The Adderall Diaries Page #2

They're right, you know.

The body is buried here.

There's no way

he buried the body that close.

Oh, yeah.

Where would you dump a body?

Hudson canyon.

Okay. It's weird you had

an answer for that, but...

It's in New Jersey

off the coast.

It's this underwater canyon.

It's starts in the basin

and goes out in the ocean,

like 400 miles.

It's as big as the Grand Canyon,

but nobody knows about it.

So people just abandon

things there all the time.

I once dropped

an engagement ring in there.

Sorry.

I don't know

why I just said that.

Jesus Christ!

Um, so what are you

doing tonight?

Lana:
I don't know.

What do you have in mind?

Stephen:

"I never went back.

I couldn't stand

to see her that way.

Three months later,

she was dead.

My father told me in the front

seat of his convertible

after finding me in a park.

He was already living

with his new wife

and her children

somewhere in the suburbs.

He wouldn't tell me which one.

I lived on the streets until an

overdose put me in the hospital

and I became

a ward of the state.

The day my father was found

guilty of abuse and neglect,

I sat beside him in court.

Right before my statement,

he pulled me close,

so it would look like

he was hugging me,

and then he whispered in my ear,

'you know it's all your fault,

right?

You killed your mother.'

that's what I could never explain

to the lawyers and case workers.

It wasn't about the handcuffs

or the beatings

or his shaving my head.

That was nothing.

It was the constant suggestion

that I was doing

something wrong,

that I was inherently poisonous

and to blame

for the series of abuses

and abandonment

that marked my adolescence.

He made that suggestion

in countless, subtle

and more obvious ways

all the years he was alive."

Man:
This is bullshit.

"In the end his passing

brought me no satisfaction,

no closure.

The day he died..."

Jesus Christ, how can

you people listen to this crap?

Oh my god, it's a ghost!

Boo!

My son, ladies and gentlemen.

The poor, abused orphan,

the underdog.

How convenient for you to have

a dead monster for a father.

How utterly pitiable.

I should be gettin' royalties

for this sh*t.

My son, the storyteller...

What a f***ing joke!

You deserve to be played

fallin' for this nonsense.

My son was never homeless.

He was never in group homes.

He was a drug addict f***-up

who wants to seem

interesting and dramatic

and take your money

is what he wants.

All right, Neil, you gotta go.

- How are you doing?

- You gotta go.

Get your f***in' hands

off of me!

- You gotta go.

- I gotta go?

You're a f***in'

coward... always have been.

You people are all fools

to listen to this bullshit.

Um...

You know, I haven't seen him

in seven years.

The one thing we can

agree on though is that

we're just dead to each other.

You don't have to explain to me.

Well, unfortunately,

I don't think everyone else

will feel that way.

But thank you.

I tried to kill

my stepfather once...

...when I was 16.

I worked in a pharmacy,

and I did the research.

I figured out what kind of

pill I would need

and how much it

would take to kill a man,

the whole thing, right?

I put a few pills in my pocket

every day before I left work,

saved up enough, ground them up

and put them

in his fancy bottle of scotch

that he wouldn't let

anyone else touch.

So you killed him.

Nope.

Not even close.

Nothing happened.

It just went right through

his system.

He was that fat.

I guess I shouldn't laugh.

You'll get to funny one day.

It just takes time.

Stephen:
So what were you like

in high school?

Lana:
Me? I was a bad ass.

A bad ass?

Lana:
Oh, yeah. I had a punk

band and everything.

What were you called?

We were called the Lys Dexics.

- What?

- Think about it.

Oh, like dyslexic.

I played bass,

which is ridiculous

because I can't even hear

bass notes. But whatever.

There's only like

four of them, so.

And then we had this whole bit

where I sprayed hairspray

into Mattie's lighter.

It was very cool.

Wish I could have seen you then.

A little delinquent, yeah?

So why'd you break up?

- Lana:
The band?

- Uh-hmm.

I guess I ultimately figured out

it was less fun to have bad sex

in the back of a Van sober.

What kind of sober?

Not wanting to be

my stepfather kind.

Do you mind if I ask

what he did to you?

It's in the past.

I'm not looking

over my shoulder.

I know, but what happens

to us makes us who we are.

No. F*** them!

That has nothing to do

with who I am.

He has nothing to do

with who I became.

That doesn't mean

you need to bury it.

I'm not burying anything.

I've just got some souvenirs.

Stephen:

I think you're perfect.

I wouldn't want you

any other way.

Hey!

Jesus!

Where the hell have you been?

Oh... uh, I just...

I needed a little time,

that's all.

Come in.

What are you doing?

Oh, it's this thing

Roger turned me on to.

You heat it up to 209 degrees.

No, I mean, what in the actual

f*** are we gonna do?

I don't know.

Uh, I never really had a plan

for when life

shits the bed like this.

Do you have any sense

of how many phone calls

and hysterical emails

I've gotten?

As a matter of fact, I do.

I changed my number.

Thanks for letting me know.

So here's where we are.

Random house is backing out

of the short story collection.

Columbia wants to buy you out

of your teaching contract.

- F*** them.

- Essentially, everyone

is on the verge of suing us.

The penguin thing...

That's over, too?

Not yet.

I have managed

to talk them down,

but you have got to

work with me here.

Okay. All right.

Just tell me how.

Okay. First of all,

you have to tell me the truth.

All right. Easy.

Everything.

Look, yeah, my dad

isn't dead, obviously.

But that's it.

So why does Neil say that

you never lived in a group home?

Why does he say

you were never homeless?

Why? Because...

My dad's crazy, that's why!

I don't know. I've been trying

to figure it out my whole life.

He just... he doesn't want me

to be happy.

Do you have proof?

What kind of proof?

I don't know.

Records.

I mean, not on me.

Find some... quick!

I believe you,

but you've gotta cover your ass.

Okay.

Next, you've got to write

a press release statement

like now.

Next, penguin has gotta

have some pages asap!

Unless you start producing,

this all goes away.

Kill yourself,

you f***in' a**hole.

- Whad'ya got?

- I already paid for that.

Neil:

Don't be stupid.

Say what do you want from me.

I don't know.

I know exactly

what you like, don't I?

Man:
Hi, Cori.

Cori, do you remember

drawing that picture?

Yes.

Why did you draw it?

I drew it to show what happened.

Hans went away for a long time,

and when he came back,

he had this very big bag.

Inside the bag there were

so many rolls of tape,

like a ball,

and Hans took it to his car.

Now, in your picture,

the bag is zipped up.

Could you actually see what was in

the bag or were you just kind of

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