Just Ask Juliet

Scene Nine: Be Brave Butterscotch

UNEDITED

Also, I think I have thing with pushing people into different water bodies.

"Ugh!"

This is freaking ridiculous. I'd spent majority of the morning obsessing over the dream I had, trying to recall whatever details I could but almost all of it had faded away except for the things I'd written down.

I bury my head in my hands torn between celebrating that I finally remembered something and screaming in frustration because it was so damn vague.

The mask is probably the thing that I remember best, silver, white and not particularly striking but other than that I can't recall anything about the person who wore it.

Eye colour?
Features?
Nope. Nothing.

All I've got is a name and a kiss.

Although the name Romeo sounds just about as fake as Juliet.

I'm sure that it was Daniel Kensington's birthday party though. It's the same one that Rose had told me about. The one that I had gone with her and then left early which means that a good place to start would be talking to Rose and asking her about that day.

But I'm certain there isn't much she'll be able to tell me after all something like that.... I would have certainly kept it a secret. My best bet was to just remember more.

And the only way to do that...
Was to stop taking my medicines entirely.

There is no doubt that my memories have started returning because I've not been regular with my meds. And if I continue skipping out on them....

Then maybe I would remember more.

But doing so would be risky.
There could be consequences.
Major consequences.

For starters the likelihood of me getting a panic attack would increase exponentially and my nightmares would probably come back in full force.

The smartest option now would be refilling my prescription and then consulting my parents and my psychiatrist to see if it would be okay to stop taking my medicines.

But I can't do that.
Because I've tried this before, tried convincing everyone that I was alright, that I didn't need the medicines anymore, but my psychiatrist shot me down every single time and my mother had always made sure that I took the medicines in front of her, never missing a day.

The only time I'd stopped taking them was during the weeks following my accident when I'd wake up screaming every night after having these terrible, suffocating nightmares where I was trapped in the dark unable to get out. Like most of my dreams I couldn't remember the details just hazy bits and pieces that eventually faded away.

This continued and on getting worse until one day instead I dreamt of something entirely different. I didn't wake up screaming terrified and afraid, instead I woke up with this unbearable sense of loss.

I remember feeling so completely torn, devastated and empty like nothing made sense and I remember crying so bitterly until I just couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't eat, I couldn't move, all I could do was cry and dream about a feeling that I couldn't place.

So, my doctors upped my dosage and I stopped dreaming entirely.

And somehow that felt worse.

I asked my parents to tell me what happened to fill in the gaps but all I got was a rehearsed narrative that didn't add up.

So, I stopped taking the medicines. I'd pretend to swallow them and then throw them away, hide it under my pillow, flushing it down the toilet, just doing whatever it took to just remember.