Warnings: references to drug abuse; explicit sexual content.
You've gotta seize life. Do something man, just do something that matters. Squeeze the fuck out of every day. -James Cook, Skins
Chapter 3: Me, You, and My Medication
Found my way to the highway, I don't wanna tell you the state I'm in.
I've had too much to smoke, too much to drink, where have I been?
I feel like the stars are getting closer, and the sky is moving in,
And I don't know where to begin.
Most kids like Fridays. Fridays mean no more school, parties, being with friends.
Not for Carlos. For Carlos, Fridays mean lockdown. They mean sitting through seven hours of boring classes followed by meeting his mom and dad at home so he can be patted down and checked for anything "inappropriate" before being driven to the Palm Woods. They walk him inside and everything, just to make sure he actually goes in and doesn't try to skip out. He's done it before, and boy, did he pay for that. He won't make that mistake again.
It's pretty shitty that his parents don't trust him, but then again, he hasn't really given them a reason to do so. He knows as well as they do that if they give him an inch, he'll take a mile.
When he gets home, he goes upstairs to pack a bag for the weekend, tossing in random clothes haphazardly. It takes all of maybe five minutes. He flops down onto his bed, waiting for his dad to get home. He gets off early on Fridays just for this special occasion. Lucky him. Carlos wishes he could just shut the door and lock everyone out of his life, but that's out of the question. Literally, because his parents don't trust him to have a door anymore. An old sheet hangs across the empty frame instead—it's all the privacy he's allowed now, until they think he's ready to be trusted again.
What they don't know is that Carlos could care less about a door. As if something like that could really stop him from doing what he wants.
Drug dealing really is easier than they imagine it is. You'd think his dad, being a cop, would know that. But as long as he's careful not to bring anything home with him, he's safe.
He hears a car door slam, and soon enough his mother and father are in his room, checking his bag and drawers for any sign of illicit activity. He watches indifferently as they do so; they won't find anything. He's been careful. Finally they're satisfied that their son is clean, so they lead him downstairs and to the car, telling Javier to be good while they're gone.
Javier doesn't say anything as they leave, refusing to acknowledge his older brother at all, and Carlos knows it's because he blames him for screwing up their family. They used to be really close, when they were younger, but then Carlos started hanging out his new crowd, getting into some trouble, and suddenly they just didn't have much in common anymore. Suddenly their parents were spending all their time trying to discipline Carlos, attempting to control his increasingly reckless behavior, and Javier went largely unnoticed by Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, despite his own good behavior. It's his freshman year and he already has a reputation for being Carlos' younger brother. His teachers are harder on him, and kids at school expect him to be more... tough? Cool? More like Carlos, whatever that entails.
Carlos knows his little brother spends half his life trying to prove how little they have in common—he gets straight A's and he's on the student council. He's proud of Javier, in a weird way. He's glad that even though he's a screw up, at least his brother has his life on track.
Not that Carlos would really change anything about his own life. He's messed up, yeah, but it works for him. He's got friends, a sort-of girlfriend (alright, maybe fuck buddy would be a more appropriate term), he makes good money, and he's even managed to keep a solid C average, so he's good to graduate, come May. He can find a job and move out of the hellhole of his parents' house and finally be free.
Lucy is in the lobby when he gets there, but she doesn't go up to him yet, not while his parents are signing him in. It's okay—he'll be seeing her soon enough. When he gets to his room on the third floor, he sees that James isn't there yet. This will be their fifth weekend sharing the small space, and Carlos thinks if it weren't for the fact that they're from completely different worlds, they could actually be really good friends. James is nicer and funnier than Carlos thought he'd be, given how rich and popular he is, but that doesn't stop them from ignoring each other at school.
There's a knock on his door and Carlos grins as he goes to answer it, knowing who's on the other side. Lucy steps inside and shuts the door behind her, locking it tightly before pushing Carlos down on his bed.
She grabs his hair and kisses him forcefully, instantly taking control of the situation. Carlos lets her, more than happy to sit back and enjoy the ride. Lucy's hands graze over his chest and abdomen before quickly moving down to his belt buckle and the zipper of his jeans. He's already starting to get hard, so it's a relief when she reaches under the waistband of his boxers and strokes him a few times. He has just enough presence of mind to reach for his wallet, which is sitting on the desk nearby, and pull out a condom from inside. While he rips it open with his teeth, Lucy pulls her panties down from under her skirt and tosses them to the floor somewhere before straddling him again, not even bothering to undress all the way.
He rolls the condom down in what is probably record time, and Lucy yanks her top off before moving her hands underneath his t-shirt, helping him to rid the garment. She pushes his pants down his legs, letting them gather at his knees, and he doesn't even kick them all the way off. Bracing herself on his chest, Lucy eases herself down, guiding him inside her, and instantly begins moving. She rocks her hips on top of him and he reaches up to palm her breasts over her bra.
"Fuck, baby, yeah," he pants when she slams down onto him. He reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra and lets it fall to the floor with their other clothes. Carlos is squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples, sucking on her neck—doing everything he can to send her body into over drive.
It must be working because soon she's moaning quietly, gasping whenever he nips on her skin. Boldly, he grabs her ass and plants a smack that he knows probably stings a little bit. She bites down on her lip and a small whimper escapes.
"Do it again," she groans.
"You like that?" He chuckles.
"Just do it."
He's more than willing to comply, so he brings his hand back and smacks her again, harder this time, and Lucy lets out another whimper of pleasure. Carlos moves his hips up to meet her thrusts, pushing himself in deeper until he knows she's close. He can always tell because her eyes clench shut and her mouth hangs just slightly open, lips forming a cute O-shape. She comes with a final smack to her backside, gasping his name, and he follows shortly after, spilling into the condom and slumping down on the bed.
Lucy kisses him again, softer this time, and then climbs off of him. Carlos tosses the condom into his trashcan and pulls his pants up from around his knees before sitting up. Lucy tosses him his t-shirt and gets re-dressed herself, turning so that Carlos can help her clasp her bra again.
"Thanks," she says, and he puts a soft kiss on her bare shoulder from behind before she pulls her top back on. When she turns around, he lightly traces his fingertips over a scar just below the crook of her elbow. It's one of many that mar her skin; he's seen them on her arms, her thighs, even a couple on her stomach. He's never asked why she does it, and she's never volunteered the information. Maybe if they were a real couple, she'd let him in on it, but that's neither here nor there, since this relationship is purely physical.
She's running her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it, when they hear the doorknob jiggle. They grin to themselves when James walks into the room, looking at them suspiciously. He's walked in on them before, and it was an experience none of them really wanted to repeat.
"You guys are worse than rabbits," he mutters as he throws his bag on the floor by his bed.
"Jealous, Diamond?" Carlos teases. He's seen the way James looks at Lucy.
"Please," James scoffs, and Carlos returns to the present. "I can get laid any time I want. I'm James Diamond."
Lucy smirks at him and Carlos throws a crumpled piece of paper at his head.
"It's almost time for group," Lucy says, looking up at the clock ticking away at the wall. "We better go."
The threesome leaves Carlos and James' room and head towards the elevator. Their group room is on the very top floor of the building. Logan, Camille, and Jo are already up there. Kendall comes in a few minutes later, and Dr. Johnson, their group leader, comes in a minute after that.
Carlos doesn't like Dr. Johnson. He's too… something. It's something he can't quite put his finger on, but he just can't shake his dislike of the guy. Maybe it's the fact that he talks to them like they're children who've just done something bad, like color on the walls or something. Maybe it's the fact that despite that it's his job to care about them, Carlos can tell he really couldn't give less of a shit about any of them.
Dr. Johnson always makes them do stupid ice-breaker games, as if the seven teenagers have never met. Carlos has known James for exactly five weeks, and already knows him as well as he knows his own brother. He knows more about Camille than he's ever known about a girl, including Lucy, and he's as close to Kendall as he is to his real best friend. Truth be told, these kids probably are his real best friends, it's just that they never spend time together outside of the Palm Woods.
But today is Logan's first time in group, so things will go a bit differently.
"We have a new addition to our group," Dr. Johnson says unnecessarily. "Why don't you stand up?"
Logan stands uncomfortably, pulling on his sleeves.
"Now, I want you to introduce yourself to us. Full name and nickname if you have one, age, where you're from, and one interesting thing about yourself."
"Okay, um… my full name is Hortence Logan Mitchell, but I go by Logan. I'm 18. I'm from Texas. We moved here when I was seven. And um…" Logan looks as though he's searching his brain for something else to say. "Um… I have a photographic memory?" His voice gets higher at the end of the sentence, as if he's asking if this fact is interesting enough to count as his interesting thing about him.
"Very nice, thank you, Logan," Dr. Johnson doesn't even look up. Logan sits back down.
Next, Dr. Johnson has them do this stupid "personal weather" exercise, where they have to describe their week using weather terms. Lucy, for example, had a good week, so her personal weather was sunny with a high of 80 degrees. Camille's week wasn't very good. Mostly cloudy with chances of thunderstorm. Carlos finds it all unbelievably boring and soon starts tuning out. He lets his mind wander until—
"…Carlos?"
Carlos blinks and looks up. "Sorry, what?"
Dr. Johnson makes a note before repeating the question. "The next icebreaker question is, if you could have an endless supply of any food, what would it be?"
Easy. "Corn dogs," he replies instantly.
They go around the circle and everyone else thinks about the question. Camille looks especially terrified, but she's sitting to Carlos' left, so she'll be the last to answer. Lucy answers with pad thai, James says chicken nuggets (but only if they're shaped into dinosaurs), Jo refuses to give a response, Kendall says his mom's secret-recipe snicker doodles, Logan answers French fries, and Camille swallows before mumbling something that no one hears, not even Carlos.
"What was that?" Dr. Johnson asks.
Carlos watches sympathetically as Camille balls her hands and presses her nails into the skin of her palms. They really should be more sensitive about the types of questions they ask during these stupid games. If Dr. Johnson knew anything, he should know that a food question would trigger Camille and make her uncomfortable. Maybe that's his plan. Maybe he's trying tough love. Either way, Carlos thinks he's an asshole.
"Water," Camille says, louder this time. "I'd want water."
Dr. Johnson looks at her disapprovingly, but doesn't comment. He merely makes a note of her response in his file. Carlos thinks Camille probably should have lied and just said ice cream or hamburgers, but the mere thought of having to eat ice cream for the rest of her life would probably send her into a panic attack.
After a half hour of this crap, Dr. Johnson bids them farewell and exits the room. Everyone seems to instantly relax a little.
"What's going on?" Logan doesn't understand.
"Part of the therapy," Lucy says. "They think it's like, progressive or something, to leave us alone and let us talk freely without supervision."
"'Your friends are your best allies,'" Kendall quotes from the Palm Woods brochure. "Basically they think if they let us just talk to each other, we'll learn to open up more and express ourselves better."
"Does that really work?" Logan wonders skeptically.
"Ask Jo," Lucy snorts.
This is Jo's third week in therapy, and the only times she's ever spoken have been when Dr. Johnson made her introduce herself to the group, and the time when they were outside and a girl bumped into her and she said 'ow.' James has told Carlos that Jo talks to him sometimes, so he knows she's at least capable of it, he just doesn't know why she suddenly stopped. From what he remembers, Jo was pretty and popular at school. Now, her old friends have kind of shunned her and she's more of a loner. He wonders what happened that affected her so badly.
Time passes quickly and soon it's dinner time. Carlos is excited to find that they're having pizza tonight, even if it is crappy frozen pizza. He's proud of Camille when she eats five whole bites of it, knowing how much she struggles with it, and he and the gang chatter through dinner. He feels that they're surprisingly normal, for a group of kids thrown into therapy for things like suicide attempt and alcohol addiction and an eating disorder. By the time the nurse comes around to check on their medication, he's finished with his meal (and most of Camille's) and he pops his anti-depressant into his mouth casually. The nurse nods approvingly and moves on, and Carlos, as always, takes the pill out from under his tongue and pockets it.
He knows he'd get in a shitload of trouble if he ever got caught, but that's part of the thrill of it. Besides, he doesn't need medication. He's not depressed. His parents think that he acts out and gets into trouble because of some deep psychological issue or something, and he doesn't quite have the heart to tell them that it's mostly just that he's bored. That, and it's just kind of liberating to do whatever he wants despite the fact that his dad's a cop. He does stupid, reckless things just because they're stupid and reckless. They're fun. Nothing ever happens in this boring-ass town, so Carlos gets his kicks wherever he can.
After dinner, the boys decide they want to play basketball, so they check out a ball from the blond lady at the front desk and go outside to the court. He and James are better than Kendall and Logan, so in fairness, Carlos takes Kendall and James pairs up with Logan. It's cold outside and they all have to bundle up to go outside, but it's still better than being cooped up in the lobby or in their rooms all weekend. Basketball's kind of hard to play when you're wearing gloves and multiple layers, so eventually they end up shooting the ball randomly and just messing around outside.
"My nose is gonna fall off if we stay out here any longer," Logan complains, and so they agree to go back inside, where it's warm. It's almost time for room curfew anyway.
Carlos and James go back to their room and James pulls out his iPod and his journal. Carlos takes his out too, but he never knows what to write, so a lot of the time he just ends up doodling. He mostly does comics, often featuring a macho version of himself as a cool superhero that he's never decided on a name for. Sometimes he's saving Lucy from an evil monster and sometimes he's bringing murderers and thieves to justice, but he always wins in the end, and he doesn't even need the help of some lame sidekick. He gets to save the day all by himself, and he's spent enough time in therapy to know that his fantasies probably have something to do with him wanting to assert his independence from his overprotective and overbearing parents.
After breakfast on Saturday, Carlos has his one-on-one session. Dr. Cartwright is a nice, young-ish woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a lot of optimism. Carlos likes her well enough, but that doesn't mean he's too gung-ho about having to sit and talk about himself with her every week.
"How are you doing today, Carlos?" Dr. Cartwright asks with a friendly smile.
"Alright," Carlos shrugs. It's not even a lie. "How are you?"
"Oh, fine," Dr. Cartwright answers. "My daughter caught a cold this week, so I had to keep her home from school. But she's getting better."
"That's good," Carlos says.
"Now, I hear you got into some trouble at school. Want to tell me what it was about?"
Carlos cringes. What do they do, call the principal and ask for his file? "Um… We were just having some fun," he tries. "It wasn't a big deal."
"Well, not a big deal got you detention every day for three weeks."
He doesn't say anything.
"Tell me what happened."
"Seems like you already know," he mumbles. He's starting to get antsy, bouncing his knee up and down.
"I want to hear it in your own words, Carlos."
"Wayne got a hold of some spray paint," Carlos sighs, beginning the story. "And us and a couple other guys were outside 'cause Andy wanted to smoke but he didn't want to go alone. So Wayne gets the bright idea to tag the wall, since it's just plain white brick and boring. We didn't even write anything bad, it's just random stuff like the school's name and our mascot and class of 2012, stuff like that. It was harmless. Andy was supposed to be looking out but I guess once he started getting high he stopped paying attention. I had my iPod headphones in, and Wayne and the others dropped their spray paint and took off, and by the time I realized what had happened, it was too late."
"Your friends didn't try to warn you?" Dr. Cartwright raised her eyebrows.
"Every man for himself," Carlos replies easily. "It's just how it is."
"But don't you think some true friends should have tried to help you?"
"Umm…" Carlos thinks about it uncomfortably. It was pretty shitty that they left him to take the blame. "I mean I guess. But there's no reason everyone should get in trouble."
"And you don't mind just taking one for the team?"
"Not really. I've already got so much crap on my record, non-violent and inoffensive graffiti won't make too much of a difference. It was more of a prank than a serious act of vandalism. That's what the principal told me when he gave me detention instead of suspending me."
"Did any of your friends apologize for leaving you behind?"
"It wasn't really their fault," Carlos defends them. "I shouldn't have had my music up so loud in the first place."
"Alright," Dr. Cartwright concedes and makes some notes before going in another direction. "What were you thinking when Wayne gave you the spray paint? What went through your head?"
"Uh…" Carlos tries to remember, wracking his brain for a response. "I dunno. It sounded like fun at the time. We were just goofing off."
"Right, but didn't you stop to think about what the consequences of your actions might be?"
"Sure, I guess," he says.
"And yet you still felt like it would be a good idea?"
"Well… yeah."
"Why?" The doctor asks.
He decides to explain it for real instead of trying to edge around it. "It's like this: whenever I'm about to do something I know might get me in trouble, I think of the worst possible outcome and compare it to the amount of fun I'll get out of what I'm about to do. If the fun outweighs the outcome, then I go for it. If it doesn't… well, sometimes I still go for it, but I try to be more careful about it."
"And why do you think you feel the need to take these risks?"
"I just like having fun."
"Okay." Dr. Cartwright pauses to make some more notes. "Why don't you tell me how you're liking group therapy?"
"It's… fine," Carlos replies slowly. "Um… I like the people in my group."
"Like Ms. Stone?"
"Huh?" Carlos gulps nervously. The residents of the Palm Woods aren't supposed to have physical relationships while on the property. Did someone see Lucy sneaking to his room?
"You two seem to have grown very close over the last several weeks," Dr. Cartwright comments. "I just wondered if she had anything to do with your liking group so much."
"Oh," Carlos breathes a sigh of relief. "Er, I guess. She's not, like, my girlfriend or anything. We sort of knew each other from school. Same circles of friends, stuff like that. It was just easier to talk to each other than to strangers."
"Do you still consider the staff and the other members of your group strangers?"
"No," he says without hesitation. "I like everyone in my group. They know me better than anyone. Except maybe you," he adds with a cheeky grin. It's half true. His group does know pretty much everything about him. For all that they scoff about 'expressing their feelings' and 'opening up,' it really has worked (not that they'd ever admit it to their doctors). They know things about him he could never tell Wayne or his brother or his parents. And Dr. Cartwright is privy to many of his secrets, like when he first started getting into to trouble and why, but she doesn't exactly know the whole story, and he plans to keep it that way.
Dr. Cartwright smiles wryly at his obvious attempt at sucking up and continues asking him questions about his friends, pausing intermittently to make notes in her file.
Carlos knows what she's doing. She's trying to get him to admit that the guys he hangs out with at school aren't good for him, that they're the reason he's landed here. She thinks if she points out that they're bad friends to Carlos, he'll see the error of his ways and dump them, and get back on the straight and narrow. His parents want to believe that it's peer pressure that's gotten him where he is, so they do everything they can to prevent him from seeing his friends. But truthfully, his friends don't really have any bearing on what he does or doesn't do. If it sounds like a good time, he's up for it. If not… he's not.
But he's always up to try something new, consequences be damned.
Sunday afternoon, when his parents arrive to pick him up, they try to talk to him about his weekend. He remains tight-lipped, as always, though he knows it frustrates them that he won't open up. They won't want to hear what he has to say anyway. They want him to say that he's learning a lot, that he's getting so much out of his time here, that he's happier now, and he just doesn't feel like lying to them. It's too exhausting. He figures if they're going to ruin his life by forcing him into therapy that he doesn't want or need, he doesn't have to also be grateful about it.
Dinner that night is awkward and quiet. Javier refuses to speak to Carlos, preferring to pretend that his older brother doesn't exist, and Carlos refuses to speak to his parents, annoyed at their constant badgering him about his life. When Carlos finishes his meal, he gets up to rinse off his plate and go up to his room, and Javier follows silently, glaring at him before shutting his door with a loud thud, as if to rub it in Carlos' face that he at least has a door to slam.
He's half-assedly working through a problem set for his math class (copying the answers from the back of the book and working backwards) when he hears voices from downstairs.
"What else can we do? Nothing seems to be working! I say we pull him out. It's a waste of money."
"We're not pulling him out! Putting him in there is the probably the only thing keeping him out of jail! God knows where else he'd be on weekends."
His parents are fighting about him. Again. They've had this same argument at varying levels of volume at least once a week for like half a year now. He can hear them clearly from his room, since there's nothing to block out the sound. His parents' voices start to get louder as they discuss what to do about their wayward son for the thousandth time and Carlos wishes he could block it out, but with no door, there's nothing he can do. He peeks out onto the landing, and Javier is standing there too, listening to their parents fight. He shoots Carlos another glare and Carlos can practically hear him say, This is your fault.
It is his fault, he knows that, but he wishes his parents would stop fighting with each other because of him. It wasn't this bad before. They had the occasional argument, all married couples do, right? But now it just feels like it's all the time. They fight about money, about Carlos, about Officer Garcia's work schedule, what to have for dinner, everything. It's this constant warzone in the house, between his parents fighting with each other, and them fighting with Carlos, and Carlos fighting with Javier even though he won't fight back, and he wants it all to just stop.
They can't turn him into the model son they want—Javier's got that all covered anyway. He's a screw-up, and he knows it. He doesn't need to be constantly reminded of it, which is what his parents seem to think is the best way to get him to shape up. Maybe he's stubborn, or just selfish, or maybe he's looking for a way to cope with not living up to his parents' hopes for him, but suddenly he feels trapped, suffocated, and he's got to get out of there.
He goes back into his room, scooping up his phone and wallet before going to the window and easing it open. He climbs out carefully, making his way out to the tree that has become his trusted escape route for when he needs to make quiet exits or entrances. It's risky, leaving the house on a Sunday night—his parents could come up to check on him—but right now he doesn't care. He just needs to be out of the house, away from the yelling and the disapproving glares.
He heads to the park that sits on the edge of a small patch of woods, knowing that people would be hanging out in the clearing there. Wayne and Andy are there, along with a bunch of people, some of whom Carlos knows, and some who he doesn't. It doesn't really matter though because all that matters is the escape. He bumps fists with his friends and Andy immediately offers him a joint, which he accepts without hesitation. There's a couple of bottles being passed around the group and eventually people are busting out small bags of pills or white powder and it's not long before everything on his mind starts to fade away.
Then there's a girl pressing against him and her mouth is on his and her hands are in his hair and his are pushing their way under her jacket. She's pulling him away from the prying eyes and the catcalls of the group, behind a large tree that he backs her up against. The winter air is cold but their bodies are on fire and she bites on his neck roughly when he reaches between her legs. Her eyes are heavily-lidded and his head seems a million miles away but that's part of the fun of it all. She tugs on his jeans, working her fingers on the zipper of his fly and pushing the garments down a little. He braces her against the sturdy trunk of the tree and she wraps her legs around him, breathing hard as he pushes into her and he can't tell if her whimpers are caused by pleasure or the pain of being fucked against a tree. Probably a little of both. A moan and a violent ripple courses through the girl's body, and Carlos feels her clenching around him and he slams himself into her a couple more times before releasing his own orgasm with a muffled grunt.
They take a moment to catch their breaths, but now that they're no longer occupied, the freezing air is getting to them. Carlos holds her up while the girl sets her feet back on the ground, smirking at the bruise he left on the side of her neck while he pulls his pants up and buckles his belt. Once the girl's done readjusting her clothes and smoothing out her hair, she starts to walk off without a backwards glance at Carlos.
"Hey," he calls out. She turns and looks at him. "What's your name?"
"Does it matter?" She asks. Carlos shrugs. He supposes it doesn't; it's not like he's never had a random hookup before. Still, he'd like to at least know the name of the girl he just laid in the woods outside the park. "Sasha." She leaves without another word.
How long until graduation? Too many things are going on in my head, going on around me, and I can't do anything to make it all slow down. Other than the usual. I'm supposed to be 'getting clean' or whatever, stop all the pill popping and use other methods to cope with my feelings. That's what they keep telling me in therapy.
That substances only numb the pain for a little while. That I have to learn to deal with things in a 'more constructive manner'.
But I like the numbness. It's better than what I've got, which is parents who want me to be something I'm not, a brother who wishes he was an only child, and a bunch of 'friends' who couldn't care less about me except for when I'm carrying and they need a fix.
It's like 4 am and I don't really know why I picked now to write in this stupid thing, but I just got home and I'm still pretty wrecked and my mom will be up here in two and half hours to wake me up for school. All I know is they told me to write it down when I feel like I need to say something and no one's listening. If I did that, all I'd ever do is write, because no one's ever listening. Everyone's too busy trying to make me be less of a fuck-up. This is who I am, and no one's going to change it.
So what's the point of this? What am I trying to say?
Fuck it.
Thanks again to those of you who are reviewing/favorite-ing/and alerting the story! You guys mean the world to me. Please please please review and let me know what you think! Would love to hear comments, questions, criticism, etc.
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