Chapter 6: The Incomplete and Overflowing

I downed the twenty-year-old brandy from my shot glass and signalled for another, earning a disbelieving look from the bartender. Her disbelief was warranted, considering I had just downed my eighth shot in as many minutes down my throat as if it were nothing.

I am a cocktail girl. However, on the rare occasions that I had a lot on my mind, I substituted my cocktails for top-shelf brandy. Expensive and well-aged brandy went down smoothly, and I like my drinks smooth. The bartender was still expertly chipping the block of ice into a ball when Monica arrived. She was immaculate as always with her black, off-shoulder, form-hugging dress that had heads turning her way as she gracefully glided across the crowded dance floor towards me. Monica took her sweet time getting to me, soaking up all the attention like the attention whore that she was.

She threw her hands around my neck, pulling me in for a hug. I let her hold me for three seconds before forcible detaching myself from her grip. Her designer perfume was way too sweet for me. She rolled her eyes at me before turning to the bartender and ordering a shot of Remy. She tapped the glass three times, swirled her drink three times, set it back on the table three times before downing her drink. I watched her ritual with barely restrained impatience.

Monica suffered from OCD. Her mother took her to a therapist when she was five after she suffered from a mental breakdown. Her breakdown had been caused by a broken doorknob. She had to turn the knob clockwise three times before she could open it, the broken knob could not be turned, and that somehow set her off. She had a fixation with the number three ergo her black dress, black heels with three straps, and the black clutch bag. She did the ritual of the three every time she had a drink, ate food, or pretty much anything. It had taken a while to get used to it, but I was in no position to judge her.

She ordered an entire bottle of Remy and motioned for me to follow her. I followed her to our usual spot with a bottle of Hennessy. If we were going to drink, we might as well drink properly. She always reserved the same spot, sat in the same chair facing the same direction each time. Because of her OCD, we frequented this club because it was easier for her.

"So I have a surprise for you!" she shouted in my direction, trying to make herself audible above the booming music.

"What is it?" I shouted back, unwilling to lean in and share my personal space in order for us to have a proper conversation. Instead, she rolled her eyes at my obvious reluctance to have a conversation and leaned in close and whispered into my ears.

"Leon is coming." I heard the mockery in her voice, and I did not need to look at her to know she had a manic smile on her face.

As is if summoned, I saw Leon coming towards us. She had somehow grown more beautiful in her absence, and that irked me more than anything. She was arguably the most beautiful one in our group. Her honey-coloured skin had turned a shade lighter. She had braided her hair white which made her abnormally dark pupils appear darker. She had more defined curves than before, her blue jumpsuit complementing each and every curve. She gave me one of her winning smiles, showing off her stupidly perfect teeth, and stretched out her disgustingly perfectly manicured hands.

If it is not yet apparent by now, then ill let you know that I am not very fond of Leon. As it turns out, waking up all tied up in a trunk is not the best experience in the world, and I am not a very forgiving person. It would have been okay, but the idiot went and crashed her car into a store. My refusal to press charges is the only thing that kept her out of jail. That act of kindness had been pushed on me by my mother, who wanted to save her friendship with Leon's mother.

When I said that my friends shared wealth and beauty in common, I forgot to include our shared insanity, clinically speaking, of course. While most girls bonded over boys and flowers and butterflies, our friendship was forged in tears and madness. Beauty and wealth were a camouflage for the flaming pile of shit that was our minds. Susan had social anxiety that often resulted in panic attacks when she was in large crowds. Ruth had chronic depression. If she left her apartment that doubled up as her office, it was considered a good day. There were times when getting her out of bed was impossible. However, it had been over a year since her last suicide attempt, so everybody was content with her progress. With mental illness, each step was equally monumental.

If a group of close friends spends enough time together, there is bound to be a time when their menstrual cycles sync up. My friends had thier own version of such an occurrence with depression spells instead of menstrual cycles. They had formed a support group of sorts for such times. By support group, I mean they would gather in one of their houses and wait it out like a storm. Unhealthy, I know, but it worked for them. I have never had a depression spell, yet I was dragged into their cocoon of absolute misery each time. All windows would be closed during this time, all curtains were drawn, and the only sound in the room was the occasional sniffle. I understood that they were depressed, but I was unable to empathize with their plight. The only reason I stayed was the break it afforded me from the pressures of appearing normal. There was no need to contort my face in that dark cocoon to mimic feelings I did not have. In that dark cocoon, there was no reason for me to laugh or engage in useless conversations.

All I had to do was exist, and that for me was cathartic.It had been at the end of one of such a collective spell that had somehow ended with me being dragged from the trunk of Leon's car. I am still not sure why our cocoon had been formed at my apartment. Once it broke, and everyone had gone, Leon came back. I can't recall what flimsy excuse she had used, but it ended with her staying at my place. The signs had been there, her growing obsession had been as visible as underwear line, and like all things feelings, I ignored it.

I figured she would meet someone else, and that would be that. What exactly took place after I went to sleep is anyone's guess. I went to sleep in my bed but woke up tied up like a Christmas tree in the dark, confined, unfamiliar place. It took me a short while to realize I was in a trunk of a moving vehicle. I lay there racking my brain, trying to figure out who my captors were. At that moment, an odd thought occurred to me. If I were remotely sane, my first reaction would have been to scream, yet there I was, calmly trying to figure out who my abductor was. The realization that I was truly broken angered me more than my predicament. In that dark trunk, all alone, I saw a reflection of my true self, and it tugged at my incomplete mind.

I was saved from God knows what by Leons reckless driving. She left for the states after that. She looked for me, wanting a chance to explain herself. Her explanation would have been excuses fueled by her manic episode. At the time, I was still reeling from my metaphorical reflection and did not wish to indulge another person's weakness. It had been five years since we last met, yet seeing her, despite the elapsed time, I still wanted to strangle her. Susan and Ruth appeared behind her, each holding a bottle of Remy. Susan nudged Leon forward, making their way to our spot. Ruth held her finger up, silencing me before I could speak.

"Today, I want to get wasted. There's no room for being petty," and with that, she tilted her bottle, transferring the burning liquid down her throat. I could see through her poor attempt at defusing the tension between Leon and me. The reason she was sticking up for Leon was, however, beyond me.

I was the bridge that gapped the friendship between Leon and the other girls. Leon was my first friend, my childhood friend if you will. We met as patients at Loice's clinic. She was scheduled right before me, but her mother was always late picking her up. So she was always around before and after my sessions. We first talked to each other about a month after our first encounter.

My mother had steeped out and had not yet returned by the end of my session. Ten minutes went by as I sat patiently waiting for my mother's return before Leon approached me. Even at that age, she was considered beautiful. She had bright pink braids that complimented her skin and those dark eyes that seemed to be staring at your soul, and her cheeky smile that disarmed your defences. She had been skipping while talking to herself for the past ten minutes, if not longer, before deciding to acknowledge my presence.

"What's your name?" she asked, her dimple deepening as her smile widened.

"My name is Leon," she said, stretching out her hands.

I found myself curious about her. She was always in a good mood each time I saw her, content in her own company. When she wasn't skipping, she was singing or dancing in the corridor, seemingly without a care in the world.

"My name is Melissa", I replied, offering her my hand in return. After that, she went back to her skipping, and for the first time in my life, I became curious about somebody else. I found myself wondering what could such a cheerful person be suffering from. I wondered if happiness perhaps could be a disease. The next time I saw her was a week later. Her pink braids were gone, and in their place were black braided cornrows. Her general disposition had changed, her shoulders were drooped, and her face was blank. She did not wave when I passed and said nothing to me. I asked loice about it, and that's when I first learned about her bipolar disorder.

I was fascinated by her affliction. My parents thought I was defective because i felt too little and could not empathize enough with other people. Her parents thought she was sick because she felt way too much at all times, whether it was happiness or sadness.

That, to me, was intriguing, and I found myself looking forward to seeing her. It wasn't long before I familiarized myself with her moods. . It was much later that I learned to differentiate her moods with her braids, they were like her unique mood ring. If her hair was bright and colourful then she was manic when it was black she was depressed.She was like a feelings tutorial. I would study her face mimicking her expressions with each change.

Our mothers met soon after, play dates were arranged, and our relationship was thus established. When I met the girls in high school, I introduced them to each other, beginning our friendly collective.

I let Ruth win. We rarely took alcohol because of our pills, but on the days that we did, we did not stop until we blacked out. We all lifted our bottles to our lips and began our hazy, alcohol-fueled night of debauchery. We would go home eventually. How we got there was still to be determined.

A few hours later I was huddled in a corner cradling my phone trying to convince Marcus the world would end if he did not drop everything he was doing and come to our rescue. I could have called a cab or our chauffer but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. He was chivalrous, there was no way he would not come and rescue us from our alleged plight. I went back to the dancefloor where the rest of my group was dominating the space like they had sole ownership but no one seemed to mind. On the contrary they were all cheering them on as they danced the night away. The therapeutic dance classes Ruth's father had forced us to all go to had not been a total waste.

Half an hour later, maybe more, I saw Marcus making his way towards the dance floor. I had a fresh Hennessy bottle in my hands whose contents were dangerously close to spilling all over my dress. He came straight at me, grabbed my hand as he tried to drag me off the floor. I found his blatant display of anger oddly stimulating. He still had his pyjamas on peeking under the coat he had thrown on hastily. I yanked my hands back and proceeded to dance in circles around him.

He tried to grab me again but this time Leon’s and stopped his progress as she grabbed his hands midair twisting them back so that they were pinned behind him. If there was to be a need for my intervention, then that moment would have been it, but I continued dancing completely ignoring the unfolding events. The alcohol buzzing in my veins erased my ability to pretend to care about anything. He was a big guy he could handle himself and Leon was no puppy.

I loved dancing, something about moving to the beat of the music was so freeing. All I had to do was follow the rhythm and that was no feat for me. My hand was yanked again, this time by Monica.

She dragged me from the dance floor back to my seat where Marcus was nursing his shoulders. Leon had clearly done some damage, she was the only one among us who could. She clearly had some muscles stored away somewhere in her six-foot frame. Marcus was still glaring at me while Leon looked at me with apologetic eyes. Leon's reaction won my curiosity, why would she feel apologetic towards me, clearly Marcus was the victim here. I did not get the chance to ask her before Monica thrust her face in my mine. She had worry etched all over her face.

“Do you know this man?” she tilted forward the alcohol clearly taking its toll on her ability to stand. I wondered how long she could remain standing before falling over. she wanted an answer and further encroached in my space to get it. I needed her to get out of my face, preferably sooner rather than later.

“Yes, I know him. He is our ride.” I pushed her face off mine and stepped up on the table and continued to dance.

Marcus watched in horror as my top came off. Leon stepped up right beside me and the rest of my friends satisfied with my answer continued to dance in their spaces around the table. When we drunk all rules flew ou the window. Most people become honest or clingy when they got drunk. Not me, the emotions I had programmed myself to feel or pretend to feel, simply vanished. The need to keep up appearances took a back seat as is danced with my demons in the night. My friends had gotten used to it, they were also not in a position to judge me not that I would care.

I tipped the bottle and drained its contents. I leaned too far back and lost my balance,Leon’s arms wrapped around me were the last thing I felt before the world went pitch black. I dreamt about Marcus carrying me to me my bed and laying me down while brushing my hair back. it wasn’t long before I woke up drowning in my bathroom while Marcus towered over me.