he says, sounding like it's the last time he'll ask, but he sounds like that every time. "Are you working on your homework?"

I look down at my backpack and groan internally just at the thought. I want to do well, I really do. Nothing has changed there. But the amount of motivation I have to actually get stuff done is significantly less than before.

"Trying to get myself to," I say honestly, pulling my Chemistry folder from my bag. I miss Biology. It was a lot more interesting.

With that thought, I write Biology down on my list of happy things. I have no idea what this is going to help me with.