The Happy Treatment
Chapter 9 - Eva

Dear Cindy,

Today has been kind of a bad day. I’m tired, and it’s one of those days where it simply takes too much energy to talk, even to you. I know you’re not going to be happy reading this, and you’re probably already upset, but I want you to know I didn’t think I would actually get the procedure. I swear.

A few months ago (wow, it feels more like years than months), my dad disturbed the peace as I was relaxing in the kitchen, sitting and eating dinner at the kitchen island by myself, as usual. I had thrown together a lazy microwavable dinner with noodles, while my dad, stepmom, and Zophie had eaten dinner somewhere else separated in the house with their own leftovers or microwavables.

“This is ridiculous, Eva,” My dad said, stomping in with a receipt in his hand.

“What?” I said, with a bite of noodles half in my mouth.

“This is how much your prescription is costing us?” He throws down the receipt on the counter. It’s from the pharmacy earlier today when Risa gave me her card to go pick my medicine up.

“Yeah?” I said, confused, “Risa gave me her card to get it like she always does.”

“This is ridiculous,” he said again.

“Why is it such a big deal? It’s a necessity, you know that. You and Risa and Zophie, and everyone else takes medication.”

“Ours doesn’t cost as much as yours though. It’s completely different, you’re taking some fancier, way more expensive kind. It’s just a total scam. You’re not better than everyone else, Eva.”

I grow frustrated, “Dad, I’ve told you before, I had a bad reaction to the side effects with the other kind, remember? It kept making me spaz out and have those crazy twitches and muscle spasms, not to mention it made me so tired all the time.”

“You seemed fine to me.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I always seem fine to you.”

“Remember when I said you couldn’t get the Happy treatment yet because your medicine is working just fine?” He continued on, ignoring my comment, “Well, now it’s starting to add up since you’ve somehow convinced your doctor to switch to a more expensive and fancier medication for no good reason, so you have two options: You’re getting the treatment, or you’re finding a pill pocketer, and I mean the good kind that sells stuff for cheap.”

I suddenly forgot about my frustration and a smile spread across my face, “Wait, are you serious?” I said excitedly, “I can get the Happy treatment now?”

My dad nodded, “Yeah, or -”

I jumped up from my seat, “Thank you! Thank you!” I shouted. I would’ve hugged my dad then if we were the hugging type family.

You know my dad makes the biggest decisions most of the time when he’s angry or frustrated, yet this time it happened to be a good decision for me.

“So you want the treatment? Not even gonna try the cheaper option I gave you first?”

I gave him a look, “Dad,” I said, “come on. You know those kinds of pill pocketers are impossible to find.”

My dad sighed, as if someone had punched his wallet. “Okay,” he said, “I gave you an option and you chose so deal’s a deal, I guess. I’ll schedule you for the soonest appointment I can get.”

Deal’s a deal. The words from my dad’s mouth replayed in my head. Oh shit, I thought, suddenly remembering our little deal we made years ago about this very treatment. I groaned, realizing the sudden burst of excitement was temporary. My dad had already left the kitchen, and I wasn’t about to chase after him and tell him I had changed my mind. How could I? I loved the decision I had made, but I knew I had to talk to you now. I knew I had to tell you, though I knew you’d probably be pissed, or cry, or both.

When I was at your house a few days later, we began scrolling on our phones as we always do, though I knew I needed to start talking to you at some point about this, even if talking wasn’t something we did at that time.

After we had scrolled for a bit and I had shared a few posts with you, you broke the silence and said, “I think I gotta get more antidepressants soon.”

“Why you think?” I replied, not being strong enough to look you in your sad, hazel eyes with that touching hint of green in them, so I continued looking down at my phone. I didn’t notice this at the time, but as we got closer, I noticed that those eyes always said more than anything that ever came out of your mouth, even in the times when I’d finally get you to open up to me, as you had with me.

We continued through our pathetic conversation until, I’ll be honest, I panicked, Cindy.

“Well,” I said without thinking, “if you’re out of refills you can have some of mine before you go see your doctor again. You know it’s gonna take like 6 months before you can get an appointment.”

When you responded, mentioning that I’d have to go through the same waiting period of receiving my medication, I had to come up with something. I thought back to the second option my dad had given me, about finding a good, impossible to find pill pocketer. Then I thought about Ryker Terrafino, the boy from our school who I had recently hung out with at his house the other day at that time.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” I had begun, “The guy from our school, Ryker Terrafino. When I went to his house the other day, things went really well.”

Then you noticed my smile, the smile that often gives me away when I’m lying. I knew what you were accusing me of, but I intentionally took the accusation as something else, trying to move your attention away from my suspicious words. I threw the smile away as soon as you pointed it out and I responded with a casual (and may I say smooth) response to what I meant by “really well.”

“No!” I said, “Seriously, things went extra well because when I was trying to find the bathroom, I opened the wrong door.” I’ll admit, I felt proud of myself for pulling that off. Maybe if we had started paying attention to each other sooner, you probably would have caught me in this lie. No, you definitely would have caught me, I know. We continued on the conversation until I knew I should probably stop stalling and mention the conversation with my dad about the procedure. When I did, you sat there with your mouth agape, and I felt horrible, I really did. I had accidentally looked at you in your depressed eyes, and you looked betrayed, and almost as if you were disappointed in yourself for trusting me even the slightest. I knew for sure you had remembered our pact so long ago, and I couldn’t gather enough strength to tell you the truth.

“Listen, I haven’t decided yet,” I lied. After that, I feel we both tried to move on from the conversation, and we began talking about Ryker and I possibly being together someday. I was relieved to change the conversation and I was more than happy to talk about my new possibly-more-than-friend, Ryker.

But I have to confess, Cindy, Ryker was not a pill pocketer. Like I said, I panicked and said whoever I could think of that I knew you didn’t really talk to. The medications I gave you that day were from Darrian Madden. Yes, the guy from our English class. He charged me a fortune, and it was the one moment I’ve ever been happy my dad and Risa don’t communicate. Before I could even come up with a pathetic lie to Risa about why I prefer cash instead of her card for my medication this time, she tossed me her card without question and simply told me to go to an ATM, without ever looking up from her phone. This time there would be no receipt for me to have to hide from my dad, although there is the chance, of course, that he’ll see the ridiculous amount of money being taken out of an ATM from Risa’s card, but I’ll deal with that consequence later if I get there. I know I at least don’t have to worry about Risa mentioning it to my dad, due to the lack of communication between them.

I got lucky with Darrian. When we were paired in a group together in biology class for the science project I mentioned, there was a moment when we studied together in the library, just the two of us around. We had papers scattered all over the table we claimed, studying the difference between plant and animal cells. We had gotten to know our personality types decently with being in the class and project group together, and we had become good acquaintances.

I thought back to how you seemed in English class earlier that day, and you seemed off. I knew I had to come up with something soon, anything that might help you, and I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of Ryker.

Darrian and I had gotten off the topic of studying biology for a bit, and I knew Darrian had the rumored reputation of him knowing pill pocketers and other drug dealers, so I used this chance of us being alone and off topic to take a risk. I leaned in to him and quieted my voice down.

“So,” I began hesitating, “I’m going to get a little more off topic here. I’m needing some medication to last me until my next appointment, you know anyone?”

His eyes widened and he gasped, “What kind of person do you think I am?” he asked with offense, “Why would you assume I would know anyone like that?”

I froze, not sure what to say. “I - I’m sorry -”

He cuts me off and his offended face disappears, “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you, Eva. ’Course I can help you out.”

I sigh in relief and laugh nervously, “Oh, oh okay, great.”

“What kind you need?” he asked.

“Antidepressants.”

“Brand?”

I’m happy I remembered which brand of medication you were taking. I guess your little yet constant rants about costs these days do make themselves useful sometimes. As far as dosage went, I took whatever I could get.

Darrian pulls out his phone and types down the information I give him.

“So, how much is this going to cost?” I ask nervously.

“Let me see if I have these kinds first. I have to go to my locker.”

“So if you do have them, can you give me an estimate at least?”

When he told me the price I nearly gasped. “That much?” I said with hesitation.

“You know this shit is expensive,” he replied.

“Yeaaah,” I considered then backing out and deciding to tell you later that Ryker just wouldn’t give me anything. Thinking about it now, that probably would have been smarter, though I’m happy I was at least able to help you. This situation just didn’t seem… What’s the word - professional? The school has drug sniffing dogs come to search lockers and classrooms at random times, and I wonder if they’re able to sniff out drugs as simple as prescription medication. Darrian must have to move his stash often if they can. We walked to his locker together, the two of us seeming suspicious with not many students in the hallway at the time.

“Relax,” Darrian said, and I notice I’m tense, “I do this all the time. The teachers don’t really care enough to notice.”

When we made it to his locker, he pulled out a bag that’s not his backpack and unzipped the top to reveal the inside being packed to the brim with orange pill bottles. He shifted through them, the pills tapping against each other in the bottles.

“Ah,” he said, “here’s one,” and pulled out a bottle that matched my order. He continued digging, “let’s see,” he paused, “Ah, here’s another one.” He pulled out another bottle with the only difference being the milligrams of the pills. He shifted through the bag to find a few more before pausing and looking up, “That enough or you need more?” He asked.

“That should be good.” I was so relieved that I had already gotten the money from Risa. I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

I handed him the money and stuffed the bottles in my backpack. As I drove home from school that day, I considered telling you Ryker had said no and I just got the medication from Darrian. It would’ve made the lie easier, I know, but I knew if you ever talked to Ryker and you found out he was Happy, you’d be up all night thinking about how someone with the treatment could possibly be a pill pocketer. I know it would make you suspicious, so I felt forced to keep my story that Ryker had given me what we needed.

As I made it home, I felt the strong urge to check on you, though we’ve never really done that for each other before. I guess I felt guilty, and I didn’t want you at home overthinking alone in your room because of me. I pulled out my phone and typed, “Hey, you seemed a little off today, everything okay?” I waited for a bit before pressing send, feeling as if this is getting too personal with you. I wasn’t used to it.

Once I pressed send, I waited impatiently for a response, wondering if I had freaked you out or confused you with my personal text. I grew anxious, hoping I hadn’t upset you.

When you finally responded you said, “What do you mean? I’m off everyday lol.” I rolled my eyes. What a Cindy response that was. I felt stupid for thinking I could get you to say anything more than a surface level response, as if you thought that was all I was capable of handling. To be fair to you, however, a surface level issue is all we’ve willingly handled for each other in the past. I suppose this feeling of guilt has been the reason that’s pushed me to try to handle a bit more with you over the past few days.

I decided to look past your light response this time and finish the conversation with more light responses to match yours. I responded back, “Well, I have good news…” and we decided to meet up tomorrow at my house, where I can give you the medication you need, and hopefully wipe away a little of this guilt.

:) :) :)

Since our conversation where I revealed that I was considering getting the Happy treatment, we had some, I would say, awkward moments. Whenever the Happy treatment came up around us or whenever I’d try to open you up a bit to me possibly getting it, awkward silences would fill the air for a few seconds. I tried my hardest to defend the treatment for my own sanity, desperately feeling the need for at least a slight bit of approval.

My dad had gotten me the earliest appointment possible, being a few months away, but not as long as people have to wait for medication. I felt almost 100% sure that I was going to get the treatment, and that those few months would be used to try to convince you, but things didn’t turn out that way. Within just the next two weeks of my dad making the appointment, so much changed. We grew closer, we talked more, and we started checking on each other. I thought I’d use the next few months to convince you, but it turns out you used them to convince me. You didn’t even really need months, only a week, and I felt sure I had changed my mind when you first opened up to me. Not when we were at my house that night, or the long conversations we’d have on the phone, but the time when you told me something personal about yourself and not the world.

We were at your house and it was the time I thought I could try for another awkward silence at best by mentioning the Happy treatment.

“Do you think that if you could afford the procedure, you’d still get it by now?” I asked. I expected a straight no after the whole experience with my neighborhood, or another “What? You’re still thinking of getting it?” But I got something different. You responded with “I don’t know. Maybe if we stayed like this I wouldn’t really feel the need to get it anymore.”

When you asked if I had cut myself at all since the event at my house, I was shocked. I didn’t realize I hadn’t. I never thought I would ever be able to do that without having the treatment, much less not even notice I hadn’t. You pointed out that we might even be on a path heading towards stability.

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

When I responded I was surprised not to hear an immediate “yes” exit my mouth.

Our conversation went on, and I’ll never forget what you said the first time I really felt you being open with me, and deciding to trust me a bit more.

You brought up our pact, and I apologized for not thinking of you (though I had actually been thinking about you constantly, just not in the way I should).

“No, no,” you said, “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,” I said. I saw you smile. That genuine, little smile I rarely see on you. I could never get tired of it. Your eyes looked at mine and I could see they were a little more open, a little more trusting, and at that point I couldn’t contain my excitement for you.

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

I felt giggly and like I could jump up and down, which I guess I kind of did when I jumped on you and wrestled you to your bedroom floor.

I haven’t felt giggly in so long, Cindy. When I felt you finally starting to talk to me, I just wanted to keep hearing more about you, and later when we continued talking after dinner, I told you not to overthink, and you responded with you being you and said, “K, I won’t. Thanks for the advice.”

I pushed you and you laughed. I caught myself staring at you accidentally, just excited to see someone being human in front of me, which is a rare gem to find today. I think that was the very moment when I decided for sure that I wasn’t going to get the procedure. You had found a way to make me happy without it, along with helping me find a way to make myself happy too, with always making sure I’m taking care of myself.

Once we hugged goodbye (I hugged you a little longer this time, still feeling a sense of comfort in you opening up to me as I had to you), the only thing I had to worry about was confronting my dad about changing my mind about the treatment, which was not going to be easy.

Over the next few months of us always checking on each other and showing genuine care for one another, it became easier in my mind to accept that I didn’t feel the need for the treatment anymore.

If only I had ever worked up the courage to tell my dad that.

I wasn’t going to get it, Cindy. I promise I thought I had made the final decision not to get the procedure. Months went by and I thought I felt okay. There were a few instances where I didn’t feel that, but no one can go months of always feeling okay. I guess the word I’m looking for instead of okay is stable. I felt stable, especially with you.

Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve told you I actually had an appointment for the Happy treatment all this time. I wonder if things would have turned out differently. Maybe I wouldn’t be getting it within these next 24 hours, or maybe you would’ve been too heartbroken for us to ever even get close in the beginning. Either way, by now, you deserve an explanation for why.

I was going to tell my dad, I swear I was. The clock was ticking and we came to the point where only days separated me from my procedure. I grew anxious, and I felt more guilty and nervous every time I saw you. I felt afraid. I didn’t know what was going to happen, if I was going to completely change personalities like Zophie claims the procedure does, or if I would just be more happy like the doctors and all the politicians claim it does, despite the outcome of my neighborhood.

I found myself talking to you less as the months and weeks came down to mere days, and I don’t think you noticed. We had learned to trust each other too much. We’d check on each other almost every day and we grew close, knowing we could tell the other if we weren’t okay, so when I told you I was okay, as usual, you believed me. I’ve told you I was okay every other day, and I’ve told you when I wasn’t, and you did the same, so please don’t blame yourself for not catching only a few lies out of a million truths.

Whenever I talked to you about what was going on, the topics were about things you were aware of. You knew my family wasn’t exactly the closest. You knew my dad would lose his temper at times, that the only relationship between Risa and I was her giving me money to leave her alone, that Risa and my dad never talked to each other, that Zophie and I loved each other but, like all sisters, she’d get on my nerves and I would want to vent about it to you. You knew I was depressed, and I struggled with the troubles of school and relationships all around, including a healthy relationship with myself.

This, however, you didn’t know about, and it was something I just couldn’t tell you about. I just couldn’t risk losing you, Cindy.

So when you asked how I was doing and how my day was like usual, I told you I was okay, and I told you I was okay the next day too, and the next.

A few days before the procedure, I had somehow finally worked up the courage to talk to my dad, though I sure didn’t feel any courage as I approached him.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating lunch while I had entered to find lunch myself. Before I made anything or warmed up any leftovers, I decided to sit down across from him, with the suspicion that I might not feel as hungry as I do now after this conversation.

“Hey Dad,” I said as casually as I could, “Whatcha eating?”

He looked up in confusion. We don’t normally have this sort of small talk. “Just some pasta,” he said simply, and looked back down, continuing to eat.

“So,” I began, “When is my procedure, again? Thursday?”

He groaned, “Yes.”

We were quiet for a moment. I wasn’t sure what to say next.

“So, uh,” I said again, “you think it’ll help? Like, you know, with costs and stuff?”

He nodded, “Think so.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “... Are you excited for it? That you won’t have to pay as much money as you’ve been having to with medication?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “your medication was way too expensive. Don’t know why you couldn’t have just taken what your sister’s taking or me and Risa.”

I was quiet, ignoring the fact that I’ve told him why countless times.

“Well,” I paused, “maybe I could try a different medication that’s cheaper than the one I’m taking now? There’s tons of antidepressants out there. I’m sure I could find one that’s cheaper and still helps if I asked my psychiatrist to look into it. Or - I know you want me to wait until the summer to get a job when school’s out but maybe I think I could balance the two now and I could pay for my own medication -”

He looked up, “You’re not getting a job and you’re going to get the cheapest medication out there,” he said sternly, “which is no medication, because you chose to get the Happy treatment.”

“Well, I was just thinking -”

“No, Eva,” he raised his voice slightly, “I’m sick of your thinking. You’re thinking costs me too much and it drives everyone insane around here. It’ll be better for everyone if you just shut up and accept the help I’m trying to give you without you bleeding Risa dry for all the money she has to give you.”

“I just -”

“No, you don’t get to talk. You know that once you get an appointment for the Happy treatment, there’s no turning back. The cancellation fee is too expensive, and I’m not paying that much money for absolutely nothing. You know that with this specific procedure, even if you cancel months in advance, you have to pay that fee.”

“That’s ridiculous though! It’s like they’re just forcing you to get it at that point. They -”

“Because they’re doctors and they want the best for you!” he yelled, standing up from his chair and leaning over me, “I’m trying to fucking help you and you’re just being too selfish to let me!”

Risa walked in to see my dad standing over me and probably hearing the last sentence that was spoken. She looked down at the table and groaned. “Seriously, did you eat all the pasta?”

“There wasn’t much left,” my dad answered, annoyed.

I shook my head, trying to keep myself focused on the point of this conversation. “I want my appointment canceled,” I said firmly, attempting to look my dad in the eyes.

He looked at me back, pure anger filling his eyes. He breathed heavily, and I prepared myself to hear yelling.

He exhaled heavily, and picked up his plate of half-eaten pasta. He walked over to the counter and aggressively dropped it down, starling Risa, who had her head in the fridge searching for something else to eat.

“Finish that,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen. I sighed heavily and quietly caught my breath as I watched him leave, wondering when he’d decide to finish yelling at me later.

“That man,” Risa said, shaking her head, “always manages to pick out all the chicken.” She fidgeted with the plate of pasta he’d tossed on the counter.

I looked down, tears welling up in my eyes, and I felt choked holding them back, but I couldn’t cry in front of Risa.

“Have you guys talked about me getting the Happy treatment at all?” I said quietly.

“Ask your father for it,” Risa said, leaning down on the counter while twirling the pasta on a fork. I sighed, disappointed for getting an answer I expected. I stood up and walked out of the kitchen, my prediction of thinking I won’t be hungry after the conversation came true.

I walked by Zophie’s room, noticing her door is open. She’s holding a water pitcher, going down the line of plants she keeps in her windows and watering them one by one.

“What are you doing?” I asked, wiping my eyes and stepping through her door.

“Right now, watering Jeffery,” she answered casually as she waters a small cactus with little flowers.

“Jeffery?” I asked. She rolled her eyes, “Yes. I’ve told you before, they all have names.”

I guess I blame my family for never communicating, but I used to not try as much either. I still don’t try as much as I should.

“Sorry. Guess I forgot.” I took a seat on her bed and pushed the door to where it’s only opened by a crack. Lavvy sleeps peacefully next to me. “Is that a new plant?”

“Yeah, look at you for noticing. I’m proud,” she said.

“Why’s it’s name Jeffery?”

“Guy at my school, Jeffery, got the Happy treatment recently.”

“So you got a plant?”

She moved on from Jeffery and began watering another plant. “Yep,” she answered, “and this one’s Beatrice.”

“Like our neighbor?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I got Todd and Beatrice next to each other.” She gestures towards the other plant next to the plant called Beatrice.

“Is that why you have so many plants all the time? So you can name them all after the Happy people or what?”

“No, that’s not the only reason. I do just like plants, you know.”

“Why do you name them after all the Happy people you know?”

Zophie shrugs, moving on to Todd. “I don’t know. Just my way of coping I guess. I’d give them all their plants to have for themselves, but they’d just let them die, and right now these plants are more alive than their empty minds, so… yeah. I don’t know.”

“You know, they’re not dead. It’s not like you’re planting flowers in their memory. They’re still alive.”

“Mm, are they though?” She gave me that annoying sisterly look as if she’s right about everything.

“I mean, yeah,” I said, a bit annoyed, “They’re walking right outside aren’t they?”

“What else are they doing though?” She moved onto another plant, not expecting an answer from me. This conversation was not helping me feel better about my own procedure in a few days like I had hoped it would. My sister treating the treatment like it’s a cause of death sent chills down my spine. Her room seemed as if it had been turned into a lively and vibrant graveyard, with the living souls and beautiful plants surrounding her windows and desk, and without the bodies that, in her mind, are still outside walking. I would have seen it as quite a peaceful space if it weren’t for my mind thinking about how I may end up there soon.

“It’s more alive in here than it is outside. Just nice to be here instead of out there,” Zophie added. I watched her move on from plant to plant, wondering how long this takes her each week, though it didn’t seem like a chore to her as I watched her do it.

“You’re a strange little sister, Zophie,” I said.

“Nah, Lavvy’s strange. Look at her.” Zophie gestures to Lavvy, who is sleeping with her tongue out and her paws in the air, snoring softly.

I smiled at Lavvy and petted her ears. Zophie set the water down and rested her chin on her bed in front of Lavvy. “Woof,” she said, “Woof, woof!”

“I forget you’re 14 sometimes,” I commented. She looked up from Lavvy to me and barked at me like the weird little sister she is, then went back to watering her plants.

After a moment, I felt comfortable enough to ask “Did you hear Dad in the kitchen?”

“Of course I did,” she says without looking up, “I couldn’t hear the exact words but I could recognize that yelling anywhere. What was it about this time?”

I almost told her, but Zophie and my dad both have strong opinions, and I didn’t want Zophie to have to face another screaming fight with him if she found out.

“You know,” I said, “Same stuff. Medication prices and how it’s ‘ridiculous’ and yeah.”

“Ah,” Zophie said.

I wanted to say more, but after the fight from my dad I felt silenced, and my words felt choked.

“He makes me just want to get out of here sometimes,” I said with my voice cracking accidentally. I thought about it then, how if I ever did go through with the treatment, I wouldn’t ever have to deal with him again, not really. Even if he still yelled at me, it wouldn’t bother me, and he yells at me for a lot more than just medication.

“Yeah,” Zophie sighs, “me too, sometimes.”

I felt myself almost starting to change my mind then. If I got the Happy treatment, I’d never have to choke down my tears in front of Risa or my dad again. I’d never have to feel the way I do whenever my dad gets frustrated. I’d never have to feel lonely eating another microwavable dinner or fast food in the kitchen alone again.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s you, of course. You texted your usual, “Hey, how’s things going?”

I felt like I just needed to cry. I always talk to you whenever things like this happen. Whenever my dad yells again or whenever I’m reminded of how little Risa cares about anything, or whenever I discover another weird thing about Zophie. I couldn’t talk to you though, not this time. Not when it all had to do with the Happy treatment. I felt far away from you, like this dreaded secret created a wall separating us, so I texted you back what I usually text whenever things are going okay.

“I’m doing alright, how’s things for you?”

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