The Happy Treatment
Chapter 6

Next week came and so did more tragedies. This time, it wasn’t a shooting that had gotten lucky enough to earn the trending spotlight on social media, but a stabbing and a celebrity. Multiple victims were stabbed at Grandside Medical Hospital and Dean Rivera, a celebrity influencer, overdosed on cocaine with alcohol, so about half of the social media posts were dedicated to Dean, while the rest dedicated to the Grandside stabbing.

Eva had come over after school again and brought me the medicine from her house that I swore I wouldn’t forget. We were sitting on my bedroom floor as usual.

Feeling more closer to Eva than I did last week, I don’t keep so quiet about my thoughts as I did with the posts and stories about the shooting last week along with the other multiple tragedies before that.

“Do you ever just wanna throw up looking at all the shit posts on here?” I ask Eva.

“Which ones?” she says, looking up from her phone.

“Right now I’m looking at these ones about Dean Rivera,” I say, scrolling through stories.

“Oh yeah,” Eva says as she presses the post button on her story, sharing another post about the Grandside shooting.

“I swear I’ll beat your ass if you post about the stupid makeup influencer you never even watched.”

Eva laughs, “I’m notttttt.”

“It’s just stupid, right? That guy Ben something, from our school, committed suicide yesterday, and I don’t even know his last name. But this dude -” I gesture towards the picture of Dean Rivera on my phone, “he died from his own stupidity and all he did in his life was practice makeup and brag about how he could still do really good makeup while drunk. And he’s famous!”

“Aw yeah, I remember talking to Ben in that one drama class I took freshman year. He was nice.” Eva sets her phone aside for a moment and stares towards the carpet.

“I never talked to him,” I said, “but whenever his name came up someone would always say he’s trying to be an actor or that he was amazing in drama class.”

“He was really talented whenever I watched him perform a monologue and stuff.” Eva looks up and grabs her phone again. “You know what? I’m gonna make a quick post about him. -” she cuts herself off and looks over at me, “And I know you think I post too much or whatever but shush, Cindy. There’s too many Dean Rivera posts in here and Ben was way better than that douche so Ben is gonna get a post.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. Eva was right afterall.

“I never really knew him much,” she continues, “The least I can do is give him some recognition.”

After a moment of typing she posts her recognition of Ben and I pick up my phone to see it. It’s surprisingly quite touching actually. Well, I say surprising, but Eva has surprised me a lot lately, so I might as well not be surprised by her realness anymore. It’s her now. Her words seem sincere and she doesn’t pretend she was his best friend like others usually do when someone they barely know commits suicide. She recognizes they didn’t know each other well, but she knew of his acting talent and briefly mentions how the world will now miss out on that.

“This is nice, Eva,” I say.

Eva smiles sadly, “I just remember speaking to him a few times and…” she looks down at the carpet again, “it’s sad, you know?” She couldn’t say much else. Her “it’s sad” seems real, a lot more genuine and less empty and scripted than last week when we were scrolling through the posts about the shooting.

“I know,” I say, “That’s why I just hate when so many people go crazy over someone like Dean Rivera, only because he was lucky and stupid enough to get famous.”

“Yeah,” Eva says, rubbing her nose, “Damn, girl, you’ve really loved making me emotional lately,” she laughs sadly.

“You can’t say that’s a bad thing though.”

“I guess you right, you right.”

We’re quiet for a bit, with both of our phones set aside, yet it doesn’t feel awkward anymore. We both know we’re thinking, and we sit and simply enjoy each other’s presence until one of Eva’s thoughts escapes her mouth.

“Do you think,” she began, looking straight ahead, facing the wall of my bedroom, “that if you could afford the procedure, you’d still get it by now?”

I hadn’t thought about that question. For as long as I could remember, my goal has been to get the procedure, the perfect procedure that fixes everything, but I had been so caught up in studying it and the effects of it recently, I haven’t even thought about it: do I even still want it? Eva and I feel good right now, as in we’re a lot closer and we’ve genuinely enjoyed each other, and I know we’ve both continued to take our medicine everyday (I’m glad Eva came by today with the medicine I forgot at her house, since I’ve finished up the last of my own today). Mom and I have been talking more as well, since I’ve suddenly felt like asking more questions, in her words. I haven’t cut since last week at Eva’s, and I haven’t felt like it. Mom would be obnoxiously proud if she knew that.

“I don’t know,” I say. I pause for a moment, “Maybe if we stayed like this I wouldn’t really feel the need to get it anymore.”

“And by ‘this’ you mean?”

“Have you cut any since that time last week?”

Eva sits up and her eyebrows tense in her thinking, “Wow, I haven’t!”

“That right there. That’s what I mean. I mean, I’m not exactly all happy and cheerful every second, but -” I pause, trying to find the right word, “I’m stable.”

“Ah, so this is what being stable feels like?”

I laugh, “I don’t know, maybe not all the way, but it’s nice. Not feeling so, you know, alone anymore.”

Eva and I have talked everyday since that night at her house. We’ve talked about everything that has popped into our heads, be it our normal gossip or posts on social media, or the deep conversations we stay up having now. I haven’t lay awake at night as much having all the thoughts in the world swirling around in my mind, they go out through texts and when Eva and I have talked for hours over the phone. I think Eva has slept better too. She looks less tired today, and she has a gleam in her eyes that doesn’t look so empty like it used to.

“What about you?” I say, “Would you still get it if you could?”

“Uh, I don’t know either,” she says. I’m relieved not to hear an immediate yes. “Maybe I would, but I think I’d have to think about it a lot more now if someone came up to me and just offered it to me right this second.”

That’s a better response than I expected, and I’m glad to hear that she’s starting to feel the same way as me. We used to be friends because we both felt misunderstood, and with neither of us really understanding each other, that was something we strangely had in common. Now, though it’s only been a week, I dare say I feel like we may be starting on a path of understanding each other.

“I’ll be honest,” I say, “For a little bit, when you first brought it up, I thought you had forgotten about our pact where if one of us can’t get it none of us can.” I laugh awkwardly.

“I know,” Eva says, looking down guiltily, “I never forgot about it. To be honest, I did try to push it to the back of my mind to try and forget about it then, because I was so desperate to feel happy, I didn’t think about you, and I’m sorry.”

“No, no. I should apologize. I just - I was scared. Scared of just being sad alone and having no one to be sad with.”

“No, I understand that completely.”

A small smile forms on my face. A desire to be understood is one of the strongest desires in the world, and people go to great lengths to receive it, and here I am, alive and almost stable, and I have that desire met. I feel understood by Eva, and therefore I feel okay right now. I feel okay.

“Wow!” Eva says, “Look at you. You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

I look at Eva in confusion, “What?”

Eva smiles, “Just you! You just opened up to me, Cindy Reeves!”

“The fuck you mean, Eva Straus, I’ve been opening up to you this whole week.”

“Nooo not like that you haven’t. Yeah we’ve talked about some deep stuff and deep thoughts lately, but you’ve mostly talked about the world and society and how depressing that is and stuff. You haven’t talked too much about you.”

“Ah-” I was about to correct her, but I can’t find an example to prove her wrong.

“See! You can’t even think of anything. I’m right!” There’s an excitement in her voice.

“Whatever,” I say, “It’s not a big deal!”

“Yes it is. I’ve opened up to you a lot lately about me personally. You’ve ranted about the world and everything, but you kinda did that before anyway.” She pauses and lets out a big, obnoxious smile, showing her perfect white teeth, “But nowwww, you’ve started to trust me a bit, I can tell.”

“Yeah? Well, never again, I’m shutting up,” I kid.

“Noooo,” she grabs me and pushes me down until I lay on my bedroom carpet. She jumps on top of me and looks down at me, her blonde hair falling down in my face.

“This is amazing, talk more!” she says.

“Girl, get the fuck off of me!” I try not to laugh, but a small giggle escapes from me. I easily push her off of me and sit up once again. Eva laughs while fixing her hair, pushing it out of her face and brushing it with her hands. I laugh, looking at my insane friend.

“What is wrong with you?” I laugh, “Why is this such a big deal?” I don’t think Eva and I have ever laughed this hard together, and I feel it’s going to be one of those simple moments that people store in their memories and pull it up whenever they need to think of a happy memory. It’s the kind of moment you know you’ll remember, even if it’s a simple one, because it’s a simple one actually.

I missed simple moments.

“It’s just surprising, you don’t open up like ever,” Eva says, taking a breath from laughing.

“Oh whatever,” I say.

“No, I’m happy you’re opening up with me! I’ve opened up to you a lot more after all.”

“Yeah, well you’re welcome I guess.” I didn’t know what else to say. How else would one respond to that genuine kind of sweetness?

Eva smiles, and I’m happy I’ve made her happy.

“Well,” I say, looking at the time on my phone and changing the subject, “We gotta get our shit done before we forget.” I stand up and grab my backpack from next to my door and Eva learns exactly what I’m talking about.

“Ughhhh,” Eva groans, “You’re just annoying sometimes, you know that? Just when things were getting interesting.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, pulling the math homework out of my backpack, “I’m annoying for being responsible. Get yours out.”

Eva groans some more and eventually grabs her bag that was tossed on the floor earlier. We didn’t have much to do, and it really wasn’t necessary to have to get it done right now, but Eva was right. I’m naturally not a trusting person and I was eager to change the subject once she pointed out to me that I had just trusted another person being herself and opened up to her, even if it was only for a moment.

“We barely have anything to do, though!” Eva says, just when I thought she’d cooperate.

“Come on,” I say with a sigh, “If we get it done now, we won’t have to do it later.”

Eva tosses her homework she just pulled out to the side, “Let’s go to the mall,” she says.

“Ugh,” I groan.

“Come onnn. I won’t try to get you to be all open again while we’re there since I know that’s just too much for you,” she exaggerates.

I hesitate for a moment, then throw my stuff down as well, “Fine, but we’re doing it when we get back.”

“Yay, let’s go.” Eva springs up and we walk outside to her car. I hop in the passenger seat as she starts the car and we drive off to the mall, our usual place to go to whenever we’re bored since it’s so close to both of our houses.

A few minutes after driving, the mall comes into view. Eva turns and heads towards the parking garage.

“Eva,” I say with a warning tone.

“What?” She says.

“You know what. You try to do this every time.”

Eva whines with annoyance, “Ugh, the parking garages are so much closer to the entrance with the store I like going into though.”

“Yeah? The parking garages are also where shit happens.”

“And you’re telling me there aren’t robberies and shootings in the regular parking lot?”

“Not as many, usually.”

Eva groans dramatically and spins her steering wheel in the direction of the parking lot with the main entrance.

We park in the safer lot and head inside, feeling the cool air conditioner hit us once we pull the glass doors open. We take our time strolling through the mall as usual, avoiding the few stores we’re not allowed into. We take our usual route, going into the same stores we enjoy going in and eating at the same food place in the food court where I always order the same thing.

As we eat, I notice someone familiar near the mall pharmacy. “Hey, isn’t that Darrian Madden?” I say to Eva, pointing towards him. Eva looks up from her food. Her eyes widen and she starts coughing.

“Are you okay?” I ask in concern. She coughs harder and takes a sip of her drink. “Yeah, sorry,” she says, “Food went down the wrong way. My place is way better. Who?”

“Girl, you can get your place anytime we’re here. It’s a food court, not everyone has to get the same thing to sit at the same table.”

“No, it’s faster to get the same thing ’cause then we don’t have to spend time trying to find each other and get a table and everything.” Eva was rambling, and I almost forgot I had seen Darrian. I look back over and see him walk into the pharmacy.

“You guys finish that dumb project yet?” I ask.

“Project?” Eva asks.

“You and Darrian. The biology project.”

“Oh, oh yeah. That was so long ago and boring I forgot about it. Yeah we finished it I think.”

Once we throw away our food, we continue walking around, muscle memory taking us to our last usual store we hit before doing another lap or going home, depending on how late it is. It’s an expensive makeup store Eva usually enjoys more than I do, mostly because she has more money to spend there than me. We make it to the shop and walk inside, Eva going straight for the mascara. She glances around at the items hung up then turns to me suddenly. “Wait, I just remembered,” she says, “There’s this new pallet I saw on their website I wanna look at.”

“You have so many pallets you don’t even know how to use,” I comment. Eva wore makeup, but it was nothing too impressive and extravagant.

“Shut up,” she says jokingly as we make our way to the back where the pallets are normally kept. We reach a wire fence connecting from the floor to the ceiling, blocking us from the other half of the store.

“Excuse me,” an employee stops us and we turn to face him. He looks us up and down, then says “I’m sorry, but I don’t think two are allowed in the other half of the store.”

“What?” Eva says with confusion, “We come in here all the time though, non-happy people are allowed here.”

“Yeahhh,” the employee says with a disappointing face that’s more mocking than sincere, “We’ve had some issues with stealing though recently, and since the back half of the store carries the most expensive items, we’ve had to start restricting it to only Happy customers. We need a safer space back there to prevent theft.”

Eva sighs in disappointment. Most of the stores we aren’t allowed in aren’t interesting to us anyway, but this is the first one we normally go into that’s started restricting customers too. People who have received the Happy treatment are much less likely to steal or commit any other crimes, so expensive stores normally have restrictions if they start having theft issues, which most expensive stores usually do today.

“Anything you want me to grab for you?” The employee says.

Eva sighs, “This new pallet?” She holds up her phone to show the tab she kept open of the pallet displaying on the makeup store’s website.

“We sure do!” He says with a chirpy tone. He enters the opening of the wire barrier and comes back momentarily with the pallet Eva wanted.

“Got it right here for you!” Eva takes the pallet and heads to the checkout line with a quick “Thank you.”

“You okay?” I ask Eva.

“Yeah, just annoying,” she responds, “I knew it’d happen eventually though.”

She pays for her overpriced pallet and we exit the shop.

:) :) :)

It was dinner time, and Eva was joining Mom and I at the dinner table, a usual tradition that takes place every time Eva comes over after school. Mom had ordered us all pizza, which she had picked up herself to avoid paying the extra delivery fee, even with it raining outside.

“Did you get the homework done?” Mom asks as usual as we eat.

“Yep, didn’t take too long,” Eva answers while I nod, stuffing pizza in my mouth. Mom leans over towards Eva, “Cindy mentioned to me everything about - what was his name?” she looks over to me, “Ryan?”

“Are you talking about Ryker?” Eva says, swallowing hard from a big bite of pizza.

Mom nods, “Yes, him. That was very gracious of you to give some to Cindy. The closest appointment I could get to get refills was months away. We are so thankful, Eva.”

I groan. I remember mentioning Ryker’s pill pocketing family sometime earlier in the week with Mom.

“Oh, it’s not a problem at all!” Eva says. She glances over at me and I feel she senses my embarrassment, so she continues, “It was really no trouble and Cindy has done so much for me anyway.”

“Of course,” Mom says casually, “We’re grateful for Ryker too, of course. I’d love to meet him some time.”

A quiet drip began filling the background. Eva and I look up from our pizza and Mom turns around in her chair. Water seeps through the darker spot on the ceiling and hits the tile floor.

“Oh,” Eva says, “I think y’all might have a little leak.”

“Ugh,” Mom says, getting out of her chair, “I need to fix that.” She grabs a pot out of a cabinet and places it on the floor to catch the drops of rain water. I bite my lip and lean my head down enough to rub my neck while keeping my elbows on the table. Eva notices my movement and reaches over to grab my arm gently, “Cindy,” she whispers so Mom doesn’t hear, “it’s okay, I promise it’s fine.”

She knows I prefer hanging out at her house since it’s much nicer and doesn’t require so much work like mine does. I often feel awkward and embarrassed whenever this stuff happens. In the past, I’ve noticed Eva shift uncomfortably at certain events like this one in my house. She usually never looks fully comfortable when she’s here unless we’ve settled down in my room and she has pointed out things throughout the house that need fixing that are too expensive to fix. I feel too exposed and vulnerable now that Mom has brought up Eva giving me medicine I couldn’t afford along with this leaking ceiling we can’t afford to fix.

Right now, however, Eva doesn’t seem to be shifting uncomfortably or containing that almost culture shock look in her eyes. She seems almost as if she’s used to it now and like that’s what she’s trying to communicate through the gentle squeeze on my arm and the sincere “it’s okay.”

Although I will never admit it to her, I think I’ve started to feel safer with her.

:) :) :)

Back in my room when dinner has ended, Eva gathers her math worksheets together and stuffs them in her backpack.

“You know,” she says, “We’ve known each other forever. You don’t have to be embarrassed about stuff like what happened downstairs.”

“I know,” I lie, “I’d just rather be at your house anyway.”

Eva zips up her backpack and tosses it aside, taking a seat on the bedroom carpet again. “You don’t like looking like you need help,” she says plainly without stuttering. My eyes dart in her direction. Why am I still surprised? I made the mistake of opening up earlier and now Eva is pushing her luck.

“Does anyone?” I say.

“Well no, but it’s almost like you’re afraid of it. Like you don’t wanna look vulnerable and you’re constantly on your guard. Must be exhausting.”

I don’t know how to respond. I enjoyed this more when it was Eva talking about her thoughts and I was the one asking the questions.

“I mean, you kind of have to be on your guard in a world like today. Like, did you hear about what happened just in a town over from us in that sketchy neighborhood? It was almost as bad as that stabbing at Grandside but it didn’t make the big news since everyone was caught up in the stabbing and Dean Rivera.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about it. Wasn’t it where - wait, Cindy! Stop doing that!”

Eva was getting better at catching when I attempted to change the subject. She used to be so easy to fall for it but now she’s almost immune. “Ugh,” I mutter, “it used to be so easy.”

“Oh shush,” she continues, “It’s just something I’ve started to notice. You don’t open up easily, you don’t post all your feelings on social media like everyone else at our school and you don’t even accept help when it would, you know, help you. Like, you won’t even accept healing cream from me or anyone when you could really use it.” She gestures to the scars on my arms.

I pause, waiting for her to say more. When she doesn’t I ask, “So… what’s your question?”

“I don’t know, I guess my question is why?”

I shouldn’t have responded with that. I didn’t think she actually had a question to ask, much less a question that big.

“Girllll,” I began, “You’re getting too excited from earlier. I said one thing and now what? You want me to spill some deep dark hour long story from my past of why I’m not a trusting person?”

Eva nods excitedly, “I would love that.” She articulates every syllable clearly and confidently in her sentence.

“Ugh,” I groan, “Well you’re not getting that, sorry.”

“Ugh, whyyyyyyy,” Eva complains, “I’ve told you so much and I haven’t heard enough from you.”

“Eva, not everything in life is some perfect, neat math equation. I don’t have that perfect story of a traumatic event plus personality type equals trust issues. Life’s not that simple.”

“Do you have any ideas then?”

“Why are you so curious, anyway?” I caught myself and realized then I sounded like Mom when I was asking her questions about why she doesn’t take medication.

“I don’t know,” Eva says in defense, “Like I said, I’ve said so much and I want to know more about you too.”

“Well, I don’t know, Eva. Sometimes the essence of possibility is enough for some people. It doesn’t always have to be some big, traumatic event that causes something. Maybe a traumatic event is what I’m trying to avoid and my equation is just backwards.”

Eva nods, “Makes sense I guess.” I can tell she was a bit disappointed in my answer. “Okay,” I say, “How about if I think of anything, any possible reasons, I’ll tell you. I’ll probably be up tonight anyway overthinking this.”

“Ugh, don’t overthink,” Eva says too simply, as if she’s too tired to say anything actually helpful.

I scoff, “K, I won’t. Thanks for the advice.”

“Ugh, sorry, just… ughhhh,” she pushes me and I laugh, and she gives me a look as if there’s something hanging in the air being left unsaid. She looks into my eyes with the little gleam she’s recently caught in her big, blue eyes for a second too long. “What?” I say and shift into a different sitting position.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, blinking away. My eyebrows twitch in confusion.

“I just like when you open up to me,” she says.

“You’re weird, Eva.”

“Oh, shut up. You like that I’ve been talking more to you too and that we’ve been talking more about stuff other than social media and crushes and shit.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you that in such a weird - little Eva weird way.” I stumbled on the wording. Eva laughs, “Whatever, I was trying to be nice but you ruined it.” She gathers her backpack and car keys together and stands up. “I gotta get going,” she says, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

I stand up and walk her to the front door, something we’ve started doing, and Eva hugs me, making the hug last a bit longer each time, as if she’s afraid she’ll lose me if she goes home alone. I hug her back and we say goodbye, and I watch her walk to her car until I see she’s made it safely into her car with the door locked, another thing I’ve noticed I’ve started doing.

“What are you doing?” I jump and turn around and see Mom in the kitchen, warming up a leftover piece of pizza from dinner.

“Oh, I was just making sure she got to her car safe,” I say.

Mom pulls the pizza out of the microwave, “Seems you and Eva have gotten a lot closer.”

“Yeah, we’ve just started talking about more lately.”

“Guess you’re growing up.”

“Ha, is that it?”

“Could be. You’ve just had a deep mind lately.”

I walk over to the kitchen counter. “I don’t know,” I say, “You remember the most recent shooting, how it was all over the news and stuff?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I don’t know what it was about that shooting, but I see posts about current events like that on social media every day, and it was that moment when I think I finally got sick of it.”

Mom leans over on the counter, holding her slice of pizza, “Sometimes that’s all it takes, Honey. You had so many thoughts crammed in your mind that seeing something as normal as that can make you break.”

“I guess so,” I say. I look down at Mom’s plate and snatch the slice of pizza when she sets it down and I steal a bite.

“Hey!” she says, “There’s plenty in the fridge, Cindy.”

“That one is right in front of me though and all warmed up.”

Mom sighs, smirking at me with the why-am-I-even-surprised look on her face. I scurry to my bedroom with a quick goodnight and close my door.

I guess Mom was right. It doesn’t take much to overthink, that’s why it’s called overthinking, which is what I, of course, suddenly find myself doing as I lay in bed. I think about Eva and her playful pushes and all the questions she asked me tonight. I wish life could be more like a math equation, where one aspect takes place, therefore there must be an outcome that matches with that aspect, like a perfect cause and effect. I replay the response I gave her in head, “a traumatic event plus personality type equals trust issues.” I wish it were like that, but life isn’t always that simple, it’s not always that clean and neat. I have plenty of events from my life one might label “traumatic,” but how am I supposed to know which one caused the so-called “trust issues,” and “fears of vulnerability?” How am I supposed to know if it’s any of them at all? Though these events may possibly play a role, I feel convinced it may not even be any of them at all that are the sole cause, but that it may be the pure essence of possibility, like I told Eva. It seems people always assume these fears must come from something, which I always thought was rather odd. They think there must have been some extravagant event that caused this fear, but fear doesn’t often make sense. That’s why fears are often referred to as “irrational” or “flaws,” though I feel mine is different. I feel mine is rational. Because being vulnerable and trusting in a world like today will get you killed, or worse: it’ll cause another traumatic event.

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