Dancing with Molly (19 page)

Her mouth was so thin it was practically not even there. She told me not to try begging my way out of this, which just pissed me off. She always caved when Ashley got all cute and weepy and pleading. I went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

What're you doing? my mother demanded.

God! Can't I even pee?

I heard her huff, and then she said I had two minutes. I peed and then realized my mouth tasted like ass, probably from all the pot and molly and junk food I'd ingested the past couple of days. I opened the medicine cabinet to get my toothpaste, and the Midol bottle stared at me. I took it out, and
opened it up. The hit of molly was nestled in there all safe and sound. I closed the cabinet again, and stared at myself in the mirror. I'd never done molly outside of a party situation. I'd never done it without my friends. And if my parents figured it out, they'd kill me. But honestly, they'd already locked me in my room. How much worse could it get? (If only I knew.)

Screw them, I thought. There was only one way to survive this torture, and that was to be high.

I ran the water, tossed the packet into the back of my mouth, and drank it down.

Just brushing my teeth, Warden! I shouted for my mom's benefit.

She was waiting for me, of course.

Before we left the house, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Gotta stay hydrated. And they think I'm not responsible. My parents were silent in the front seat of the car. I sat in the back by myself and waited for the molly to kick in. Which it did pretty much the second we walked into this totally posh office building downtown. I mean, honestly? These substance-abuse people must make a crap load of money. Everything was plush and gold and marble, and the lobby was superhushed and supremely air-conditioned. Right in the middle of the lobby was this wall of cascading water burbling over cut glass, and I was
totally distracted by the sunlight beaming off of it in all directions. It was like being inside a rainbow, and I remember thinking, I wish Carson and Jess were here to see this.

Actually, I might have said it out loud, because my mom looked at me kind of funny. Then my dad announced that we were going to the fifth floor, and we got on the elevator. That was a totally mind-boggling experience, by the way. As soon as we went up, I felt like I was standing on my head, and by the time we got off, I was dizzy. Elevators and molly do not mix.

I blearily followed my dad into this mostly white office, and the receptionist buzzed the doctor or whatever you call him. While we waited, I rubbed the hem of my T-shirt between my thumb and forefinger. It was so soft. I had no idea clothes could be that soft. Then, suddenly, we were up and walking into the counselor's office.

His name was Tim Burbridge, and he had a soul patch. A soul patch! It looked like a little caterpillar dancing its way across his face. I laughed and reached out to touch it with my thumb. It felt surprisingly silky against my skin.

Of course, this was a big mistake.

My mom actually gasped. My dad asked what I was doing. Tim looked me dead in the eye and said, Your daughter is rolling right now.

Which made me laugh some more. Then my mother asked what rolling meant, and that made me laugh even harder.

The next thing I knew, Tim was telling my parents he couldn't treat me when I was like this. That there was a detox facility in the hospital, or they could detox me at home. My mother was so white I thought I might be able to see through her.

We'll take her home, she said. We can handle this. Tim gave them some kind of pamphlet with instructions on what to do. Like I'm their new and exotic pet.

And then I was back in the car and I was victorious. I'd gotten out of substance-abuse therapy. Go me!

Of course, what I probably should've done was ask to see the pamphlet, because when we got home, my parents did every single thing it said to do, line by line. They made me sit in the corner while they searched every inch of my room, even though I kept telling them there were no more drugs. I'm not a junkie, I kept saying, but they didn't listen. They emptied my drawers, my closet, my bedside tables, my desk, under my bed. My mom grabbed this journal, and started to flip through it, but I snatched it away from her, and hugged it to me while they finished their gestapo impression. Then they took everything out. My books, my iPod, my sketch pad, my old stuffed animals. Everything. And then they locked the door again.

So here I am. Stuck for three days straight while I “detox.” I swear, they're all so clueless. The molly is already out of my system. I know, because I feel like shit. I don't need three more days to flush anything out. If they knew anything about this drug, they'd know that.

And if they knew anything about me, they'd know there's no way I'm staying in this damn room alone for three whole days.

I am sooooo tired. I swear I slept almost all day. I only woke up to text with Carson, who was not arrested, but lost his phone somehow at the Flaming Daisy Carnival and had to get a new one. He's fine. His mom talked to my dad and found out that my father only told the cops that Carson had kidnapped me so that they'd break him into the festival. So, no one at Carson's house is very happy with my dad either. His parents are so cool. They just trust him. Whatever. At least he's not mad at me. He just feels bad for me. He thinks my parents have gone off the deep end, and I so agree with him, because get this:

Every once in a while I get up and check if my door is still locked and it is. It's always locked. And every time I try to turn the knob, either my father or my mother instantly says, Do you need something? Yeah. One of them is always sitting right outside
my door. Don't they have anything better to do with their time?

Somewhere around noon my head started pounding, like from the inside out. I went into my bathroom for some Tylenol, but it wasn't there. Nothing's there. They took every last thing out of my medicine cabinet, even my floss. Because, why? I might try to hang myself with it? Honestly I think my skull might break, but I refuse to ask them for anything. I'm just going to go back to sleep. They can't stay out there all night, right? Later I'm going to look up how to pick a lock on the internet. God. I can't believe I even just wrote that. I wonder what my parents would think if they knew that they were forcing me to become a criminal mastermind. But later. Right now, I can barely keep my eyes open.

I just slept for twenty-one hours straight. When I woke up, there was a sandwich and a bottle of water on my nightstand, and I was so starving I wolfed it down and then threw it right back up. I guess when you don't eat for like a day and a half your stomach can't handle that much food at one time. Anyway, I finally had to cave and ask my mom for my toothbrush and toothpaste. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom and watched me brush my teeth, then made me hand the brush and tube back to her.

I feel like I'm broken. My whole body is tired, and I can't even stand up straight. When I looked at my mom, I felt this pathetic impulse. I wanted her to hug me and kiss my forehead like she always does when I puke. But instead, she just gave me her patented look of disappointment, walked out, and locked the door again.

Later, she brought me toast and chicken soup. I refused to eat it. I swear it's like I'm in Guantánamo or something.

I can't take it anymore. I can't. I'm going to lose my mind. I did find out how to pick a lock, but every time I so much as touch that doorknob, one of my parents barks at me. Is this the last day of my incarceration? I think it is, but I'm not sure. I swear if I have to stare at my walls for five more seconds, I'm going to lose it. I really am. I feel like my blood is made of caffeine. I can't stop shaking. Is it a panic attack? I think it's a panic attack. They can't keep me locked up in here anymore. They just can't. I'm texting Jess and Carson. Maybe they can figure out a way to get me out of here.

Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

I'm so screwed. My parents caught me climbing out my
window, and now they've taken my phone away too. And I have to go back to therapy tomorrow. And I'll also probably never see my friends again.

I spent half the day texting with Jess and Carson, trying to come up with a plan. Jess wanted to just come over and beg, but I knew that wouldn't work. Not with the state of crazy my parents are currently living in. They knew they couldn't get me out through my door, so then Carson suggested he bring an escape ladder. I think he was actually kidding, but I jumped on it. I mean, my parents are always inside the house, guarding the door. Would anyone really notice if he came over and put a ladder next to my window? The Jensens next door are away for the summer, so there's no one on that side of the house to see. It was the perfect plan. Or so I thought.

Carson knew that if he stepped foot on my yard, my dad would call the cops and this time he wouldn't get off with a warning, so he sent Reid. I didn't exactly love the idea of getting rescued by him, but I was so desperate at that point, I didn't care. Plus, Reid is turning out to be the guy who's up for anything, which I guess makes him a good person to have around. Sometimes, anyway.

We decided to wait until ten o'clock, because I'd figured out that that was when my mom took over so my dad could go
watch the news, probably. If Reid could get there right when my parents were having their nightly update about how my life is going down the toilet and what they can do to control me, then they might be too distracted to hear anything. I swear, time passed more and more slowly as we headed toward ten p.m., but then, finally, it was here, and Reid was right on time. I saw his truck turn onto our street, and he even turned off his headlights like he was in some spy movie.

The sound of the ladder hitting the house seemed deafening to me, but my door didn't open. I slid the window up as quietly as I could and looked down. Reid grinned up at me.

S'up Rapunzel? he whispered.

I rolled my eyes. The drop suddenly seemed so far, but this was the only way. My heart pounded like crazy as I put one foot out, then the other. The ladder was pretty steady, but I was still terrified as I started down it. Every second I expected to hear one of my parents shout at me from above, but they never did, and then, I was on the ground. I grinned at Reid and ran for his truck.

The ladder! he whisper-shouted.

Leave it! I cried back. Just get me out of here!

I was just racing around the front of the house when my sister opened the front door with a book in her hand. Going to read on the porch swing like the picture of perfection she is. She
took one look at me and I froze. I pleaded with her with my eyes and for half a second, I was sure she was going to take pity on me and let me go. Then, Reid came around the corner.

Mom! Ashley screeched. Mom! Dad! Get out here!

And the rest is history. I'm locked in my room again, and now I can't even text my friends.

I fucking hate Ashley.

I've been out of the house twice since my last entry, both times to counseling with Mr. Soul Patch. He wants me to call him Tim, so I call him Mr. Burbridge. So far, I haven't said anything to him. Not one word aside from “Hello, Mr. Burbridge” and “Bye, Mr. Burbridge.” My mom goes in to chat with him after the sessions. When she comes out, she looks more pissed off than I've ever seen her and won't speak to me on the way home. There's a lot of not speaking going on around here in general.

So, get this, I'm allowed out of my room. Know why? Over the weekend, my parents had a new alarm system installed and every time you open a window or a door, it announces which window or door has been opened. Yeah. I'm officially living in a loony bin.

Also I officially have no life. The first thing I did when I
got back from counseling was check my e-mail to see if Jess or Carson responded to the rants I sent them this morning. Neither one of them did.

I'm so bored! Honestly, how much reality TV can one person watch before their brain melts? I keep trying to read, but whenever I start, my mind wanders and I realize I've read the same sentence ten times, or that I've been staring at the wall for ten minutes thinking about nothing. I'm so bored that I actually talked to Mr. Soul Patch this morning. He asked me how I was feeling and I said, Like shit.

So, he asked if I wanted to elaborate on that, and I said, Runny, mushy, smelly shit?

I expected him to get angry, but he laughed.

We talked for like five more minutes after that, mostly about how pissed off I was, because that's all I feel. Angry. All the time. I don't understand what my parents are so fricking tense about. So I went to a few parties. Obviously I'm not addicted to anything or I'd be jonesing for a fix right now, right? That's the thing about molly. It's NOT ADDICTIVE! Why doesn't anybody get that? Why won't they let me make my own decisions?
I've been a good girl my whole entire life, never stepped a foot out of line, and the one time I try to have a little fun everyone goes apeshit crazy. It's so not fair.

So, I said all this to Soul Patch, and he said, You don't understand why your parents are worried about you? Why they're afraid for you?

My jaw clenched, and I said, no. I wish they'd just get the eff off my back.

He wasn't smiling anymore when he said the session was over.

I got an e-mail from Jess today. First one in four days. She got a job at the Dairy Queen for the rest of the summer, so I guess she's busy. I guess Carson's busy too, because I barely hear from him and when I do it's like one line about something he did that day or where he's going next. They're all free. They're all out there having lives. No one cares that my life is over. No one cares about me.