Reality

Meet Brooke & Harry

Brooke

"Brookie Bear, when are you coming to visit me?" My mother's high pitched voice fills my ear. I hold the phone just a few centimeters away from my head, knowing that she speaks much louder than I like.

"I don't know, Mom. I've kind of got a lot going on at the moment."

Sitting at the cyber cafe down the road from my apartment kind of became a routine thing. Coming in some time around noon, ordering my usual caramel macchiato at the coffee bar, and sitting on one of the computers in the back or reading a book. I don't have a job at the moment, at least not a real one, so I always come in here to relax. I work a very early morning shift at a bakery not too far from where I live, getting the first batches of muffins and bagels and all that other junk in the ovens. It's a little messy from time to time, especially when I get into a rush and start dropping things everywhere.

I'm kind of a klutz. I can't help it.

"We're approaching the summer time, surely you can find a few days to visit me," my mom continues to talk. "I miss you."

I sigh as I scroll through the classified ads on some random website. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but going home to visit her means I have to deal with my dad. And that is something I do not want to do. He is a piece of shit father and husband, though of course my mom doesn't see it. Which is why she was so surprised and hurt that I decided to move out when I was eighteen.

She is just too forgiving with him, and I hate it. With all the shit he puts her through, I want to shake her and tell her to wake up. I tried that once, and it didn't go over very well. I didn't know what else to do, so I left as soon as I could. I felt emotionally, and a bit mentally, scarred from all that happened, like my perspective on things have changed. Not much I can do about it now.

Here I am, five years later and I'm still trying to shake sense into her.

"And I miss you, but you know how things are. You know why I don't want to come home."

"Brooke, you're going to have to get over it."

"No, actually, I don't have to get over it," I huff a little too loud, catching the attention of some people around me. I mumble a meek apology as I turn back to the computer screen. "Listen, Mom. I get that he's my biological parental unit or whatever, but I really don't have to visit him if I don't want to. He's done nothing but shit on us."

"Watch your language."

"I'm twenty-three, watching my language only applies in situations with children and the elderly," I roll my eyes and scroll even further down the screen. I'm not sure how much longer I can take of this phone call, so I decide to end it there. There's no use in arguing with her. "Mom, I've got to go. I'll call you another time."

With that, I hang up the phone and set it on the table. Talking with my mom always leaves me feeling stressed out and annoyed.

I need a getaway. Like, yesterday.

Anywhere. I don't care how far I have to travel or who I have to deal with. As long as it's away from this small Florida city, I'll take it. I just need to escape for a while.

And that's when something on the computer screen caught my eye. It isn't like the other ads on this website. It's a sublease for just a few months, not a year. It sounds so appealing after the conversation I just had with my mom. Without thinking any further about the situation, I pick up my cell and dial the number.

Harry

There are at least two basic ways of localizing neurochemicals in the brain: localizing the chemicals themselves or localizing the enzymes that produce them. Peptides (or proteins) can be localized directly by the means of immunocytochemical-