A Pretty Pill

Table of Contents

A Pretty Pill

Dedication

Chapter 1: The Catalyst

Chapter 2: The First Year

Chapter 3: The Second Year

Chapter 4: The Third Year

Chapter 5: The Fifth Year

Chapter 6: A Change is Coming

Chapter 7: Banter and Stuff

Chapter 8: Twisted Innuendo

Chapter 9: Discovery

Chapter 10: Week One

Chapter 11: Week Two

Chapter 12: Week Three

Chapter 13: Week Four

Chapter 14: 18

Chapter 15: Aftermath

Chapter 16: Redemption

Chapter 17: Upshot

Chapter 18: September

Chapter 19: Moving on

Chapter 20: Preparations and Progeny

Chapter 21: Exodus

Epilogue

Fake (A Pretty Pill, #2)

About the Author

A Pretty Pill

A Pretty Pill (A Pretty Pill, #1)

Criss Copp

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by C.E. Copp

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without the express written consent of the author; with the exception of the use of short excerpts quoted in reviews of this ebook. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Dedication

For Tallowyn...

The greatest fight in life... is life! Everyone is out to win, and most of them don’t fight fair... but then, who said life is fair?

And for Mathew...

Sometimes it isn’t about the gift but the giver... thank you!

Chapter 1: The Catalyst

JADE.

…November...

Babe, your mobile is ringing. Graeme shouts out from my single bed, where he is still lounging; naked. I’m lucky I have understanding roomies; because when he comes ‘over,’ they ‘go out.’ In fact, they’ll both be due back any time soon, and he needs to wash the traces of my scent off him before he returns home; so I need to hurry up.

Just let it go to message bank. I shout back; since suds are in my hair and threatening my eyes as they begin to slide down my forehead.

Graeme and I have been maintaining this ‘friends with benefits’ thing all year; after all, we’re in the same courses, we’re in the same circles, I don’t want to get bogged down with one person yet, and we both like to fuck.

Graeme’s not my first sexual partner, and God help me if he’s my last. I don’t see him as exclusive, that’s for sure. And, he has this one tiny little problem. It would be a bit of a deal breaker for me if we were seeing each other, as in being with each other; but since he’s not my boyfriend, just a friend; I’m not currently concerned that we see each other regularly, outside the delegation of friends and peers; to fuck each other’s brains out. I’m sure his boyfriend wouldn’t agree with our rendezvous’, since he’s strictly gay and monogamous; Scott definitely has no interest in girls, not even to appease his boyfriend of 18 months. But Graeme; well, obviously he’s not, um, strictly gay. Because he enjoys a bit of pussy action; and because he’s bisexual, and doesn’t want to be stuck with the one gender, not that being bisexual has anything to do with that. I’m sure he’s just not into commitment either; he will no doubt stray throughout every relationship he’s in.

I wash the suds out of my red and thick, shortish hair, which when dry will display as close cropped at the back, and longish on top, especially the razor cut hair that drapes over my eyes, requiring me to pin it back when on prac.

I jump out of the shower and dry myself off, before draping the towel around me and walking back into my room.

Graeme hasn’t even bothered to cover himself back up; he’s just lying on top of my bed flicking through last year’s copy of The Australian Medicines Handbook. I got it as a Christmas present from my grandparents, who were helpfully informed by a friend of a friend that not only is it a useful text, but that it’s a mandatory one.

Well; it is a useful text, I love it. But it isn’t mandatory for nurses.

Your turn quick. Sandy and Rachel will be here soon. I look at the clock, Scrap that, they’ll be here now.

And just like that, the door knob begins to turn, and Graeme is forced to sprint into the bathroom.

Hey. I say in greeting to the two of them. Right on time. Graeme will be out in a minute and we need to look at getting ready to hit the town. I squeal.

It’s our last night together before we all go away for the holidays. We’re all out-of-towners, and college housing kicks us out over the holidays.

I’m from Armidale in the New England area of New South Wales... and although I came to attend university in Newcastle, I could’ve gone to university in my home town... I just didn’t want to stay home. I wanted to move away and secure a taste of my freedom.

Rachel came to attend university in Newcastle from Taree on the Mid North Coast of NSW, and in truth, of all the friends I’ve made thus far, she’s the best. Rachel is simply as cute as you can get. She’s super short, a whole foot or so shorter than me, and she’s a little pocket rocket. She’s got long blond hair and blue eyes, pale skin and a button nose. Her super slim body often gets her confused with a pre teen, but she’s got a mouth on her that will quickly dash those illusions. She struggles to pick up because she looks so young; often having to establish a friendship first till they can see her for who she really is. But hey, in ten years or so, this setback will be to her advantage.

Sandy came from Mudgee in the Central West area of NSW; her parents run a shop in the small tourist town, and her heritage is a conglomerate jumble of nations. So Sandy is dark to Rachel’s light; almost black eye colour, because they’re so dark, and shoulder length dark brown hair that she keeps tied back at all times because she suffers from frizzy, untameable hair. Her skin has a light olive tone to it, and when it sees the sun, it tans deeply rather than burning, till she shows a deep olive colour. Out of all of us, she tends to get the most attention from guys, because she’s always exuding exotic appeal. She’s also short, just a little taller than Rachel; so it’s safe to say I stand a head above the rest, lol.

My body is a bit boyish; by that I mean that I don’t really have hips like these girls, even Rachel has curve to her hips. I can create in myself an appearance of curves, since I have the slightest dip in my sides where my waist is, by wearing the right clothes; but yeah, you know when you get naked, you are what you are.

I do have a six pack stomach, and I have only 15% body fat; which probably sounds like a pretty big number, but seriously, it’s only just enough for me to get my periods, and when I get serious about my training, I quite often lose them altogether. I have pretty small breasts in comparison to Sandy, but at least I am similar to Rachel in this area. We’re both B cups, and although we’re obviously not talking fill the cup to overflowing, we’re still talking too big for an A cup, so, moving on up to a B cup.

My clincher is my face; I’ve been told I have a beautiful face, but I don’t like to think about it much, because it makes me feel self conscious to believe I’m anything special or pretty.

Of greater advantage, is our appeal when we all make an effort, get dressed up (lots of makeup and hair straightening) and hit the town together, with our other friend Gwen; we collectively have everything a guy could want, so we tend to have our drinks paid for and plenty of attention garnered.

Well you won’t need to be finding any action tonight. Rachel smirks, looking to the floor where two condom wrappers are littering the floor. I would like to point out that they do not include the original contents; now disposed of in the bin. Most important rule; when sharing closely confined accommodation with others, don’t leave used condoms full of cum on the floor, or on the bed, or just out in the open in general. Always remove from sight and dispose of said waste considerately. It makes for happy roomies, and a far more congenial environment.

***

What’s your name? An obviously male voice screams in my ear. The music is blaring and I’m dancing with my friends, so it makes me jump in surprise. Rachel, Sandy and Gwen didn’t warn me that someone was standing there or approaching me.

I have sort of stumbled backwards into the guy as a result, and he’s forced to hold my upper arms with his huge calloused hands. I turn, expecting to be towering over him since I’m six foot, or 183cm tall. I’m tall, and I like it. With my heels on, you can add whatever the heel height is to that. I’m wearing heels; killer stilettos in fact, and I make my friends look like the little people out of the Wizard of Oz.

Dude, I’m so sorry. I say loudly as I turn, looking straight into this guys powder blue eyes. Unexpected… he’s damn tall if he’s my height when I’ve got my killer heels on; and damn, if he’s not fucking hot too. He’s drop dead gorgeous, I’m thinking Graeme who? This is the guy I should be screaming my pleasure for.

No way, I scared you. he laughs loudly at me, pushing his blond hair out of his eyes and smiling.

Yes, you did. I reply smiling.

God, you have an amazing smile. he shouts, grinning. So, what’s your name? he asks again.

Jade. I shout. Rachel is pushing me in the back towards him. Rachel says I’m too standoffish when I first meet guys, and she wants me to drop the whole Graeme thing and move on to a real boyfriend. She doesn’t share in the idea that I want free love while at uni, and will concentrate on building something more permanent when I have something more permanent in life, like a job and my own place.

But I’m nicely buzzing after my 3 shots of Cock Sucking Cowboys with the girls and my proceeding Vodka Cranberries, yes, plural. So hell; I’ll move in closer to this orgasmically good looking guy.

He stands taller against me as we face each other.

And your name? I shout.

Tim. he returns. I was wondering if you care for a drink. I’ve got a table over there. He shouts, pointing to a table where three guys and a girl wave back at us. Or if you want, I can stay here and dance with you. he finishes.

I grab his shirt on both sides of his slim waist and begin to dance backward into my circle of friends.

I guess that means I’m dancing. he shouts and laughs at the same time. I nod and smirk at him. I’ve just got myself a fish, and I’m dragging him back into the girl net. The four of us will devour him given a chance.

At first he’s facing only me, grabbing me around the waist and moving his hips in time with mine, but as the music transforms from the steady, sultry beat of Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon to the building tempo of Propane Nightmares by Pendulum; he changes position, because the four of us girls go a bit crazy and start throwing a whole lot of arm movement into the fray; alongside jumping up and down on the spot. To his credit, Tim keeps up, jumping with us to the electric beat like a pro and maintaining the energy, with the exception of that part in the middle where the song slows down. He’s dripping sweat by the end of it, as am I.

The music morphs into Jealousy by Sparkadia, and Tim is grabbing my hand and nodding to the bar. I don’t say anything, but I nod and begin to move so he knows I accept his offer of a drink. When we get there, he orders two shots of Tequila, which of course come with the mandatory salt and a lemon wedge.

Tim turns to me and gives me an incredibly sexy look, and then he proceeds to slide across my shot and lemon wedge. He then takes my hand and licks a line on the side of it, below my thumb, before pouring some salt on it. He offers me the salt, to see if I’d like to return the favour, which of course I do and then we lick, toss and suck.

Tim is grinning and motioning to the bar tender for further service. We’re both tall... way taller than the average person standing there, so it’s pretty hard to miss us, and he’s stunning to look at, so the female bar tender gravitates fairly rapidly back over to us, and who could blame her, I would too.

Tim purchases my Vodka staple alongside his rum and coke. He then motions to where his friends have been seated, watching us from a distance.

Yep. I agree to the unspoken question. So we go and sit with the friends and backup that he brings.

***

I’m groaning; my body right now is all kinds of sore. After meeting Tim’s friends, we all made our way to their house and I managed to find myself sharing breathing space with Tim; ‘Hot Tim,’ as my girlfriends referred to him by the end of the night.

When the three of them took a cab home, back to our college accommodation that we were to evacuate today; since the Christmas break was upon us; and our exams were over, I stayed at Tim’s house; in his bed, and shared some body heat, despite the 30 degree (Celsius) evening temperature; it is a bit hot for this time of year, and a heat wave is sucking the life out of everyone, up and down the East Coast.

Despite the heat; it was still a good decision. Tim had his mojo on. He was having me up against the wall, in his computer chair, on his desk, over his desk, on top, underneath and orally too. Fucking amazing. I’ll be lucky if I can walk. He totally owned me.

What’s the time? I groggily ask.

Um, ten something? he responds, draping an arm over my naked torso.

I’m in an instant panic. I reach down to my bag and realise I’ve missed... 27 calls? What the fuck? What’s happened?

I look at the numbers, and there is only one call that is from a number I know; from my parents in Armidale last night. The others are pretty much either private or Newcastle numbers.

I dial into my message bank, and as the messages begin to play in descending order of time; back from the most recent; I begin by first feeling signs of confusion, which are very soon replaced by intense emotional pain; made obvious by my wailing and screaming. My maternal grandparents go from tearfully lamenting my whereabouts to explaining that I’m needed at John Hunter Hospital; my parents have been involved in a terrible car accident, and they are both currently in surgery, as is Silas, my brother.

***

I make it into the hospital because Tim drives me there. I don’t ask him to stay; I pretty much give him brief and forlorn thanks and don’t bother exchanging phone numbers.

I make it to the family waiting rooms, where I find my grandparents being consoled by the counsellor and the social worker; with a doctor on the wings? Oh shit; this is so not good, I’m already crying, and I don’t know anything about what’s going on yet.

My grandmother sees me and begins wailing, She’s gone. My beautiful girl is gone. She cries, with deep, rolling waves of crushing defeat.

I’m already falling into a chair and looking up to my grandfather for confirmation; who has his face in his hands and is unable to look at me; his shuddering shoulders and dripping tears from his enclosed fingers are enough of a confirmation; my Mum is dead.

I’m going into shock; I know about it, because I’ve studied about it. I have so much adrenaline in my system at the moment that I could probably do a significant improvement on my PB, and jump over 1.92 metres, without even trying, if I could move.

My breathing is tachypnoeaic; meaning it’s increased. My heart rate is tachycardic; in other words it’s rapid. And it feels so damned hot in this air-conditioned room that I am sweating like I did on the dance floor last night, and in Tim’s arms.

I realise I’m rocking when the counsellor comes to comfort me and explain what has occurred.

...December...

This is so fucking stupid. Silas has been in the children’s ward now for three days; and they won’t let me see him all of a sudden, not until the Nurse Unit Manager has had him assessed by the Mental Health Team. I’m fighting a bout of tears, which are easy to come upon me lately, given my grief at losing my parents, and the churning aftermath of dealing with everyone around me.

Silas was in ICU straight after surgery, staying there for five days, and then he was shuffled across to the HDU for a further two weeks, and now he’s been totally relocated to the children’s ward; where for the last two days, I have been assisting staff with him, and bringing him junk food from the outside world.

He’d had surgery to patch up his broken pelvis, a punctured lung and a perforated bladder. He also required treatment for head trauma; but considering the way the car looked after the tree fell on it; with my parents driving at 100 kilometres an hour; I was shocked he got off so lightly. Of course my parents hadn’t, they’d died from their injuries, and I was still screaming out my despair at intervals when it all became just too damned overwhelming; no matter where I was or who would observe me.

My latest melt down on Sunday, was in traffic coming up Croudace Street towards the hospital. I hit a red light and had to pull up. Beside me a van full of kids in their Sunday best pulled up; parents oblivious to their snotty little bastards in the back sticking their tongues out and showing me up their noses. I jumped off my bike and slammed my hand against the side of their van. The parents just about shit themselves being forced to jump out of their reverie, perhaps discussing the latest grace their good Lord delivered into their hands; and the kids just about fucking pissed themselves. I then spent the next two minutes screaming into the sky and threatening passing motorists who dared honk their horns and curse me for holding up traffic, before I managed to pull things together enough to tear through an amber light and ride off like a demon possessed.

The problem is I seem to have developed a bit of a hair trigger.

When I remember what the counsellor said about this whole ‘incident’; like my parents’ death was an occurrence slotted under number 387 in the ‘Incidence and Occurrences Book of Ways to Die’; ...being an act of God, and it was nobody’s fault, I just about tear my face off. When I think of the insurance assessor telling my grandparents, in front of me, that it was an act of God, I want to run someone through with a blunt object. When I then think about the funeral, and several people assuring me that it was their time to go, because God called them home, I am bordering on a psychotic breakdown.

My parents weren’t even religious. I don’t have an opinion on religion really; but as for God, if I see that arsehole any time soon, I’m gonna fucking take him on. I’m going to rip his throat out and scream down into his lungs to give me back my fucking parents. At these times I scream in a rage at the sky and my whole body goes extremely tense and rigid. I’ve also been known to kick, punch and slap at things.

Worse still is how I feel in an everyday sense, like I can’t seem to gravitate beyond the base level of dismal. I feel alone, so alone; despite sleeping on Graeme’s couch; which is a seriously fucked up situation, because Scott has no idea about the ‘sort of’ relationship that I had been in with his boyfriend for the last ten months, and is being all nice to me. If anything, I’ve informed Graeme that this friendly sex thing we had going on is over. He’s okay with that; he’ll probably find someone else sometime soon, but at least I can step back and just be friends without adding any more guilt to the piling heap over here.

What is going on? I ask Francis; a nurse I’ve been bonding with over the last couple of days.

Your Grandparents were in an hour ago, and they were talking to Silas about your parents’ funeral. Silas was okay at first apparently, but then he just snapped, and went completely off at them. He hasn’t been very cooperative since, and he’s basically had to be seen by the mental health team, and sedated. She says softly.

You’re kidding me; is this protocol? I ask.

I’ve not had to deal with it before, but Sheryl says it is. She states, referring to the NUM.

Why do my grandparents insist on discussing this shit with him? I know they think that he needs to deal with it and move on with life, but they’ve got it all wrong. He needs to see someone professional about all this; I need to see someone professional about this shit. I reason, shaking and becoming emotional. I pull myself together internally and then I sigh and droop. Francis gives me a warm welcomed rub on the back.

Before thinking too much about it all, I think that perhaps I can help. So, I stand straight and start to talk to Francis about the situation; beginning by outlining Silas’ background.

You know he’s diagnosed as ADHD. I say, thinking he can be a bit over the top at times. And last year, the child psych said he probably has ODD as well. I add.

Oppositional defiant disorder? She asks.

Yeah, but the school counsellor is basically wanting to add Conduct Disorder to the mess as well. I explain. Oh, and he’s got depression too. I say, thinking of the diagnosis given by the paediatrician four years ago.

Shit honey, that’s a whole lot of labels right there. She points out.

Yep, I nod. But I can help calm him down you know; I helped a lot when he tried to suicide when he was between the ages of 6 and 8. I explain.

What? What do you mean suicide? She looks appalled.

It will be in his files. I offer, But when he was 6, he wanted to die; so he got naked, and hopped into a huge suitcase, which he had stored under his bed. I remember it was like a forty degree day, and it was scorching since we didn’t have air-con; and he did the bag up from the inside. It was lucky that I had seen him go into his room and close the door, otherwise we wouldn’t have found him in time. I explain, nodding my head and sighing. Dad found him, all limp and lifeless with just a tenuously beating heart. He was under surveillance for three days and in hospital for five. I say.

Why does a 6 year old kid try to kill himself? she asks in shock.

He just said he didn’t want us to find him until he was a skeleton. That was the beginning of all the therapy and doctors. It was the beginning of me wanting to be a nurse too. I say smiling weakly. She nods but her face is shocked.

There were other times though? she asks.

Yep, I nod. We’re standing at the nurses’ station, and I have noticed that a couple of other nurses are listening in to the conversation. He tried to drown himself when he was 7, by dragging a heavy rock from the garden inside and placing it on his chest in the bath. The splashing brought him undone. I sigh. The last time was when he was a day short of turning 8. He jumped off our roof. He overshot the fall to the concrete, and landed on a bush. Still, we have a two story house, so essentially, he was three stories up. He should’ve succeeded, but instead, he only broke his arm. He’s been on Sertraline for depression since then. I explain, using the generic name for his meds.

And he has the Dex instead of the Ritalin for his ADHD doesn’t he. she mentions, nodding her head in thought.

Yep, he’s a junky; gotta get his amphetamines. I try to make light of it all. She smiles bleakly and places her hand on my arm.

Hang in there kiddo; there’s a light at the end of this tunnel, even if you can’t see it yet.

I hope so Francis, I can’t see very well at the moment; I need some light. I reply morosely.

I’ll go and see if you can visit yet. She says, wandering down