everything's fucked// james cook

part 4: bastard

TW: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES (DEPRESSION, ANXIETY), MENTIONS OF SUCICIDE/SUCICIDAL THOUGHTS

After getting home from the party, and coming down from that high, I spent the rest of the weekend in bed. The depression hadn't affected me this badly in a while, and all I could manage to do was cry. 

Crying and drinking were my two comforts. I knew I was borderline alcoholic, but at least I had a reason. Getting pissed helped me not to think, and it was easier to blackout than to deal with my reality. 

The dark thoughts overwhelmed me, but I had to keep it secret from my mum. She probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, but anything was better than being sent back to the hospital.

That place was absolute hell. 

I sat in bed, staring at the ceiling. The Cure played through my speakers, and I closed my eyes. 

The way you you shout out loud

It makes me want to start

I flashed back to London. 

I sat rocking myself in the shower, my clothes still on. I couldn't cry, the tears wouldn't come out, and I felt hopeless. 

And when I see you happy as a girl

That swims in a works of a magic show

I walked to my medicine cabinet, and took out a bottle of pain medicine. Hopefully it would kill my pain as well. I unscrewed the lid, and shook a few out. Studying them, I shook out more. It still didn't look like enough. I shrugged and downed the whole bottle, washing them down with a swig of vodka. 

It makes me bite my fingers through

To think I could've let you go

I  heard a knock on my door,  startling me out of the memory. 

"Fuck off, Mum," I shouted. 

The door opened, and Effy stepped in.

"Your mum is asleep on the sofa," she said, matter-of-factly. "And your sister is crying."

I moaned, and turned over. "Ef, I'm really not in the mood."

She sat down on my bed and looked around at my incredibly messy room. "I'm here cause Cook and the rest of us were worried. I didn't bring Panda, but I did bring drugs."

She waved a small white baggie in front of my face. I sat up, and searched around in my bed for a joint to put to my lips. Effy offered me a light, and I breathed in the thick smoke, the drug numbing my brain for a moment. 

I stood up, only wearing a shirt and boxers, and turned to face Effy.

"Thanks, Ef," I said honestly. "Sometimes I get like that, I don't know. Can you just not tell the others?"

She nodded in assent, and handled me the baggie.

♕⋆♕⋆♕

After Effy and her drugs pulled me out of my depression, I stomp downstairs to check on Bea. She was in her crib, her room a mess, and her diaper was overflowing. 

"Aww, my darling, I'm so so sorry sweetheart." I cry.

I give her a bath, clean up her rom and her crib, and feed her. When I set her back in her crib, she coos happily and falls asleep playing with her feet. 

I make my way to the living room. The room is a pigsty, Mum passed out on the couch and the room covered in empty liquor bottles and cigarettes. I exclaim in disgust, and go to fetch a a trash bag. I clean the whole room, not touching Mum, and then  clean the kitchen, which is in similar disrepair. 

I sink down on the floor once I've finished and put my head in my hands.

 How can I do this all by myself? I can't take care of Bea, the house, Mum, and myself, and still go to school. I can't do this. I can't do this. 

I take out my phone, and scroll down my contacts until I see my dad's number. I know I'll regret this, but I press call. 

My phone rings twice, then the call connects. I put the phone up to my ear. 

"Hello, Dad?" My voice shakes. 

"Hey, Vivi, sweetheart, this isn't a good time," he says, sounding exasperated. 

Something inside me snaps, and I break down, full on sobbing into the phone.

"Dad, Mum's a mess, she drinks and passes out every day. She doesn't take care of Bea, or me, or the house, and I'm struggling Dad, I can't do it," I sob, it all pouring out of me.

"I know you don't care, you have a new life now, but Dad, I need help. Anyways, have a nice life. I love you." I hang up, and sink my head into my knees, and stay like that until I hear Bea cry again. 

I skip school on Monday, and stay in my room with Bea. She sleeps next to me, so peaceful. She has no worries yet, no sadness, no pain. She will know it soon, however, when her mum and dad won't see her first steps, or her first day of school simply because they don't care. 

I hear another knock, this time on my front door. I open it to find a nice-looking women standing on the front door, dressed in a pantsuit with two manila file folders in her hands.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Hello, sweetheart. I'm Tabby with Social Services. Can I talk to your mother, dear?" she says sweetly. 

"Why are you here?" I responded rudely. "Who called you?"

She checks her file, and says, "We had a call from a Peter Easton, I think."

"Right," I say, and slam the door in her face. She continues to knock and call me for a while, but I ignore her and go back to my room. Bea is still in my bed, sleeping peacefully. I can't let them take her, she'd end up in a foster home, or with Dad, who would take no better care of her then Mum. 

Instead of helping us, taking us back to London, and helping Mum, he called Social Services. What did I do to end up with these two wonderful parents?

Fuck that bastard.