how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

29. baseball games & kiss cams

I wake up late again the following day -- around half one in the afternoon. The first thing I hear is Scout and Alejandro murmuring in low voices, Scour sitting on the floor and Ale at the desk. I know, once they see me awake, they'll begin to try and pull me out of bed, so I shut my eyes as quick as I open them, rolling onto the other side and pulling the soft duvet over my head. My muscles are achy and numb, and I've barely eaten in the past day, or so. Although I usually sleep around twelve hours, nowadays, all I look forward to is finishing whatever I'm doing and falling asleep again. Every time I taste the sour powder of the clozapine, I feel haunted for the next few hours. The concept of schizophrenia terrified me enough. Now, I feel like a walking freak show.

Moving onto my back, I stare up at the wooden beam. I imagine myself climbing on top of it and breaking through the roof. The wind would blow through my hair and pinch colour into my pale cheeks. It would feed into my naked lungs and help me breathe again -- eat again, smile again. The rain drops would kiss my body and wash everything away -- the debt, the meds, the headlines. I'd be beautiful again. I let a smile grace my lips, and although it's rigid, I still smiled. I conquered one battle, there are just a couple more to go.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Scout stands up clumsily, smoothing out her blue dress and sitting beside me on the bed. Her air is in a ponytail, and she isn't wearing makeup. Acne scars litter along her neck and the apples of her cheeks. They make her look even more beautiful.

I roll over with a groan when I see the all too familiar white and yellow packet. My brother and Scout have both been persuading me to take one pill every morning and night, although I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be once every twenty four hours.

"I don't want to," I say.

I feel her draw the figure '8' onto my back with the tip of her finger. It traces a shiver up my spine - long and bringing up all the little hairs scattered across my arms and shoulders. Instead of turning around, I tug the covers over my head. I'm mentally unprepared to leave the bed - I'm afraid the debt will rise in the time I'm gone. That's utterly illogical, I know, but it keeps dragging me back to my pillow.

"Come on, Maricruz," she persists. "It's for your own good."

"It's made me vomit, shake, and pass out." I keep my eyes closed when I speak. "I don't even have hallucinations, or a split personality disorder."

"But Maggie..."

Something burns at the pit of my stomach, flooding into my chest. This time, I turn around, glaring at Scout and snatching the box from her dainty hands. She watches me helplessly, her eyes soft and lips parted.

Tipping the box into my palms, I pop out three pills, holding them out to Scout. The powder feels like dust.

"You think these are gonna make Maggie go away? You think she's made up and my own mind is driving me mad?"

"Maricruz, there's no evidence of the texts you say you were being sent. I understand you've been through a lot-"

"Stop saying you understand!" I scream, clutching the duvet and looking down. I set my jaw and grasp the pills tighter in my fist. I take the water bottle from the nightstand and swallow all three pills. It's a bit too much to take in, and the water is bitter, but it all fits through. Scout's face drops, and I begin to feel unbearably sick. "A-are you happy, now?" Am I gonna be seeing less of Maggie now?"

I don't remember what happens next, but I faint.

+++

I wake up with my head on something hard, and feel a harsh bump jerk my body up. There's a grey ceiling above me, and I realise I'm in the back seat of a car. And I'm moving. It smells like kettle corn in here, and I'm more than sure the cracking noise is Scout digging into them. My head hurts, and looking over the front seat, I see a large box of open kettle corn sitting there, and Scout continuously shoveling handfuls into her mouth while she drives. Part of me wants to ask where we're going, but for the most part, how the hell she managed to lug an unconscious girl into her car.