AN: I rushed this and it needs reworking
Alone in her silent room, Mel lingered in a state of quiet contemplation. Her family's
absence left a rare stillness in the house, a silence that seemed to press in around her,
a physical manifestation of the solitude that invited introspection. She stood before
her open wardrobe, considering her clothing not with the excitement of a day out, but
with the gravity of someone making a last choice. Kelly, her accomplice in a desperate
and potentially dangerous venture, would be arriving soon.
Mel was determined to unravel the mysteries that had ensnared her since that fateful
party, the questions that haunted her nights and stole the peace of her days. LSD, the
key to her locked memories, or so she hoped, beckoned with answers she desperately
craved, but also with risks she couldn't ignore.
Her hand brushed past various pieces of clothing, each a potential choice for what she
morbidly considered could be her final outfit. It wasn't about making an impression
but about leaving a mark, a final image if things took an irreversible turn. A band T-
shirt caught her eye, but it was the Chicago Cubs baseball shirt that halted her search.
The fabric held memories of a family holiday to New York, a trip highlighted by a
spirited visit to a baseball game. She and her dad, swept up in the excitement, had
thrown their support behind the Chicago Cubs, in playful opposition to her cousin
Erik's allegiance to the NY Yankees.
Selecting the shirt felt right, a nod to happier times, to moments of unbridled joy with
her family. She paired it with a long grey-sleeved top, a comforting layer against the
chill of uncertainty, and stone-washed jeans. Standing there, outfitted for an
experiment that edged too close to the unknown, Mel felt a pang of nostalgia for the
simplicity of that day at the game, a stark contrast to the complexity of the journey
she was about to embark on.
Mel fiddled with the camcorder, a final, obsessive adjustment to her meticulously
arranged setup. Spare videotapes lined the table beside a tape recorder, ready to
document the night's revelations...or perhaps its horrors. Her heart pounded as her
eyes flitted to the array of snacks and drinks, a nervous habit rather than true hunger.
A sharp knock at the door made her jump, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her
veins. Taking a deep breath, she hurried downstairs to greet Kelly.
"Hey," Kelly greeted, her voice laced with unease.
"Hey, come in," Mel responded, stepping aside to let her in.
Kelly hesitated at the doorway, her eyes flicking to her shoes. "Would you like me to
take my shoes off?" she asked, her attempt at casualness undercut by the tension that
thickened the air between them.
"You can keep them on if you want," Mel said absently, her mind already spiralling
into the what ifs of the night ahead. The weight of their unspoken worries pressed
heavily on them. Abruptly, she blurted out the question that had been gnawing at her
since they'd agreed to this plan, "So, er, Josh gave you the drugs? No questions asked?"
Kelly paused mid-motion, her shoe half-off, and sighed. A flicker of guilt crossed her
face. "Mel, please, don't do this. Let's just... I don't know, listen to music, talk..." Her voice trailed off, the unspoken weight of what happened at the party hanging between
them.
But Mel's determination was unshaken. "No. This is the only way I'll get answers. You
said you were going to help me. Don't back out now," she said, her voice laced with a
bitterness that cut into Kelly's hesitation.
As they entered Mel's room, the air hung heavy, charged with a sense of impending
consequence. The space, usually a haven of teenage comfort, felt stark and unfamiliar
– a stage set for a perilous plunge into the unknown.
Mel, with feigned calm, offered Kelly a soft drink, then outlined their roles with a
clinical precision that masked her inner turmoil.
"I need you here – to keep me safe, and to document everything. Start recording the
moment I take it," she instructed, her voice unwavering. "And if anything goes wrong...
you have my permission to call my parents and an ambulance."
With steady hands, she handed Kelly a letter. An explanation addressed to her parents,
a desperate attempt to convey the depth of her need to unravel the secrets locked
within her own mind.
Kelly's fingers brushed the envelope, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and fear.
"Mel, you wrote a will. Doesn't this mean... doesn't it tell you this isn't a good idea."
Her voice faltered, mirroring Mel's own unspoken doubts.
Mel exhaled slowly; resignation etched in her gaze. "It's about being prepared," she
murmured. "Mum and Dad always say to prepare for the worst but hope for the best.
This letter," she gestured towards the sealed confession, "is just that."
The vial sat open in her hand, a sinister beacon. As Mel sat before the camcorder, a
solemn figure poised on the precipice, doubt began to creep in. The liquid swirled
inside, a potential key to unlock the mysteries of her past… or a Pandora's Box of
untold chaos.
The open vial gleamed in her hand, a sinister beacon in the dim light. Mel sat before
the camcorder, a solemn figure teetering on a precipice of doubt. The liquid within
swirled, a tantalizing promise of answers... or a gateway to untold chaos.
As she hovered on the brink, a silent battle raged within Mel. The relentless desire for
truth clashed with a visceral fear of the consequences. Her extensive research loomed
large – the effects of LSD, the calculated risk of her overdose, that fateful night at the
party where a twist of fate had saved her from the worst.
The oppressive silence of the room pressed against Kelly, the air crackling with
tension. The posters on the wall felt accusing, their gazes adding to the unbearable
weight. Across from Mel, Kelly's heart pounded in her chest. The vial, shimmering
ominously, held both the promise of resolution and the terrifying spectre of what
might be unleashed.
A silent conflict raged within Kelly as well. Her desire to understand, to help her
friend, warred against the chilling fear of the unknown depths they were about to
plunge into.
Kelly's mind raced, a whirlwind of guilt and dread. She didn't want to see Mel hurt
herself, to witness the potential unravelling of the girl who held her terrible secret.
Panic clawed at her, constricting, suffocating.
She clung to the dwindling hope that Joe would arrive – the one person she'd confided
in about Mel's terrifying plan. Maybe he would be the voice of reason, a lifeline they
both desperately needed.
After an excruciating silence, Mel's voice cut through the air, steady yet tinged with a
faint tremor. "Press record, please."
Kelly's fingers fumbled with the camcorder. "I'm... ready," she whispered, the lie
snagging in her throat. Mel pressed record on the tape recorder next to her.
"Shouldn't we wait until... until..." Kelly's voice trailed off, a plea for reason, a
desperate attempt to delay the inevitable.
Mel's eyes, usually pools of warmth, blazed with a chilling intensity that sent a shiver
down Kelly's spine. Mel licked her lips, a nervous habit that took on a sinister edge in
the charged atmosphere. "I don't want to miss a thing," she declared, her voice devoid
of emotion. "It could take twenty minutes, but what if I see something before? That's
why I got extra tapes."
Mel took a deep breath. Her voice broke the heavy silence, painfully clear and
unwavering. "My name is Amelia Isabella Silver, the date today is Tuesday, the 30th
of June 1992. I, of sound body and mind, will be taking LSD as part of a controlled
experiment. Present is Kelly Jones, who will be assisting me today." The words hung
in the air, a stark declaration of her unwavering resolve.
As the echo of her words faded, she turned her attention to the vial in her hands. With
a measured calmness that belied the storm within, she carefully opened it. Counting
silently to three, she summoned all her courage.
On three, a sharp knock echoed through the room.
Kelly froze, a desperate surge of hope washing over her. It didn't matter who was at
the door. Parents, Joe, anyone – it was a lifeline, a potential escape from Mel's
terrifying plan.
With bated breath, Kelly raced to the door, her heart a desperate drumroll in her chest.
Please, she prayed silently, please let someone stop this reckless gamble.
As the door swung open, revealing Joe on the other side, Kelly's relief was palpable. "I
told you 1 pm, Joe," she scolded, a tremor of frustration in her voice. She smacked his
shoulder, worry and exasperation spilling over. "Do you know how close she was to
taking it?"
Joe flinched, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "Kelly..." he began, resignation in his
voice. "She's not going to want me here. She's not going to believe anything I say. And
anyway, she has you, so she'll be safe.
"She knows it was Charlie and Becca, I told her." Kelly's chin raised a fraction. "And
you...you need to try. Don't just give up." She held his gaze with unwavering resolve.
"Did you bring the videotape?"
Joe nodded, his hand tightening on the video cassette. "Yeah, it's here. Does she
know..." he swallowed. "...that you got the acid from me?"
"She thinks I got it from Josh."
Meanwhile, Mel settled onto the floor, leaning against the wall. Her hands trembled
slightly as she braced herself, the battle within mirroring the stillness of her pose. She
looked at the camcorder, then the vial in her hands. With a measured calm that
masked a storm of emotions, she carefully opened it. Counting silently to three, she
dispensed three precise droplets onto her tongue. The motion was reflexive, her
tongue rubbing against the roof of her mouth. Setting the vial aside, she wiped her
clammy palms on her jeans, preparing for the unknown journey that lay ahead.
Just then, Kelly entered the room. "Who was it?" Mel asked.
Her eyes landed on Joe, and her expression hardened. "What are you doing here? Get
out," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.
Kelly stepped forward, her expression a mix of worry and guilt. "Mel, I asked him to
come," she confessed, glancing apologetically at Joe. "I told him what you were
planning. He thinks it's dangerous."
Joe loomed closer, hesitant. "Mel, listen—
"
"Don't!" Mel's voice shattered the air, a shard of glass amidst the tension. "You think
I'm taking advice from you? The audacity! You, lecturing me? I tried to help you, only
for you to push me away, laugh in my face, punish me." The weight of each word, heavy
with years of accumulated hurt and disillusionment, hung in the air, her gaze burning
with a potent mix of anger and heartache. "Fuck..." Her voice broke slightly, a raw edge
creeping in. "...you," she finished, the word spat out with deliberate venom.
Her words hung heavily in the room, a clear dismissal tinged with years of
accumulated frustrations and betrayals.
"Now get out, because you're not ruining this for me," she demanded, her eyes cold as
she refocused on the camcorder, refusing to look at him. Kelly, trapped in the crossfire,
shifted uncomfortably. "Mel, I... I can't handle this alone. Please—"
But Mel had turned away, her frustration a tangible force. "Oh, so you just need more
people around and then you'll be fine? Is that why you didn't help me at the party?"
Her words, sharp and accusing, struck Kelly silent. "I'm sorry, Mel," Kelly murmured,
averting her gaze, her voice a whisper of regret.
"Yeah... I bet," Mel scoffed, her breaths heavy with scorn. "Well, sorry I'm not in the
mood for a bigger audience. You missed your chance, Joe. Should have stayed at the
party."
The silence that followed was thick, palpable. Neither Kelly nor Joe moved, as if rooted
to the spot by the intensity of Mel's fury. With a decisive motion, Mel slammed the
'stop' button on the tape recorder and shut down the camcorder. She thrust the vial
back into Kelly's hands, her movements sharp and full of ire. "Both of you, just go. I
don't want you here." Her voice was a mix of command and defiance as she propelled
them towards the door, driven by a surge of adrenaline.
The front door slammed shut, their shocked and sorrowful faces lingering in her
mind's eye like unwelcome ghosts. Back in her solitary haven, Mel reactivated the
camcorder and recorder, resuming her position. The room hummed with the camera's
steady whir, a relentless counterpoint to the silence in her soul.
Outside, Kelly stood shaking slightly, her relief at Mel's refusal of the acid tinged with
worry. "Are you okay?" Joe asked, his own concern evident in his voice.
"Yeah, I just..." Kelly trailed off, unsure how to explain the mix of emotions swirling
within her. "I'm glad she didn't take it," she finally managed, her voice carrying a hint
of both relief and apprehension. "Do you think she'll be okay?" She cast a glance
towards Mel's window, seeking reassurance in Joe's response.
Joe followed her gaze, his breath catching as he pondered the question. "I don't know,"
he admitted, a sense of uncertainty clouding his thoughts. "What are you going to do
now?"
"I need to get out of here," Kelly muttered, a tremor in her voice. She still looked
uneasy despite her relief. "I'm going home. Walk with me to the bus stop?"
Joe nodded, his mind racing as they made their way towards the bus stop. Why the
sudden change of heart? Why go through all the trouble to get the drug, only to refuse
it in the end? He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than Mel let on.
His guilt over the water substitution battled with a growing unease. The concern Josh
had expressed – motivated by self-preservation more than genuine care if Joe was
being honest – echoed in his head. They all feared what Mel might do with the
evidence she believed she was gathering, fearing it would lead back to them.
Perhaps if she thought she had taken it, there might be a sliver of a chance she'd finally open up. Just a little.
Meanwhile, back in her room, Mel struggled to find a sliver of peace. Minutes ticked
by, each one a heavy weight rather than a passing second. Thirty minutes had elapsed,
and still, nothing. Only the lingering echoes of those from the party – Jane, her birth
mum's fading smile, her foster mum... screaming – haunted her. Vivid images of blood
splatters assaulted her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. A sob threatened to
break free, and she hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, forcing them back.
Weakness was a luxury she couldn't afford.
A sudden scuffling sound shattered the stillness, followed by a dull thud against her
window. Mel's heart hammered in her chest as she spun around, only to see a hand
braced against the open window frame. Confusion twisted into a sharp spike of
irritation as Joe's familiar face came into view, his expression a stubborn mix of
determination and guilt.
"Hey! What are you doing? Get out!" Mel snapped, fury coursing through her veins.
She moved towards him, her instinct to physically push him out halted only by the
unblinking eye of the camera. It watched, a silent witness to this chaotic intrusion.
Joe clambered awkwardly through the window, his presence a violation of her space
and the fragile bubble of control she'd built. He caught sight of the camcorder, the red
light a silent accusation, and his heart sank further.
"You took it, didn't you?" His voice was a desperate plea for answers, laced with a
sickening fear.
Mel's outburst cut through him. "Get out of my room!" It wasn't just a demand, but a
guttural roar fuelled by years of pent-up hurt. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her
palms.
Joe stood frozen, not out of defiance, but from the overwhelming sense that he'd
blundered into something far deeper than he understood. The usual words of apology
died in his throat.
"Did you not hear me? Get the fuck out!" Mel lunged towards him; each step propelled
by a rage he'd never witnessed before.
Yet, even as she closed the distance, Joe remained rooted, not in defiance, but in sheer,
paralyzed incomprehension.
"I know you don't care about what you put in your body, Joe! You don't care what
happens to you!" Her voice cracked, despair warring with fury. "But I care what
happens to me. Those idiots could have given me brain damage; they could have
fucking killed me! I begged you not to go, and you left me with them..."
She choked back a sob, tears threatening to break through her defiant facade. Joe
flinched as if physically struck.
"Mel, I messed up," he started, his voice thick with shame. "That night, at the party... I
should've been there; I should've stopped them..." He trailed off, the words tasting like
ashes. He knew – finally understood – it wasn't about the party; it was a wound far
deeper than that.
She wanted to scream at him, demand why he didn't stay. But the words wouldn't
form. Instead, she turned away, the back of her neck rigid. "Thanks, you apologized.
Now can you go, please? I'm not crying in front of you." Her voice was strained, a
brittle attempt at control.
Joe hesitated, torn. Revealing the acid was just water would just ignite her anger
further. Instead, he risked another question, his tone softer, pleading. "How much did
you take?"
Mel lifted her gaze to the ceiling, a gesture of exasperation and weariness. "It's none
of your business," she retorted, but anger was already draining from her, replaced by
a bone-deep exhaustion. Yet, uncertainty crept in, and before she could stop herself,
she found herself asking, "Three drops. Is that...enough?"
Joe's sharp intake of breath, a silent alarm that made a knot tighten in her stomach.
"That's a lot, Mel. Especially for someone without any tolerance," he cautioned softly.
The fight was gone. The anger had burned itself out. With a weary sigh, Mel collapsed
to the floor. It wasn't defeat, but the simple inability to hold up the facade of strength
a moment longer.
Joe's voice, muffled but clear, carried a note of hesitation. "You shouldn't be alone.
Anything could happen. I... don't want you jumping out the window."
Mel interrupted, her annoyance spiked with a hint of fear, "Why would you even say
that? Now that's all I'll think about."
After a beat, Joe offered softly, "If you still want me to go, I can call Hannah... or
Ayesha? Greg? They could come sit with you before I go."
A scoff escaped Mel, a touch of humour masking her frustration. "Sit with me?
Hannah's practically glued to Ryan, and Ayesha, Greg... they'd run straight to my
parents. That's why I asked Kelly."
"There should be someone with you," Joe pressed, concern evident in his voice. "You
shouldn't be alone."
Mel let out a sigh. With a trembling hand, she reached for a brown file beside her and
pulled it onto her lap. A flicker of determination ignited in her eyes, a stark contrast
to her previous exhaustion.
Slowly, as if fearing to startle her, Joe moved closer and lowered himself to the floor
beside her. She didn't resist, the fight simply gone from her.
His attention drifted around her room, a stark contrast to the playful chaos he
remembered. Her space now exuded a meticulous teenage order. Family photos sat
beside meticulously organized revision books, and a guitar rested in the corner.
Posters plastered the walls, a sea of musicians and movie stars with a noticeable
abundance of Kurt Cobain. Joe smiled inwardly, picturing the playful teasing they
might have exchanged if things were different.
Mel's profile was turned away, her hands absently fidgeting in her lap, securing her
folder filled with elusive truths. The room fell into a heavy silence, filled only by the
soft whir of the camcorder and their quiet breaths.
Breaking the quiet, Mel's voice was tinged with a mix of hope and frustration. "Did
they tell you how much they gave me?" Her eyes did not meet his; instead, they were
pinned on some distant point.
Joe hesitated, the weight of her question hanging between them. "No, I'm sorry," he
replied, his voice low.
"Mel, why are you doing this?" The question slipped out before he could fully consider
it, a mix of concern and confusion colouring his tone.
"It's been over thirty minutes, and I don't feel any different," Mel responded, a hint of
worry threading through her words. Her answer was slightly evasive, focusing on the
practical concern rather than the bigger picture.
Joe sensed her avoidance but decided to shift his approach. His focus narrowed
slightly. "You know, you've got everyone scrambling," he said, a hint of amusement in
his voice. "They're all shit scared."
Mel furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"
"You, asking around about that night... they all think you're gathering evidence for
your dad," Joe elaborated, watching her closely.
The revelation seemed to puzzle Mel. "I just wanted to know what they gave me, and
how much. No one's giving me a straight answer. They keep pointing fingers," she
confessed, exasperation and a longing for clarity in her voice.
Joe gently probed, "Why didn't you tell your dad?"
"I thought about it," Mel admitted. "What Charlie and Becca did... it's messed up. They
should face consequences. But..." she hesitated, her eyes meeting Joe's, "If I tell him
everything... then they'll find out you supplied the drugs. It'd become a Royal Rumble
match. I don't want our dads fighting, we both know how that will end."
While the words held a kernel of truth, she withheld a deeper reason: the lingering
fear of her hallucinations, and the shame of what they might reveal.
Joe scoffed, bitterness in his voice. "Yeah, my dad... he's good at making sure things
end badly for everyone involved."
"No, it'll be my dad who makes things end badly," Mel countered flatly.
"What are you talking about? Your dad... he's always been understanding, always
there for you. He knows what to say and what to do. My dad on the other hand."
A sardonic chuckle escaped Mel's lips. "Funny how you always think it's your dad
who's going to make it worse. It could never be my dad... right?"
A flicker of discomfort crossed Joe's face.
Mel continues, "I mean, yeah, he'd be so understanding about my drink being spiked.
He'd be able to put aside his anger like he did with grandad. Mel's voice wavered, a
hint of vulnerability breaking through her usual composure.
Joe's voice wavered slightly as he replied, "Yeah but your mum could-"
Mel laughs again, "My mum?" she slaps her knee, "you think my mum could make a
difference?" Joe's eyes widened in shock. She took a deep breath to steady herself.
"They barely talk to each other, they're barely around anymore. Always at work,
always on call. We never do anything as a family. Zach and Natalia... I have to tell them
all the time that..."
Joe waited patiently, sensing there was more. Embarrassment-tinged Mel's features.
"Tell them what?" he nudged gently.
She brought her knees up, causing the folder to rest on her stomach. Her gaze fixed on
some distant point. "I tell them … that they want to be with us, but they have
responsibilities. People who depend on them, people they have to help ... With great
power comes great responsibility." An awkward silence fell as the weight of her words
settled between them.
Finally, Joe broke the quiet, his voice laced with disbelief. "But... what happened? I
mean, your parents were... they seemed so..."
"Solid?" Mel suggested, a hint of bitterness in her tone. "When did it start? I mean,
your dad was always there when I was around. He never cancelled plans." Joe's voice
held a touch of confusion.
Mel let out a humourless laugh. "Present? Yeah, he was good at that. Always the
perfect host when there were guests around. But you know how many times they
cancelled plans on us? Dance recitals, plays, rugby games... they missed it all." She
paused, a memory flickering in her eyes. "Your dad might be able to beat mine in a
fight," she added wryly, "but mine would destroy yours in a 'who can work the longest
hours' contest."
Joe stared at her, the idealized image of her family he'd held onto for so long crumbling
before him. "But your parents..."
"Were always like this. And I really thought you understood that. I always used to
think, 'at least he doesn't have it that bad because his mum works part-time.' But you
never realized we were going through the same thing; you never saw it that way. Like,
how could we have been best friends, and you think you're the only one who suffered
from broken promises and workaholic parents."
Mel paused, her voice catching slightly. "You keep saying your dad doesn't care about
you but look... you have him running around ragged looking for you. Crying, shouting,
fighting with people. Where's my birth mum, Joe? Can you tell me that?"
The accusation faded, replaced by the vulnerability of her final question. A flicker of
remembrance crossed Joe's face, followed by a wave of guilt and shame.
"She was supposed to come back for me, Joe. We were going to go off and live in
Brighton," Mel added, her voice tinged with a desperation born from years of
disappointment.
A flicker of comprehension crossed Joe's face, followed by a pang of guilt so sharp it
made him flinch. "I was so scared of her coming back. I didn't like the idea of you guys moving to Brighton. Didn't want to lose my best friend..."
A memory flickered – whispered secrets under bedsheets, childish plans to keep Mel
close. The weight of those forgotten dreams pressed upon him. Could this explain her
desperation? The question burst forth before he could fully process it:
"Is that why you're doing this, Mel? To find out where your birth mum is?"
Mel's shoulders slumped slightly. "No... I know she doesn't want me," she said, the
words devoid of self-pity, but rather a quiet resignation.
"While you were angry at your dad, I was angry with my birth mum for not keeping
her promise, for not having the decency to even tell me she changed her mind. I'm the
same age she was when she had me, and there's no way I'm ready to have a kid. So, I
get it now. I understand why she didn't want to come back and be my mum. She had
her whole life ahead of her, and she didn't need me complicating things, holding her
back. And your dad – as much as he spends most of his time at work – he's never
walked away. So, Joe, do you see how much your dad actually loves you?" There was
a plea in her tone, seeking some acknowledgment or shared understanding, but Joe
remained silent, the weight of her words hanging between them.
Your dad," she continued, her gaze locking with his. "He's not the bad guy you think
he is. He's just... complicated."
Joe looked incredulous as he absorbed her perspective. His brow furrowed, and a
flicker of anger sparked in his eyes. Mel's words hung in the air, heavy and
unchallenged. A moment of tense silence stretched between them, the weight of his
disbelief settling in the room.
Finally, Joe broke the silence. "In what way?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of
scepticism and curiosity.
"Remember that day at the park?" Mel asked, her voice softening. "You told your
friends I likened your dad to Magneto because he's a bad father, and I told you it was
nothing to do with that. It was because he was loud and confident."
"I can barely remember that day, Mel. I'm sorry." Joe's voice held genuine remorse.
"It's okay," Mel murmured. "But honestly, I went over that moment again and again in
my head afterwards... wishing I'd explained myself better. Wishing there was some
way to make it right." She hesitated, then added, "But yeah, even with all I understand
now, my dad's definitely Professor X, and yours is definitely Magneto."
Joe scoffs. "But here's the thing, here's what you don't understand. Neither one is evil.
They are both good guys who have and use different methods. Professor X isn't
squeaky clean. He has done some things that could be considered evil."
Joe's confusion was evident. "What evil things did Professor X do?"
"I mean, he turned his school kids into soldiers; Jean, Cyclops, Storm they were his
students and teenagers. He manipulates people's minds... he, uh, faked his death to
ditch his students. There's more. The point I'm making is that our dads aren't just
good or evil. They're morally grey."
Joe sat back, the comparison sinking in. "I never really thought about it like that.
Didn't realise it was that deep."
"Yeah," Mel said, a glint of passion in her eyes as she discussed the analogy. "The X-
Men started off about the Jewish experience in WW2 but as they progressed, they
based it on the civil rights movements. So, you could say Professor X is supposed to
be Martin Luther King and Magneto is supposed to be Malcolm X."
"You're telling me my dad's Malcolm X?" a touch of disbelief lingered in his voice, a
blend of confusion and a flicker of dawning understanding."
Mel chuckled softly, the sound echoing slightly in the well-kept room. "Yeah, kind of,
just don't go telling people that." she replied with a playful smirk. "Stick to Magneto."
Joe let out a laugh, a genuine one that seemed to momentarily clear the air of any
lingering heaviness.
Mel lowered her knees from the folder, resting them on the floor. Joe shifted slightly,
his head leaning against the cool wall as he gazed upward at the ceiling. The posters
of Nirvana and old movie stars stared back at him, silent witnesses to their unfolding
revelations.
"I'm sorry Mel. For not seeing you had it the same." Joe finally broke the silence. His
voice trembled slightly, betraying the depth of his newfound understanding.
Mel turned her head slowly, her gaze settling on him with a mix of surprise and
guarded curiosity. "I don't fully understand everything... but I think... I think I might
have something that could help."
He hesitated, then reached into his pocket, pulling out the videotape. "I took this from
Charlie, after... after everything. I didn't watch it, but..." He extended it towards her,
his expression a mix of apology and a yearning for absolution.
Mel's fingers closed around the tape, a tremor running through her as she took it. The
ribbed edges of the VHS felt rough against her skin, a stark contrast to the smooth
facade she wore. Her mind raced back to the haunting images of her foster mother,
the screams echoing not only in her dreams but now in this very room.
She looked up at Joe, her eyes reflecting the tumult of gratitude, pain, and a flicker of
hope. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice a fragile thread. Her heart pounded against
her ribs. She remembered a time, not so long ago, when confiding in him felt natural,
like sharing whispered secrets under the shade of the old oak tree in her garden.
Now, holding the videotape, a potential lifeline in the storm of her unresolved trauma,
the walls she'd painstakingly built around her heart shook, threatening to crumble.
Joe watched her carefully, his heart aching with empathy. He saw the internal battle
in her eyes, the desperate longing for release warring with a deep-rooted fear.
She drew in a deep breath, the air heavy in her lungs. "Joe, at the party," she began,
her voice shaky as she ventured into the dark corners of her memory, "do you
remember me freaking out about seeing blood on the floor?" Her eyes searched his
for any flicker of understanding, any sign that he might grasp the depth of her terror.
"After you left," she continued, the words tumbling out as if freeing themselves from
the confines of her mind, "the room... it started filling with blood. It was coming down
the walls, it was everywhere, it was coming down the walls and I couldn't understand
where it was coming from." Mel's hands clenched tighter around the videotape, as if
holding onto it could anchor her to reality.
Joe flinched, the impact of her words resonating within him. His expression softened,
his own heart clenching with empathy. The distress in her voice painted a vivid
picture of her ordeal, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. "I didn't know it got that
bad," he murmured, regret lacing his words. He had left her, not fully understanding
the magnitude of her nightmare.
Mel's gaze drifted away, focusing on a distant point as she grappled with the images
that still haunted her. "Charlie, he got me a mop bucket and I started to mop up the
blood. I don't know how long I was mopping it up for, but it felt like a long time." Mel
swallowed hard, her voice a fragile tremor. "And then..." A sigh escaped her lips as she
licked them nervously, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. "And then I saw her,
Joe. My foster mum. It was her blood, she was hurt."
"Your foster mum?" Joe interjected, his voice laced with surprise and growing
concern. "You were fostered?"
Mel clenched her jaw, a painful confession uncoiling within her. "Yeah... I think so."
she muttered softly.
Joe's expression softened; his concern palpable. "You said the blood was hers. What
happened to her? How did she get hurt?"
Mel shook her head, her expression pinched as she wrestled with the shadows of the
past, the memories she'd locked away in the darkest corners of her mind. "I—I don't
know..." Her voice trailed off. After a tense silence, she finally whispered the truth, "I
think... I think my foster dad used to hit her." The admission hung heavy in the air,
laden with unspeakable pain.
Joe's breath hitched. His instinct to comfort her warred with the fear of overstepping.
He let his hand fall to his side, feeling the distance between them expand with her
words.
"It wasn't just at the party, Joe. She kept appearing to me... for days afterward. I'd be
eating breakfast, and she'd pass by the kitchen window, all bloodied and bruised. Or
I'd be watching TV, and there she was, sitting on the couch, sobbing silently. I tried so
hard not to react, to keep it all inside because if I showed any sign of what I was seeing,
my parents would start asking questions."
Joe listened, watching her clenching her fingers tightly in her lap. "I couldn't stop
thinking about her either. Even when the hallucinations stopped, I couldn't escape her
memory. I kept seeing her. I started remembering other things. The fear was always
there. I wanted to know if she was okay if she was safe, alive. I had to find out what
happened to her." Her voice faltered, revealing the depth of her ongoing torment.
As her hands trembled with the weight of her thoughts, Joe reached out, encasing
them in his own. His thumbs gently traced soothing circles on her skin, offering a silent
comfort.
"So, I went into my dad's study and found my adoption file. But there was nothing—
no record of any foster parents. It just said I was removed from my birth mum and
was in a care home until my parents adopted me." Her confusion was palpable, her
brows knitted together as she grappled with the dissonance between her memories
and the cold facts on paper. "How could those memories be so real, so vivid... and yet
not exist?"
Joe's expression softened. "Is that why you're doing this, Mel? To remember?" he
asked gently, seeking to understand the depths of her quest.
Mel nodded, licking her lips, a flicker of resolve crossing her features. "Yeah. I even
confronted my parents, asked them about the foster family I supposedly lived with."
She paused, recalling the confusion and silent exchanges between her parents. "At
first, they were just as puzzled. Kept denying I was ever fostered. So I kept pushing,
couldn't let it go. They started exchanging these looks, like they were hiding
something."
Joe inhaled sharply, sensing the complexity of her revelation. Mel's eyes shimmered
with unshed tears as she continued. "Eventually, they told me I had made it all up.
That I created this fictional family to protect the image of my birth mum."
The room fell silent. The weight of her parents' explanation settled between them.
Joe's grip tightened slightly, reinforcing his support. Mel's admission laid bare the
painful intersection of memory and identity – a child's fabrication or a suppressed
truth, the lines blurred irrevocably.
"Do you believe them?" Joe finally whispered, a hint of unease in his voice.
Mel shrugged, her gaze drifting away. "I don't know what to believe anymore. But I
need to find the truth, Joe. Whatever it is. They wanted me to go talk to Dr. Lipschitz.
It's always Dr. Lipschitz when things aren't right."
"Did you go see him?" Joe asked gently, sensing her reluctance.
A flicker of defiance crossed her face. "No... I dropped it. Didn't need another person
telling me I made it up. So, I decided to handle it my own way. I'm absolutely terrified
about taking it again, about what I'd see. I read about all the things that could go
wrong, but what other choice do I have? And now that I need it to kick in and work,
it's not! I just feel so sick, and I want it to be over." Her voice broke, frustration and
despair warring in her eyes.
Joe watched her closely, a wave of concern washing over him. He hesitated for a
moment, he reached into his pocket. "Kelly gave me this..." he said, pulling out the vial.
"I know you think it's acid, but I don't think it is."
Mel's eyes locked onto the vial, "Then what is it?" she demanded.
"Mel, listen," he began cautiously. "Remember you have them all scared out of their
minds. They think you're going after them. Why would Josh just hand over something
so dangerous so easily?" Unscrewing the vial, he dipped a finger in and brought it to
his tongue. "This is water, Mel. I'm sorry." He revealed gently.
Mel's response came as a rush of breath, a bewildering mix of relief and frustration
washing over her. "Water?" she repeated, disbelief tinging her tone, laced with an
edge of panic. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
Joe met her gaze directly. "Taste it," he said, extending the vial towards her.
Mel hesitated, suspicion and confusion warring in her eyes. She took the vial,
unscrewed it, and cautiously dipped a finger inside. With a tremor, she brought her
finger to her tongue, her gaze fixed intently on Joe.
A moment of tense silence stretched between them.
He broke the silence. "Acid – it has a slight, but distinctive bitter taste," he explained,
his voice low and steady.
"There's nothing," Mel murmured finally, a flicker of realization dawning in her
expression.
"It's water," Joe confirmed quietly.
Mel sank back against the wall. The revelation felt both unsettling and oddly
comforting. She raised a hand to massage her temples, the earlier tension beginning
to dissolve. "That explains why I haven't seen anything... why nothing's happened."
Her words trailed off into the quiet of the room, mingling with a newfound sense of
clarity.
Joe met her gaze steadily, his own expression a complex tapestry of guilt and concern.
"I think Kelly was left out of the loop. She really believed it was acid," he explained, his voice low.
Mel sank back against the wall, the vial slipping from her fingers. The revelation felt
both unsettling and oddly comforting. She watched Joe closely, a flicker of something
akin to gratitude softening the sharp angles of her expression. For a moment, they
simply sat in comfortable silence, the tension between them slowly dissipating.
Finally, Joe broke the quiet. "So, what are you going to do now?" Mel leaned her head
back against the wall with a soft thud, a gesture of exhaustion and contemplation. "I
don't know," she admitted, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and relief. "I still
want to find out what happened to her, but... I'm oddly relieved I didn't actually take
anything tonight. My heads still spinning like crazy. I think I need some time to think
this all through."
She turned to look at Joe, a faint smile of gratitude flickering across her face. "Thanks
for staying with me, though. You don't have to hang around any longer, you can get
back to your day."
Joe shook his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't mind
staying," he assured her gently. "Actually, I wouldn't mind staying a bit longer."
Mel's brows furrowed in curiosity, and she shifted to face him more directly. "Where
are you staying these days anyway? Who are you sofa surfing with now?" she asked,
her tone a blend of concern and genuine interest.
Joe hesitated, his eyes tracing the pattern on the floor before meeting hers again.
"Well, I've been kind of bouncing around. No place permanent," he confessed, a hint
of self-deprecation seeping into his tone. "Honestly, I don't know where I'll even end
up tonight. Not sure how long I'll keep that up for. Seems I'm upsetting everyone and
their mother these days."
Mel nodded, understanding more than Joe realized. "I don't want to upset you," she
said, her voice softening, "but have you considered going home?"
The question hung in the air, a stark contrast to the comfort they'd found just
moments earlier. A flicker of defensiveness sparked in Joe's eyes. "That's not
happening," he retorted, his voice sharp with a hint of anger. "My dad's…" He trailed
off, searching for the right words, the familiar excuse of his father bubbling to the
surface.
Mel didn't flinch. She met his gaze with a steady intensity. "Is it really him you have a
problem with, Joe?" she challenged, her voice surprisingly gentle yet firm. "Because I
had time to think about it and I don't think it been about your dad for a long time."
Joe's jaw clenched. "It's always been him," he insisted stubbornly.
Mel shook her head. "Maybe at first it was. And I understood why you were so angry.
I thought you had every right. Always breaking promises, missing your football
games... " She hesitated, then continued, "But, I don't think it's about your dad
anymore. I think you need to stay mad at him... to give yourself an excuse for taking
drugs."
Joe scoffed, a harsh, humourless sound. "Like you'd understand. You don't know what
it's like to live with a guy like that. If you did, you'd be too."
Mel's gaze remained steady, unwavering. "So, you take drugs to deal living with him?
He's really that unbearable? To make you do this?"
Joe stiffened, his glare hardening. He opened his mouth to respond, but then clamped
it shut again, struggling to find the right words.
Mel pressed on. "How many days have you gone without taking anything? I mean, you
haven't been home for months now. How many days have you lasted without smoking
weed, popping E, or whatever else?" Her voice held a note of genuine curiosity, forcing
Joe to confront his own dependence.
Joe's eyes blazed with anger. "I don't need an excuse to do anything. I'm in complete
control of my life. I'm not an addict!" Joe declared defensively, his voice rising slightly
as he clung to his self-assurance amidst the growing scrutiny of his lifestyle.
Mel remained calm, her expression one of concern rather than judgment. "Okay,
you're not an addict. You're in complete control," she repeated slowly, her tone
deliberate. "So why don't you go stay with your mum instead of couch surfing with
friends? What has she ever done to make that not an option?"
Mel's words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Joe stared at her; his mouth
slightly agape. A beat of shocked silence stretched between them before he finally
sputtered, "What?"
"Your parents separated, right? Why not live with your mum? She's never hurt you,"
Mel pressed, her gaze steady and probing.
"How do you know this? Why are you so invested in my life?" His voice edged with
defensiveness now. "Do you get off on playing Florence Nightingale or something?"
He met her gaze, his own eyes narrowed.
Mel didn't flinch. Her eyes, dark and steady, held his gaze. "Because the way you're
going Joe, I think you're going to end up on the streets, jail maybe even dead. Is that
what you want?"
The intensity of the conversation seemed to push Joe to a tipping point. He stood
abruptly, the movement sharp and filled with a restless energy that seemed to echo
the turmoil inside him.
Mel rose to her feet as well, a flicker of frustration and a hint of sadness in her eyes.
As Joe moved toward the door, a touch of desperation crept into her voice. "So, are
you running away, Joe?" she asked, her words cutting through the tension. "Is that
how you deal with everything?"
Joe slumped against the door, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "It's too late, Mel. I've
messed it up too bad. You don't even know the half of it."
"It's never too late. And… there's tons of people who want to help you."
Joe shook his head, a flicker of despair in his eyes. Without another word, he pushed
the door open and stepped out, leaving Mel standing alone in the room.