Page 11 of Stepbrothers with Benefits
“Would you believe me if I said class was canceled?”
“I would if you hadn’t started off asking if I would believe you. Now I’m suspicious.”
I smirked. “I’ll have you know that the midterm was a project I needed to do. Prof said the next few weeks were for getting the project done or touching up on stuff we covered in the first half of the semester.”
“And?”
“And I already turned it in.”
“Really? You did?”
I gave a huff. “You know, sometimes I do things on time or even early.”
“Mmm, you do. But you usually wait until the last second.”
“Truuuue, but not every time.”
“So this time was different?”
“It was.”
She continued to watch me, and I looked away in irritation. “I’m not lying.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Yes, I knew I was infamous for putting things off, but that didn’t mean I did iteverytime. And yes, I also knew there were times when I would...well, lie about having done something or being on top of something because I’d feel like shit that I wasn’t doing something like I was supposed to. Not that I didn’t know I needed to be doing those things, I always knew. The thing was, my brain didnotlike to do things it didn’t want to sometimes.
‘No one likes to do things they don’t want to, but they still do it,’ was something I’d heard enough growing up that it was a miracle it wasn’t branded on my forehead. The thing was, I’d long suspected that my brain didn’t work like that. The way other people made it sound, when they had to push themselves to do something they didn’t want, it was like reaching a wall, and all they had to do was find the door. For me, there was almost never a door. I either had to make the door, climb under or over the wall, or if I was too worn down, sit there and hope the wall eventually went away.
The whole time, I was fully aware that I needed to be doingthe thing, but I couldn’t get myself throughthe thingbecause of the wall and the lack of a door. I was working harder to get started onthe thing,which was exhausting. If something aboutthe thingtickled something in my brain, well, that wall was made of paper. Suddenly,the thingwas no longer a problem, but an obsession, something I could sink my claws into and shred. Time would fly by, and I would wrap myself inthe thing, and my productivity went through the roof.
The problem was thatthe thingcould be urgent...such as waiting until the last second to get something done. Sure, it shot my stress levels through the ceiling, and I always told myself Ineeded to get better about getting on top of it ahead of time so I didn’t burn myself out. Sometimes I would be organized and productive, but it never lasted long. In the end, I fell back into old habits. There was a certain level of resignation about it that I couldn’t shake.
“Can we just...take the victory for what it is?” I grumbled under my breath, feeling ten years old, and hadonce againforgotten to mention a school project to Mom until the night before. Guilt and shame came hand in hand with the stupid dysfunction in my brain, and they were both companions and switches in my brain that dragged out the grumpiest, downright bitchiest side of me. “Or are we going to sit around and give me more shit?”
Mom sighed. “I’m not giving you shit, honey.”
“No, you’re just acting shocked that I might have actually been on top of things,” I shot back.
I knew I was being touchy, but it was a touchy subject, which she damn well knew. It wasn’t like her to poke when she knew it was a bad subject, especially since we were supposed to be grown-ups. It was more the kind of thing I expected from Moira, who I loved to pieces, but she really could be a dog with a bone.
“Alright, I’m sorry,” she said softly, leaning forward to catch my eye. “Really. I shouldn’t have teased you about it.”
I screwed up my face as guilt trickled through me. “No, I just...I’m being sensitive. Sorry, I know I’m bad about doing things on time.”
“You really should consider taking me up on my suggestion before time runs out,” she told me.
Get tested for something for which I had all the hallmarks, and for what? So they could say I had ADHD and do...what? Slap a bunch of pills in my hand and tell me to get my shit together? Shove a bunch of meth-lite into your system and call it a day, kids. Who cared if that shit wasstillbeing used on campuses tohelp people get through their exams? And who cared if I’d gotten my hands on some once to get through a particularly rough period of exams and projects?
God, it hadworked. Except it didn’t make me suddenly feel like the world was alive and colorful, I wasn’t filled with all the energy I needed to power through the night like I’d watched happen so many times with other people. No, it had dimmed all that noise and vibrancy, narrowing the band of my vision. Suddenly, I was able to slow down and think things through, to lay out a schedule that, so long as the pills I’d taken lasted, and I found myself able to dothe thingwith a lot more ease than before.
Of course, that was before the side effects kicked in, and suddenly the idea of food was unpleasant, and sleep was more slippery than a boiled hot dog rolled in oil and dropped into a bowl of Jello. At that point, it didn’t matter how many pills I had when sleep deprivation made the world too fuzzy at the edges and eventually too foggy for me to piece together a single coherent thought. I’d crashed for a full day after my supply ran out. I’d missed one final exam, but was able to make it up a few days later. But the rest? All knocked out of the park.
Yet it wasn’t the side effects of the medicine that had scared me off ever doing that again; it was how I’d felt. Sure, it had made the world quieter and less distracting, giving me the ability to focus, but...everything had been dull. Without color, life was just a bland nothing, and I didn’t want to live my life that way. Sure, the way I did things now didn’t always lead to great places, and I frequently invited trouble into my life, but at least I didn’t feel like a robot going through its programmed routine.
So yeah, there was probably some truth to my mom’s suggestion that I get tested, but I already had a good idea where that would lead. That wasn’t the life I wanted. The one I had was messier than I liked, and it could use a lot of work in places, butit was my life. Without the need for pills to help me get through things, dampening everything both badandgood. No, I would get a handle on my life in a way that worked for me on my own two feet and not limping along like a drugged-up zombie.
