⚠️ This is a true story, unfortunately.
🖤1st in a series
✅Completed
I labeled this as teen "fiction" because my target age group usually thinks of self-help books or text books when they hear "non-fiction" and don't realize a memoir reads like a...
She sped up ahead of me and threw herself into the car, slamming the door and making it rock back and forth. I was close behind her, not knowing if Kiwi would be leaving as well and not wanting to risk being spotted. I jumped in the car and threw it into drive, starting down the street before even attempting to address her. A: "Take me home now! I don't wanna be anywhere near you; you make me sick!" Her jaw trembled uncontrollably, as her face turned pink as a piglet and tears spilled out of her eyes like a kitchen faucet. T: "Oh no. We're gonna talk about this right now like adults, no matter how scared of you I am...but I'm not scared enough to break this reservation for 250$."
She threw her books and papers in the backseat with such force; piano sheets went flying everywhere. I had a mental flashback of being in her position, as Kiwi drove around his neighborhood and I was having a fit in the passenger seat. T: "Calm the fuck down. This is why I didn't tell you anything." A: "You tried to kill yourself! I asked you and you just ignored me! You could not be here right now! How could you not give a fuck about anyone that cares about you!?" T: "...You tell me." A: "How the hell should I know!?" T: "When you have a panic attack, what do you think about?" A: "That's not the same!" T: "Just answer me." A: "...I don't know...whatever I'm having the anxiety about!"
She slammed her back against the car seat, opening the glove box to grab a napkin to wipe her eyes. T: "Exactly. Do you ever think of me or anyone else? Do you care about anything else but making that feeling go away? That doesn't mean you don't love me or care about me. That's why this is a sickness, because that anxiety consumes you and you're not you anymore." She continued to quietly sob and dab at her eyes, but not respond. T: "You know I'm right. You don't have to say it; I know it would make your arteries explode. And I'm not saying you one hundred percent get it but you at least have a damn good idea of what my mindset was." We drove in silence the rest of the way there. I figured some time to let everything sink in and calm down would do her good. Pushing the issue and begging her to not be mad wasn't realistic.
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We arrived at the restaurant, pulling up to the valet station. I noticed Ally wasn't moving. T: "You can get out and have dinner with me or stay here and see if the valet kidnaps you with the car." A: "Then I don't have to deal with your shit." T: "You were just bitching I almost died. Be happy you do still get to deal with my shit." She rolled her eyes and threw the door open to get out. I handed the guy the keys, making my way inside. I noticed Ally was trailing ridiculously far behind me. It's always embarrassing showing up at dinner, or any event for that matter, when you and the other person have very obviously been having a quarrel beforehand.
We got seated at table in the center of the room. I knew Ally wouldn't dare cry and make a scene where everyone could see her. I gave her a goofy smile as she unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap. She looked up at me with the nastiest dagger eyes, but I wasn't giving up on killing her with kindness. A: "What?" T: "Well, go on. Ask me anything. I know I got some 'splainin to do." A: " I wish I could drink." T: "Nope, we're gonna have a nice, sober, big girl conversation. Don't be a dick...remember a few months ago when you wished I'd have sober, reasonable conversations to solve things?" A: "I don't wanna talk to you right now." T: "Fine, I'll do the talking." The waitress came to hook up our fondue pot in the center of the table and take our order. I ordered all of our courses at once so I could have a decent chunk of time to get everything out to Ally, without being interrupted. I wasn't looking forward to telling her anymore than she was looking forward to hearing it. She wouldn't look at me, as the waitress wrote down our orders and filled the fondue pot with different cheeses and beer to start melting for the first course. I wanted to dunk my head in the pot and drown myself in the cheese. That was always my dream way to die. Death by dairy.
