“This is an intervention.” he says
My hands dance on the table on which I've laid my keys.
“W-why?” I stutter.
A thousand thoughts race through my mind.
What do they know?
What did they find?
The Razors?
The knives?
The gun?
The letters?
The bloodstained sheets for every time I lose my little bit of self-control?
The bottle for every time I want to lose that self-control?
“Not for you” he says.
My lungs deflate.
Not me.
Not me.
Not me.
“Who?”
“Danny.”
Danny?
“Why?”
“We think-
we think he might me suicidal”
“What?”
What?
Danny?
Suicidal?
No.
They're clueless.
Danny-
Danny keeps me alive.
He keeps me from using that gun.
I'm the one close to the edge,
not him
I want to scream.
To tell them how stupid          they are.
                        Can they not see it’s me-
not him?
“W-why would you think that?”
“We found a gun.”
My mind spins.
         A gun?
In Danny’s room?
Why?
“And a note.”
A note?
No.
No.
No.
No.
This can’t be happening.
Danny’s supposed to be strong.
He’s supposed to be my angel.
I’m the one who’s supposed to be broken.
Not him.
“We think he’s trying
to convince himself
not to.
The note-
it said
‘Don’t do it.
Think of all the good things.
Think of the people
who have no idea.
The people that love you,
would be devastated if you
pulled the trigger.
Don’t
do
it.’”
My heart stops.
I want to run into my room
grab my bottle
my razors,
maybe my gun.
I should have seen it.
Helping me was helping him.
“C’mon, sit down.
Wait for Danny.”
I sit,
curling my legs under me
so my knees don’t shake.
We wait in silence
My mind is in my room.
controlling the pain,
watching the razor glint in the sunlight,
slicing through flesh,
silent.
My mind is watching the blood well up,
watching t run down my wrist,
watching it fall slowly
hitting the sheet
being soaked up in a perfect ring.
My mind feels the cold metal
as I run my hands along the contours
of my escape.
My mind wonders what death is like.
What if I pulled the trigger
and found out?
What if-?
The door opens.
My mind is ****** back to the present.
“Danny.
This is an intervention.”
His keys drop onto the table next to mine.
“Why?” he asks,
confused, but calm.
“Danny,
we are your friends.
We care about you.
We’d miss you if you were gone.”
He hangs up his coat.
“What are you talking about?”
He sits across from me, staring into my eyes.
Looking for some clue to what was going on.
I look away.
I can’t take it.
“Danny,
we found the gun.”
His head snaps up.
His eyes bore into mine.
“You found that?”
“Yeah, and the note too.
Danny, we love you.
Don’t do it.”
He looks away from me for a moment.
“Excuse me?”
Jake puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Danny, we know you…
want to-
commit suicide.”
“What?!
You think I-
that I
that I’m suicidal?”
He leaps up.
“Danny, this is a safe place.
We love you.
You can talk to us.
We just want to help.”
He stares at me.
“So you
all
think I’m-
suicidal?”
“Yeah, we do, Dan.”
Jake says.
I can feel Danny’s eyes on me.
I keep staring at the floor.
“I-
I guess you got me.”
My head snaps up.
What?
Got him?
He’s really…?
“It’s just sometimes-
sometimes I feel as if-“
I recognize these words.
“life’s not worth living.”
They’re my words.
Exactly what I told him
only six months ago.
“I don’t know why.”
he repeats word for word
His eyes say glued to mine.
Oh my God.
“I know I’ve got people
that love me.
I just can’t help it
sometimes.”
I want to run.
I don’t want to hear this.
I understand now.
It’s not him.
He’s doing this for me.
“I’m sorry.”
Hours go by.
He repeats what I said to him.
Word for word.
I need to get out.
Now.
I might go crazy.
I might scream.
“IT’S NOT DANNY!
The gun is MINE!
The note is for ME!
I’m the one who’s suicidal.
Look at MY wrists.
Danny keeps me alive,
he’s not suicidal.
You’re so blind.
You don’t realize how close I am
to just ending it all.
You don’t see past all the
half-hearted
‘I’m fine’s
‘I’m okay’s
and
‘Don’t worry about me’s.
They’re all lies
I’ve been telling you for
over
a
year.
Wake up.”
Then I’d run to my room,
pull out my razors,
start there.
Let the pain
numb my mind.
So that when I
pull out my knives
I don’t feel the increase
in pressure.
I don’t feel how deep I’m going.
Blood streams down my wrists.
I close my eyes.
I don’t want to.
I try to force my eyelids apart.
They open a tiny bit.
Everything is still black.
I can’t see.
My head feels light.
I’m floating.
I can’t feel anything,
just one arm.
It’s warm.
It tingles.
Faintly,
I hear something slam.
Voices, shouting
in whispers.
I can’t understand.
They need to speak up.
I try to open my mouth to tell them.
I can’t.
Something presses on my warm arm.
I barely feel it.
I feel something lifting me.
I’m being carried.
Downstairs.
What is going on?
I hear something familiar.
I can’t figure out what it is.
Wee woo. Wee woo. Wee woo.
Sirens.
What is going on?
I’m being laid down.
I hear doors slam.
I’m moving again.
Some kind of vehicle.
Oh.
My
God.
Blackout.
Shouting.
Sirens.
Vehicle.
Oh.
My.­
God.
I went too deep.
I’m dying.
After a year of wondering,
I know.
I know what dying is like.
It’s calm.
I’m surprised.
I thought the process would hurt.
But no.
This is nice.
Somehow I know
death will be better.
I try to let it take over.
I can feel it trying now.
It wants to consume me.
to pull me under.
Make me fall asleep
and never wake up.
I want it to.
I’m not fighting.
But I still won’t die.
Why?
I try to relax.
I try to pretend I’m already dead.
I’m floating
just in nothingness.
It works.
I feel myself drift off.
Before I lose consciousness,
I have one thought.
‘Goodbye.’

Something stings.
A sharp pain in my right arm.
Why?
I’m supposed to be dead.
There shouldn’t be pain.
My left arm is stiff.
What is going on?
Maybe this is Hell.
Maybe that’s why I’m in pain.
Oh
my
God!
I am in Hell!
Why?
What did I do that was so awful?
Suicide, I know,
but still.
I don’t deserve Hell.
I try to open my eyes,
but everything is bright.
Too bright.
Artificially bright.
Something smells weird.
Like anesthetic.
Cleaner.
I hear a beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Why does Hell feel like a hospital?
I force my eyes open.
Everything is white.
White bed.
White walls.
White door.
White floor.
A machine is sitting next to me.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
A green line dashes across the monitor,
following five double triangles.
My arms still stings.
An IV leads to a bag of clear liquid.
My left arm is heavily bandaged.
What kind of Hell is this?
The door opens.
Danny walks in.
“Hey.” he says.
“Hi.” I say quietly.
He sits in the chair next to the bed.
carefully, he takes my hand.
“What were you thinking?
I thought you said
you’d never go this far.
You said you had it under control.
You were trying to stop.”
He stares at me.
Waiting.
“I-
I don’t know.
I was trying.
Just…
hearing what everyone said.
Hearing my words
come out of your mouth.
Realizing how stupid they are.
I couldn’t take it.
I couldn’t listen to it anymore.
I had to get out of there.
So I screamed what I did.
Then I went in my room and-
started cutting.
I didn’t mean to go so deep.
I didn’t realize I did it.
Danny,
I’m sorry.”
“I know.
When you-
lost consciousness,
you had-
a smile on your face.
Why?”
I close my eyes.
I try to remember.
Everything is hazy.
I remember darkness.
I remember being pulled down.
I remember letting myself be pulled.
I remember wanting it.
Wanting to die.
I shiver.
“I-
I thought I was going to die.”
Danny’s jaw tightens.
“And that was a thought to make you smile?
I thought you said you didn’t mean to
go so deep.”
“I didn’t mean to.
It just…
happened.
And once it did,
well,
there wasn’t anything I could do.
So I just-
welcomed it.
I wanted it.
I was happy about it.”
He pulls his hand from mine.
“You wanted to die.”
he says calmly.
“You knew that.
You’ve known that
for six months.”
“No.
I knew you thought about dying.
I knew you thought about finding an easy out.
I knew you wanted an escape.
If I had known
that you wanted
to die
I would’ve kept my mouth shut.
I wouldn’t have bothered trying to save you.
If only I had known you were a lost cause,
we wouldn’t be here.”
I’m speechless.
What do I say to that?
How do I respond to hearing I’m not
worth saving?
“D-Danny. How could
you say that to me?
You know how I-
how I am.
You know what started this.
You know-“
“I know what
I know. But I didn’t
know how far gone you were.
If I had…
Well,
what’s the point?
You’re intent on
ending your
life.
I  can’t stop you.
I wish you wouldn’t.
But it’s out of my control.”
He stands,
and I’m surprised
I have no tears to shed.
He’s right.
I would have messed up
eventually.
Or I would have done it on purpose
eventually.
I’m not savable.
There’s no hope for me
anymore.
Assuming there was any
to begin with.
I glance down at my arm
wrapped in white
the end tucked somewhere
I can’t even see.
I suppose that’s so I don’t unwrap it.
They must have told
what happened.
Though I think
it’s pretty obvious.
I feel along it, trying to find
a way
to unwrap it.
This is it.
If I had died
before,
it would have been an
accident.
An accident
I could have avoided
and that I caused,
but I had no
intention
to commit
at that moment.
But now?
Now it’s intentional.
I slip the fingers of my right hand
under the edge
and pull.
The bandage begins to unravel,
so much fabric!
I find the stitches
holding my life in.
I pull the IV
put of my right arm,
letting the tube dangle above the floor.
I take one last deep breath,
and yank at the stitches.
My blood starts
poring
out, soaking the sheet
and the bed
and dripping to the floor.
The last thing I hear,
before I lose consciousness
for the last time
is the IV.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip….

Katie the previous lives lady the world war 2 reincarnation



Katie was busy researching the world war 2 deaths, to find a Gordon Micheals, to
Answer some questions about Danny Reuben who constantly talking about world war 2 as if the fighters were total losers, who are just there to fight and not fight for peace, and Danny kept yelling at Katie to get her to find out why he has these thoughts, and Katie said I have been searching the web and I had this soldier from world war 2, who was Gordon Micheals, who actually did fight to protect his country, but then some Americans came up to him and blastered his head off, he died instantly and  then Katie asked for his date of birth, to make sure that he is Gordon, Danny said it was 22 April 1951 and then Danny asked why do you ask that, and Katie said I hope that you know, yes I am a trained psychiatrist, and if you don't feel comfortable marking your moods on previous lives I can be a regular psychiatrist, but I am a psychiatrist that believes that paychiatric disorders are problems with aura of previous lives, and I have fixed many people with these beliefs, they might not have believed in what I believe in ,but o did cure him, I can do normal psychiatrist business too, you know I listen and tell you what med to take, and I will see you next week, that works, cause I ain't a preacher, but previous lives is my belief, and really it does explain, your hatred of world war 2,
Danny said to Katie, if telling me my previous life helps get this illness out of me, I will talk, but I ain't sure what I believe in, though.
Katie explained to Danny that when he says he will hire a nuclear bomb and drop it on the English speaking countries, and kaboom, there all gone, and Katie said Gordon loved nuclear weapons, you see he wanted to start a nuclear power plant in Texas, but they said that nuclear is evil, and Gordon started to panic a bit, but then he joined the army, now I ain't going to preach, but if you find you have to meet his family, I can organise thatm mainly because it might make you feel better knowing his family is alright.
Danny said, yes I should do that, after I drop a nuclear bomb on Turkey, I hate that country, and Katie said no you don't, there is no need to start talking like that, but Danny kept on talking like that, driving Katie mad,but she had to be professional and say that Gordon actually has a nuclear plant named after him, are you interested in going, and Danny said, well, only if I could drop a bomb on New York, maybe anytime in the next 4 years, and Katie told Dannu that he doesn't mean that, while Danny said, yeah I did, cause New York needs a good bombing all over the state and Katie said we are getting nowhere, Danny, you sharent mean that, because why else would you come here.
Danny told his mum that he'll get help, because his behavior his horrible, but then he said he likes Katie and wants to break the rules with her, and they can both plan to drop bombs on the USA, and other English speaking world countries, and Katie told Danny that unless he plans to think about being Gordon, there isn't really much to say to each other, Danny went off in a huff, but returned to say a few words with Katie determined to beat his head being messed, but the sessions went just for 15 minutes, he still said he wants to blow up the English speaking world countries, but put that as Gordon Micheals revenge on the English speaking world, and Katie said that makes sense and continued to council him till he didn't need his help anymore, and it took 6 months, now Danny works as a Boss of a large Hotel chain,and Katie was happy to help with finding Danny's previous life issue, she can't wait for the next patient.

Everything faded to black. He had a hard time remembering just what the hell happened. He wasn't sure of downing some random pills from of the medicine cabinet-- his first attempt to end it all. Making sure he would not recover-- if the pills didn't do the job-- he had already devised the set up of the noose in his bedroom. Definitely, he didn't recall anyone cutting the rope, forcing him down to the floor.

Lacie joked with him. "Dude, you've got nine lives! You must really be a ****, fricking cat in disguise! That's why you'll eat those nasty tuna fish sandwiches they serve in the nuthouse! "

Chris grinned at her.  He had to agree. To refer to it as the psych ward at the hospital made it seem like more of a jail term, but calling it "the nuthouse" lightened up the severity of the situation. As grave and nearly tragic as everything  had become, it was kind of laughable to him.  He supposed he had more chances than a cat's fabled life. It all seemed so crazy that it must be funny.

Well, what could he say? He had flirted with death, but unwillingly managed to escape its grip. "Pathetic..."--he commented. "I don't not even know how to die well..."

Chris  eventually realized that he had been rushed to the hospital, but wished it wasn't true. Since then, everything was either a total blur or a bizarre state of mind . Even waking up in his room was like a remotely vague memory, almost like a long ago dream that might not really have happened.

Maybe, he was somewhat aware that his sister was screaming in shock and horror at the sight of him, shouting out downstairs to her boyfriend to help her. But the walls were turning red, a glowing scarlet- red, with an added fiery orange and yellowish-gold-- all joined together in pulsating embers. He was quickly losing consciousness. It was like some, bad acid trip. Not that Chris knew this firsthand, but it sure was like something he saw on TV or at the movies.

And now he was the star of the horror show.

Did he die?  Death was what he planned on, so waking up was not a relief, or a reality back into motion--just the opposite. It was as if being awake was the real nightmare, a delusional time when everything was not true, and was only an scary, offbeat version of the life of Chris Cartier.

The bad acid trip continued. He recalled hospital staff rushing about him, seeming like real people-- sort of. Then they morphed into fish in scrubs. From overhead, an IV was dripping into his arm. Tubes were shoved down his throat. His vital signs were displayed on a screen that made beeps and sounds, increasing the chaos and adding to the mayhem to his mind. Soon, the vital signs machine started talking to him that he was a "very bad boy" and other such scoldings.

He was thoroughly freaked out. If he was still alive, he'd rather be dead.

He wanted to run. One of the fish pushed him back down and muttered out undecipherable utterances-- like underwater gibberish . Then that fish used its slimy fins to inject him with a needle in his arm. The other fish circled around him like fish out of water--with opening and closing mouths-- as if gasping for air.

As they surrounded him as rubber monkeys shot out from the walls and bounced all over the room. On top of all this madness, the florescent lights above were flickering on and off, in sync to the wild music, like the drum beats of a distant jungle. It was one bizarre tangle of events, a freaky, crazy, out-of-control ride in which reality could not be distinguished from the animation and mass confusion. It was one overpowering ride that he would much rather forget.

When Chris got out of critical condition, he found out that he could still not go home. That would take a few weeks more. Dr. What-The-Hell's-His-Name assured him that he needed to start on the path to his psychological healing--just as grave as the physical--right here in a safe place.

It didn't seem so safe to him.

The enemy wasn't what was out there in the world, but the big, bad wolf was actually him. He had to be protected from the true culprit--himself-- and that was a mind-blowing concept. Just what did he get himself into?   

He never had been a patient in a hospital before. In all his twenty-six years, he didn't so much as even have his tonsils out. Feeling now like a prisoner,, he was still scared out of his mind-- as if it was day one all over again. When was he going to get out of here? Chris began to fear that they would never let him out. No professional had a definitive answer, as only time would tell of his improvement.

Man, why couldn't he just be dead?

His parents visited almost everyday, but it was of no reassurance to him. His mother always left in tears, and his father was lost for words. This was nothing new. When it concerned their troubled son, they felt inadequate to help him. The best his dad could say was, "Hey, Chris, we're pullin' for ya". That was of no comfort, whatsoever, like he was some fighter in a boxing ring that his old man had a bet placed on . His mom always clung to him as she said goodbye, like she needed the hug more than he did, saying to Chris through her sobs , "Miss you....love you". Her emotional state just unsettled him to the core, and he was worried for her more than for himself.    

At best, his outlook was grim. But then he met Lacie Weiss, and things started looking up.

Lacie was one of the quietest psych patients in the ward, always sticking to herself. But then he found himself sitting right next to her in group therapy, and they hit it off. He had no idea that she had a fun side. She usually looked apathetic and quietly defiant to society, a nonconformist in the form of a Goth, with edgy, dyed black hair, dark eye make-up and some ****** piercings of the eyebrow, tongue and nose. Her look was quite in contrast to his light blue eyes and sandy-brown hair. Chris never was into Gothic, viewing those who were as spooky creeps.  

It was obvious that Chris was scared and confused. Now although trying to seem tough and stoic, Lacie seemed so little, almost fragile, yet obviously trying to hide her broken self together. Petite and somewhat girlish in appearance, she was barely 5 feet tall. Chris was 5 feet 11 and a half inches, close enough to the six foot stature that he wanted to be. Only a half inch less really didn't cut it for him, though, even though his slim build gave the impression of a lankier guy. He would have loved to be as tall as the basketball players he so emulated. But such was life. He was never used to having the advantages.  

At first, Lacie never opened up, not to a single soul. Like Chris, she certainly acted like she didn't need this place, and nobody was going to help her--or be allowed to help her. As stony and impenetrable as she tried to be, group therapy it was hard to disappear in. Everyone was held accountable for opening up, and the leader was going to see to it.  No way, though, did Lacie want to crack or look weak in her turtle shell composure, in her self-preservation mode. So it was agony for her.

She first spoke to him, whispering loudly to him, onc,e in the group circle "This is all *******!"

Hanging with Chris was the one salvation that she had in this miserable experience. They both could relate more than he ever realized. They both really liked motorcycles and basketball. He had his own Harley, and it was something he loved to work on and go on long rides with it, his own brand of therapy.  In spite of how she looked, Lacie was also actually close to his age. He was twenty-six. and she was twenty-two.

They first broke the ice with casual introductions. "No, the name is not pronounced like Carter", he corrected her about his last name. "It is like Cart-EE-AY...... It's French".

"Yep", she replied. "Like mine is the same way, but as German as brats and sauerkraut,  Ja dummkopf?"

Chris gave her a weird look. She continued, "My mom's dad was from Germany, and I got my mom's name. Ya don't say it how it looks. You would say Weiss like Vice, but I couldn't give a **** how anybody says it. Nobody gets it right and original, anyhow." Her dark brown eyes flashed at him as she said, " But I think I like Chris Cutie, myself, better than Cartier.....cutie it is for me. Huh, cutie pie? "

Chris laughed hard. She was pretty coy for a die-hard Goth. She batted her eyes playfully at him and winked."You're worth being in here for, ya know", he told her, blushing, still laughing at her silly remarks.

She studied his face in response, all laughing aside. Suddenly, her mood turned solemn.  "I'll bet".

They began hanging out in the commons, walking down the halls for exercise, and swapping stories of their plights. Chris quickly found that she Lacie wasn't so steely and unapproachable as the day he first saw her.  And she discovered that he was more than a pretty boy.

"My parents weren't home when I tried", he told her one time after lunch was done. They were sitting in a corner, trying to be as private as possible. "Twenty-six years old...and I still live with them. Yeah, that's my life. I got a twin brother, and he's moved out and doing alright for himself. My sister's younger, is going to college. Wants to be a doctor".

Lacy didn't have any siblings to compare herself to. "Must be cool to have a twin", Lacie said. "I always wondered how that would be to have two of me running around! Scary, huh, dude?"

Chris shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. Jake and I aren't identical. We are just a two-for-one deal...I mean  is that my parents got two babies in one, huge-*** pregnancy. Jake and me don't even act like twins. Half the time, I don't want to be around him."

No, it wasn't like his cousins, Adam and Alan, who were identical friends, mirror images, and best of friends. Chris never identified with that kind of brotherly relationship. He and Jake never dressed alike, or knew what the other one was thinking. And Chris felt that his brother always felt superior to him. He was the popular one. He was the ambitious one who landed a great job in computers, as a system analyst.  To add to Chris's feelings of inferiority, his little sister, Kate, had surpassed him, too. She was acing most of her classes, and boarding away at college. She was well on her way to becoming a doctor.    

"So if your mom and dad weren't around...who saved you?" Lacie asked. She stared into his eyes with such a probing stare that Chris almost clammed up. Just thinking about that day was overpowering.

"Uh...my sister and her boyfriend were hanging out in the basement. She was home from college, and I didn't know it. My parents were out-of-town. Our dog, Buster, was acting funny. He knew something was up..."

Chris stopped abruptly, but went on. "Kate, my sister, explained to me that she saw me in my room, getting up on a step ladder. She says she yelled at me to stop. I don't remember...but I guess..I guess I was going to do it anyway, and she wouldn't be able to stop me....stop me from...so I hurried up and jumped off before she could stop me."  

Lacie could almost picture it, as if she was there with him. She said, "But she did stop it. She saved you."

"Yeah", he agreed. "Buster started it all...barking, alerting my sister to come upstairs from the basement, and upstairs by my room...." All of a sudden, he felt so weird, like he was having an out-of-body experience.

"Hey, it's OK", Lacie reassured him. "It's over now. You aren't there anymore".

Chris started to cry, but tried not to. "If it weren't for Brian, Kate's boyfriend....she would not of had the strength to hold me up by herself, and cut the rope, too. I must have been like dead weight, and Brian grabbed a kitchen knife and told her to stay cool about it. Yeah, sure, like that could have been possible ! She was trying to keep the rope slack, while trying to save my sorry ****...and she was scared, shitless! "

Lacie opened up, too, relating her tragic past. She had an unbelievable tale, one hell of a ride herself.  It was amazing how detached she was when relating it, though. "Well" actually I got to fess up" "I'm not really an only child....I mean I am...but not really. I know that sounds weird---hey--but I am weird. Oddly unusual is the story of my life-- even before day one. "

Chris had no idea what she was talking about. "What are ya' trying to say?"

She added another surprising bombshell. "Also,  I have a two-year-old boy. His name is Danny. He don't see his dad--ever. The guy's a waste of space. Anyway, my mom has him. She can afford him more, and can do a better job raising him than me. Well, she does OK money-wise. Anyhow, my mom deserves him because she lost everything. And I mean EVERYTHING! Her whole fricking family practically wiped out!"

The shock that Chris had on his face-- his widened, blue eyes and open mouth were expected.   Most people had a hard time believing her.

She explained, calmly, "I mean she nearly died--way before I was born--in a car accident. And her two, little boys were with her in the backseat...and they died that day. "

Chris looked pale. "That is so awful!" he said, hoarsely, barely able to say it.

"Yeah", she continued. "Not a **** thing she could do about it, too. She was like in a million pieces. I know a part of her died right there and then, too. I just know it.  You know, dude, my mom was once really, really coasting along, just doing fine. A typical wife and mother-- a bit older than me now-- life was good. Her little boys were just cute, little toddlers--like Danny. I found out from my grandma that she was  pregnant, too, just a month or two. Nobody could have imagined it coming. She was just driving--doing nothing wrong-- when some idiot broadsided her.  I don't know if it was a guy or a lady, if they were jacked up on ***** or drugs, but they were speeding like a demon out of Hell. Her husband was at work and wasn't around."  

The boys were Benjamin and Gerard, but Lacie couldn't remember their names, for her mom could barely mention them without breaking down. It was an unbearable loss.

Chris was so horrified, amazed that Lacie related this like it was someone else's story. She was almost too cavalier about it.

"And they died ?!" he asked.

"Yeah....*****, don't it? Pure, pure agony. Downright Hell on earth. My mom had to learn to walk again. It took about year, I think."

"Oh, no! What about the baby she was supposed to have?"

"Miscarriage. Worse yet, the **** doctor told her she'd never be able to have kids again. She lost everything, man! Her husband couldn't handle it and left her. **** on top of ****, on top of more ****, on top of more. If it wasn't for her parents, and her sister's help, she would never have made it.

"But she had given birth to you, right? Or were you adopted?"

"Yeah, she gave birth to me. I was her miracle baby, and she didn't give a rat's rear end if my dad wanted me or not. He'd send her money, once in a while, but he wasn't really into either of us. Who cares though? She didn't give a **** what he thought. I was her baby. Truth is, before I came, she ended up slitting her wrists--just like me. What was the use? At first, there was nothing to live for. But now she has Danny.

"And you!" Chris quickly pointed out.

"Dude, are you kidding me? I have been NOTHING but grief for her, a real pain in her ***!"

Unlike her deceased, half-brothers, Lacie grew up before her mother's eyes, from a shy girl to a ******* rebel. Since the age of twelve, she would sneak drinks from her mom's liqueur cabinet. Eventually, she smoked *** and tried ******* and ******. Dropping out of the eleventh grade, she soon away from home, living with friends or boyfriends ever since.  Thankfully, she wasn't doing drugs when she conceived Danny. And her drinking wasn't as prevalent as it was in her teen years of partying and binge drinking. That didn't mean that her drinking problems magically disappeared, or that she was cured. Immediately, though, when she knew she was pregnant, she refused to touch a bottle, but it was just a white knuckle process that was effective momentarily--a band aid on a more serious wound. And going months without a drop of alcohol didn't deaden her urges--quite the opposite--as it only made her crave what she could not have. Often, her fears caught up with her--of especially becoming