Like To Be You ✓

forty two

**Kinda edited 

Told you I'd come through with another chapter ;)

Also, since my boys have been getting a lot of attention recently, I was thinking about adding two or three reviews in the description. Leave a comment here, and I'll quote you on it :")

Warning: Mentions of drugs/drug abuse

o-o-o

Later that evening, I decide to conduct a thorough investigation of my father's study.

The large oak door smoothly opens to dusty darkness. My fingers search for the switch against the wall and flick it on.

Everything is as it was.

The desk is a few inches off the centre, to make space for a small rug where Gregory would nap while Dad worked. Three picture frames are aligned beside a dormant iMac, and a stack of beige files leans haphazardly, ready to topple over at the littlest of shakes. A World's Best Dad trophy, a gift I'd proudly bestowed upon him when I was nine, stands beside his worktop. The cherry wood cupboards behind the large leather swivel chair are filled to the brim with files and books and little mementos.

The look of this room, the smell of it—old wood and pine— generates a tickle in the back of my throat.

I move from the doorway, shutting it as quietly as I can. Crouching before Dad's desk, I run my fingers over it, before grasping the handle of the first drawer and pulling it open. The same old junk greets me—half-used cello-tape rolls, a purple glue stick, three pencils, a stapler with no pins inside it, and a punching machine. I open the remaining two drawers and find more files. I've gone through this room multiple times, only to find nothing that could help me understand the case.

I shut the last drawer close and move to the iMac. The stupid thing takes ten minutes to finally power up and pull up the login page.

Robin, it reads, beneath a pixelated picture of the three of us when we'd visited Vietnam. My five-year old self looks like he's having a great time, with a wide smile showing off the blackhole in my mouth, courtesy of two missing teeth, and Mom's gigantic Ray Bans perched on top of my spiky hair.

I shake my head, telling myself to focus, and type in the password— nm258164.

The desktop is cluttered with files. I've been through them only once before, and it took me five whole hours to inspect each and every document. My eyes glaze over the icons, and fall on the Firefox icon. Dad never really used it, and I hadn't bothered to check it out, so I open it. The only search history it carries is google.com and how to download chrome. I smile.

I know it's fruitless, yet I go to the downloads tab. The screen takes its sweet time in loading, and when it finally does, my breath stops.

aster_blood_test_report_robin_graham_12272014, the latest and only link reads. I download the file and open it, and read through it twice.

Words scream out at me, words that shouldn't make sense.

GHB

Alcohol

0.091%

With trembling fingers, I google what GHB is.

Gamma-hydroxybutyrate. Drug. C4H8O3.

Commonly used as a date rape drug.

"Fuck." The word is an unconscious murmur. My body feels weak, and my hand thumps onto the desk. The pile of files gives out and lands on the floor, leaving behind a slim book with the dry petal of a pressed flower peeking out.

My fingers reach for it without permission and fumble to open the page. The pressed Peruvian lily flutters out and lands on top of the files.

To my Maira, the top of the page reads. It's Dad's handwriting, no doubt, and looking at it makes me feel ill.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Neruda. Mom's favourite poet.

Write, for example, 'The night is shattered and blue stars shiver in the distance.'

I read the poem slowly, absorbing it, focusing on the underlined lines.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

The night is shattered and she is not with me.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

The door opens. My mother stands, clutching the robe of her nightie. 

"What was that noise?" She says. "Neil? Baby, what happ— oh, the files fell over." She bends to pick them up. "Those officers weren't really bothered about keeping everything back properly." 

I don't say anything. 

"Neil?" She looks up at me again. "What happened?"

My mother slowly rises to her feet, placing the file on the desk before coming around to my side.

"Is everything okay?" She asks. Then her eyes notice the book in my hand. "Oh, Pablo Neruda." A sad smile pulls at her lips. "I was reading it when I first met your father. He was so loud, talking— no, ranting—to his friend about the grade his Legal Studies professor gave him."

"He was drugged." The words are out, and I can't take them back. Saying it is strengthening it, fortifying this impossibility, and I hate every fucking bit of it.

"What?" Her melancholic smile melts off. "What do you mean, drugged?"

I point to the screen. The room is silent as she reads it. 

Her thumb curls into a fist.

"Where did you find this?" She says, her tone unwavering. It surprises me, and for a moment, my mind blanks.

"Where, Neil?" She repeats.

"It- It was in his downloads. On Firefox."

"Aster?" Now she looks confused. "That's not--- that's not our hospital. We don't have insurance there."

"I know. He didn't want anyone to know." I feel like I'm speaking with numbing cream around my mouth. I can't feel my words.

"Robbie never—how—?" Pain wells up in her words. 

"Twenty sixth December." I say. "That's when he was poisoned. GHB stays in the body for twelve hours." I take a deep breath and press my fingers to my head. "Where was he that day? That night? What's the significance?"

Silence reigns. Then my mother turns, body rigid yet trembling with confusion and terror and horror. I know it before I hear it.

"It's the night he was with Regina."

x

For one month, I believed that my father cheated on my mother. For three weeks, I believed that we weren't enough. For six days, I believed that my father didn't want us anymore.

For three years and eleven months, I believed that my father's struggle had lasted for less than a minute. 

o-o-o

O.O

...Thoughts? 

It's turning dark, I know, but hey, you get a happy ending(I hope)!!! I feel so evil; it's wonderful :) 

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Have a good day/night!