I blink at her. She’s never asked about my meds. Not since the first evening. After that, she gave me the tablets every night like they were paracetamol, smiling, breezy, a glass of cool water in her hands. It was like that visit to the doctor’s never happened. Now it feels like a dig. And as if she’s using it to change the subject.
‘Yes, I’m taking my meds,’ I say firmly. ‘But, more importantly, have you thought about taking any?’
Her lips tighten and she glares at me. But I know I’m not saying anything wrong. ‘It’s not normal, Mum, staying in the house all day. You know that really, don’t you?’
Mum’s fingers nervously pluck at the dupatta round her neck. ‘I just … I’ve been worried about you … All this exam pressure … And what happened before with the Year Nine SAT exams …’
I cross my arms. Fine, so she’s not going to talk about herself. She’s going to make this all about me. I breathe in deeply through my nose. ‘That was a long time ago, Mum,’ I say. And I’m trying to convince myself of that fact too.
Mum sniffs. Oh God. She’s going to cry. No. I can’t handle her crying right now. Nothing’s making any sense and I want to be alone. I need to get her out of my room.
I crouch down by her side. ‘Mum,’ I say carefully. ‘I’ve been taking my medication. And everything is fine. I just … I have A LOT of revision for exams. Plus all this art. But it’s OK. Really. I just need to get on with it …’
I give her hand a little squeeze. It makes me feel a bit sick, the way I’m so good at pretending. Mostly, though, I’m honestly thrilled at myself because Mum manages a smile. I smile back. Both of us pretending nothing is wrong. Not with her. Not with me.
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice a bit brighter now. She stands up. ‘Yes, I’ll leave you to it.’
I nod. ‘Everything’s fine,’ I say again. Nothing is fine. Nothing will ever be fine again. ‘Everything is completely fine.’
Once Mum leaves, I get one of my brown paper bags out of my bedside drawer and breathe into it: in for five, out for five. Slow, steady. My head’s spinning. I can’t believe Mum left the house. I should be happy for her, but it’s hard to right now. The dark thoughts that have been creeping around on the edges of my mind sink in. Mum left the house for the baby, but not for me. Maybe I’m just not enough. Is that why they’re having another baby?
My eyes fill with tears. Despite the brown bag, my breathing worsens.
I sink down on to the edge of my bed. After a few minutes, I hear Mum and Dad chatting happily as they use the bathroom, getting ready for bed. They flick off their bedroom light and the house is suddenly completely silent. It was never this quiet when Akash was here. I have the urge to blast out Bollywood music, like he used to. But then that would wake Mum and Dad and they’d hassle me. I don’t want that either.
What I need is a distraction.
I keep breathing into the paper bag as I check my phone to see if Fi has messaged me back. I really need to know if she’s got any more information on Akash. She’s replied. My heart races as I read her message.
Nothing, I’m afraid. Not getting anywhere. Sorry, Neens. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up …
I screw up the paper bag. Chuck it across the room so hard it hurts my shoulder. It hits the wall and bounces back at me, landing beside my feet. A small yelp escapes me, rising up from my belly. I bury my face in my hands as my breathing worsens.
Fumbling for my bedside drawer, the tears coming fast now, I look down at the tiny tablets. I should take one; it will help to calm the thoughts, my brain, me. But, instead of reaching for one, I remember the day I got the pills. It was two months after Akash disappeared. Everything was extremely hard: my thoughts were racing so fast I could barely keep up with them; I’d stopped eating or sleeping; I cried all the time. I’d had a cold, a bit of a temperature, and Mum took me to the doctor. The doctor had been worried and chatted to Mum quite intensely; I was in a sort of daze. I don’t remember what they were saying.
But I remember Mum had laughed nervously. ‘She just needs some sleep.’ And the doctor had frowned and scribbled something down.
Mum and I had picked up the crisp white bag from the pharmacy together. It wasn’t until I was home, back in my bedroom, that I looked at the name of the medicine. It was such a long, strange name, not one I’d come across before, so I’d opened the package to get a proper look. Antidepressants.
I was shocked. It hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment that I might be depressed. That the way I felt might be something ‘curable’, that I could take medication for it. I thought it was just the way I was. The way I’d always be now that Akash had disappeared.
Mum had perched on my bed, holding a glass of water. She took the tablets from me and handed me just one. I had to take one every night before bed, she said. And I felt ready for it, ready to try anything really. But then she added: ‘No one needs to know about these, Neena. It can be our secret.’
God, the shame.
I already felt like a failure. I couldn’t function like a normal human being. Sleeping, eating, these were such basic things. And Mum’s words just made me feel that even more. But there was also this strange sense of relief and so I tried to hold on to that. I took the pill, gulping it down with my shame.
That night I slept. And so I continued taking the pills. I felt just a bit more together. I got out of bed in the mornings. I went to school. I didn’t stop feeling sad, exactly, but they did help.
I never stopped being embarrassed though. The only person I told about the tablets was Raheela, one evening when she came to sleep over. I thought maybe she’d get it. That perhaps Mum was wrong and it was actually OK. Not normal but also nothing to be ashamed of. But Raheela had looked awkwardly at her lap. She didn’t know what to say.
Was that the start of it? Us drifting apart. She blames Fi, I know, but maybe she actually thinks I’m too … broken? Messed up? Unmendable?
I slam the drawer shut. I don’t want the tablets any more.
Sinking down to the floor, I reach under my bed and pull out the bottle of whisky I took from Akash’s room. I unscrew the lid and drink. It burns my throat and I hate it. But I also want more. And more.
My muscles relax a bit. So does my brain. And so does my breathing.
But then I picture Mum and Dad all cosy in bed. Three of them now. Happy.
And I wonder, who do I have?
I know that there’s only one person, really, who helps me forget everything. I want to see Josh. I want to kiss him. In our little world, nothing else matters. I give in and message him.
Sorry about earlier. Things are so complicated … Can we start over? Please?
And then I finally do the deep breathing my brother showed me. I stand up and breathe deep into my belly. I do that until I feel calm again. Then I lie down on my bed and imagine Akash here. He’d drink this whisky with me. Make me laugh. Why, why didn’t I go to the party with him?
My phone buzzes. It’s Josh.
Hey! What you thinking?
I’m thinking that I really like you. So can we figure out the rest? And forget whatever I said this afternoon?
So un-pause?
Yeah?