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          MARISOL WAS NOT TAKING HER MEDS. Contemplating her decision, Marisol reasoned that joining Cobra Kai would allow her to operate at her physical and mental peak. However, she acknowledged the challenge of dealing with the anger that often accompanied her bipolar episodes. Despite foreseeing potential consequences, she believed the strength she could harness in Cobra Kai outweighed the risks.

Yet, Marisol was keenly aware of the repercussions. She knew that without her medication, sleepless nights and manic episodes awaited her. The thought of her family discovering she wasn't taking her meds loomed large – a scenario that could lead to a well-intentioned but forceful push for her to resume medication, regardless of her perspective.

She resisted the idea of taking medication because, in her experience, it left her feeling emotionally numb. The internal struggle between the desire for strength and the aversion to medication added layers to Marisol's complex decision-making process.

Immersed in the tunes of Lady Gaga through her earbuds, Marisol swayed and danced in the kitchen, passionately flipping pancakes at the unconventional hour of three am. The rhythm of the music overtook her, and she couldn't resist breaking into song, momentarily oblivious to the fact that her family peacefully slept elsewhere in the house.

Mila was abruptly awakened by the unexpected sounds emanating from downstairs. Curiosity and a sense of unease guided her down the stairs to find Marisol wide awake in the kitchen. An unspoken worry etched across her face, Mila couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in her gut.

Parting her lips in a quiet realization, Mila decided to investigate further. Silently ascending the staircase, she maneuvered into Marisol's room with a blend of caution and concern. In the dimly lit room, Mila meticulously combed through drawers, her hands moving with purpose, searching for the telltale sign of a pill bottle. The ambient melody of Lady Gaga's music downstairs added an eerie contrast to the otherwise hushed atmosphere, heightening the tension as Mila pressed on with her discreet quest for answers.

As Mila carefully searched, her fingers grazed against the cool surface of the pill bottle concealed beneath Marisol's mattress. Extracting it, she felt a surge of relief and concern washing over her simultaneously. Marisol's lips trembled with unspoken emotions as she surveyed the untouched contents—an entire bottle of pills, obtained merely a week ago.

In the hushed room, a sudden whistle pierced the air, causing Mila's heart to race in her chest. Startled, she quickly turned, meeting Marisol's gaze. The atmosphere hung heavy with unspoken questions, the gravity of the discovery amplifying the tension between them.

Marisol was adorned in a carefully curated ensemble, her hair styled with half up and half down flair. The distinctive choice included her trademark plaid flannel, a black crop top, and black ripped jeans. Her headphones hung casually around her neck, a subtle detail to her overall appearance.

In the midst of her put-together look, Marisol's demeanor shifted abruptly. Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she confronted Mila, who stood there, caught off guard. "What the heck, Mila? Why are you snooping through my stuff?" Marisol drawled, her glare piercing through the air, the room now charged with tension.

Mila's eyes rolled with a mix of frustration and concern. "Why haven't you been taking your meds?" she fretted, a panicked expression on her face. As her gaze scrutinized Marisol, she observed the subtle changes—Marisol had cut her hair and reverted to her natural hair color. "Oh my god, did you finally cut your hair and dye it back?" Mila exclaimed, a note of surprise and realization coloring her words.

Taking advantage of the diverted conversation, Marisol entered her room. Methodically, she picked up the clothes Mila had casually thrown onto the floor, restoring order to her personal space. As she carefully arranged the items, Marisol responded to Mila's earlier question. "Yeah, I did. I got tired of the long hair and the grown-out blonde," she explained with a sigh, her gaze meeting Mila's. The weariness in her voice hinted at the emotional weight behind the decision to cut her hair and return to her natural color.

Mila nodded with a sense of urgency. "Okay, well, why haven't you been taking your meds? You're lucky I was the one who noticed and not Dad. He would have gone ballistic," she asserted, her concern laced with a hint of reproach. In response, Marisol blew a playful raspberry, a mix of defiance and nonchalance evident as she folded her arms across her chest. The dynamic between the two intensified, underscoring the weight of Mila's discovery.

"I... I forgot," Marisol lied, her words carrying a subtle hesitation, hinting at the deceit woven into her response.

Mila responded with a deadpan look. "You expect me to believe that?" she noted, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Marisol closed the distance, placing her hands on her little sister's shoulders. "I'm fine. I'm taking my meds, okay? This is a new bottle, and I just refilled it ahead of time. I still had some left in my old bottle. I finished it off last night. I can show you," she pointed toward her bathroom, guiding Mila's gaze over her shoulder. The weight of the explanation hung in the air, the subtle reassurance in Marisol's touch contrasting with the lingering doubt in Mila's expression.

Mila's eyes widened with a realization that she might have jumped to conclusions. "No, it's fine. I'll take your word for it. I'm gonna go back to bed. Good night," she declared, a mix of relief and acceptance in her tone as she processed Marisol's explanation. Marisol returned a reassuring smile. "Good night, Mils," she said, the exchange marking a delicate resolution to the tense moment, with unspoken understanding lingering between the two sisters.

After exiting her room, Mila carefully set the pill bottle on her nightstand, releasing a sigh of relief. Her shoulders dropped as if shedding a burden, visibly expressing the weight lifted off her.

Mila was secretly glad Marisol hadn't pressed to inspect the bottle because, truth be told, it was no longer in her possession. In a decisive act, she had drained the last remnants down the drain, underscoring the sincerity of her claim about refilling the bottle ahead of time. The room, once charged with tension, now held a quiet understanding between the two sisters.

With a gentle thud, Marisol sank onto her bed, her gaze fixated on the ceiling. The internal debate raged within her as she grappled with the decision to take her medication. The temptation to procrastinate danced in her thoughts, fueled by the desire to sidestep the numbness and vulnerability that came with it. Yet, a nagging fear loomed—she couldn't bear the thought of her dad discovering her lapse in medication adherence.

The room bore witness to the silent struggle as Marisol lay there, torn between conflicting emotions, the weight of each option pulling her in different directions.

A low, frustrated groan slipped past Marisol's lips, breaking the silence of her room. She sat up, the weight of indecision pressing on her. Leaning back slightly, her gaze settled on the pill bottle with a mix of reluctance and acknowledgment.

Clicking her tongue, Marisol reached for the bottle, her hands moving with a practiced routine. Popping it open, she extracted a single pill, holding it momentarily in her fingertips. With a sigh, she placed it in her mouth, swallowing it down. The act carried a subtle gravity, a quiet acknowledgment of the need to remain committed to her medication regimen. The room, once filled with uncertainty, settled into a moment of resolution.

As the morning advanced, Marisol succumbed to a brief respite, only to be roused by the insistent vibration of her phone. She wearily lifted her head from the cradle of her pillow, seizing the device to find Sam's name on the screen. Answering with a deadpan tone, she muttered a casual, "Hey, Sam." Amidst the conversation, a distant sound permeated the line, prompting Marisol to interject, "Okay, Anthony! Leave me alone." A scoff echoed from the other end. Disturbed, she called out Sam's name inquisitively, seeking clarity in the unexpected disturbance.

"Sorry, we need to talk."

Marisol's laughter bubbled forth. "We're just having a chat, you goof," she teased, her words invoking a subtle frown from Sam on the other end of the line. "Well, spill the details. Why did my dad witness you exiting Cobra Kai yesterday?" The question hung in the air, demanding an explanation for an unexpected sighting.

Marisol's eyes widened, and she fell into a tense silence, grappling with internal dilemmas. What could she say? Should she confess or fabricate? Opting for deceit, she chuckled, "Oh, I was just in there chatting with Tory. She needed advice about summer school – considering I did it before freshman year. She wanted insights on the teacher. Ah, Mr. Tony, good times!" Her words flowed in a rapid, somewhat nervous ramble.

Marisol felt the prickling discomfort of nervous sweat on her forehead, desperately wishing Sam would buy her explanation—and she did. "Oh, okay. I'll inform my dad," Sam replied, seemingly satisfied. Changing the subject, she shared, "Eagle-Fang and Cobra Kai are closed. Eli didn't mention it, did he?" Marisol hummed, "No, he's tied up at his grandparents' place, aiding in their move to the summer home. No service there." Sam chuckled softly, "Got it, well, that explains it. Cool." The tension eased, replaced by a casual exchange.

A palpable awkwardness permeated the silent phone line. "I gotta go," Marisol announced abruptly, bringing the call to an awkward close. As she hung up, she muttered to herself, "Well, that was awkward," and lowered her head back onto the pillow, attempting to resume her interrupted sleep.

Little did Marisol know, Sam had uncovered the truth about her visit to Cobra Kai. Tory had reached out to Robby, sharing the details, and Robby, currently on a trip to Mexico with Hollis and Miguel to reunite with his father and Hollis' mom, couldn't keep the information to himself. The web of connections and secrets quietly unfolded in the background, unbeknownst to Marisol as she sought solace in sleep.

At around 2 pm, Mila burst into Marisol's room, eliciting a startled gasp from her. Marisol lifted her head, locking eyes with Mila. "What?" she yawned, stretching her arms. Mila informed her, "Dad and Natasha want to talk to you."

Marisol gently patted her lips, concern etched on her face. "Did you let them know?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hint of hoarseness. Mila, wearing an apologetic expression, moistened her lips, running a hand through her slightly disheveled, greasy hair. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but worry about you," she explained. "Just so you know, I took my meds after you left my room." The air carried a mixture of tension and reassurance as they navigated the delicate conversation.

Mila nonchalantly shrugged. "Don't worry. They're not upset."

With an audible sigh, Marisol tossed her head back, freeing herself from the blanket's embrace, and briskly hopped off the bed. Following Mila downstairs, her eyes wandered, contemplating the impending conversation. As Mila settled across from her dad and Natasha, Marisol observed, her gaze drifting in a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Marisol anxiously bit down on her bottom lip, a telltale sign of her nervousness. She settled into a seat beside Mila, glancing at her dad and Natasha who exchanged a meaningful look. Natasha, with a gentle touch, placed her hand on top of George's. "Marisol, we believe it's in your best interest to return to therapy. It's been a while," Natasha stated, the weight of concern evident in her words as the room hung in a moment of contemplation.

Marisol sought solace in her sister's encouraging nod, finding strength in Mila's support. Turning her gaze back to her dad and Natasha, she expressed, "I think so too." Mila's lips curled into a warm smile, a silent acknowledgment of solidarity. George, with a tone of reassurance, declared, "And we're going to make sure you're taking your meds consistently, too." The room held a mixture of concern and determination, echoing the commitment to Marisol's well-being.

Marisol's fingers threaded through her hair, a physical manifestation of her internal contemplation. "Okay," she acquiesced, eyebrows raised in a blend of acceptance and curiosity. Natasha, emanating a reassuring presence, disclosed, "You have a therapy session with Dr. Alderman today at three. I go to her as well; she's incredible. I truly love her." Marisol nodded, absorbing the information, and with a determined nod, she pushed her chair back, rising to her feet. A mix of emotions played across her face as she made her way upstairs, preparing for the therapy appointment that lay ahead—a shower acting as a symbolic cleanse before the session.

An air of nervous tension enveloped Marisol as she sat in the therapist's office, her hands anxiously fidgeting in her lap. Despite having been in a similar setting before, it had been quite a while since her last encounter with a therapist. The decision to return was prompted by her sister Mila's convincing encouragement, a gentle but firm push toward acknowledging the need for professional help. In the quiet of the office, Marisol grappled with a mix of apprehension and determination, recognizing the importance of this step in her journey.

The therapist, a compassionate woman with short, curly hair, welcomed Marisol with a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Hello, Marisol. It's good to see you," she expressed warmly. Leaning slightly forward, she continued, "How have you been?" The inviting atmosphere of the therapist's office provided a safe space for Marisol to open up about her feelings and experiences.

Marisol opened up, her voice carrying the weight of vulnerability. "I've been wrestling with the challenges of my depression and bipolar disorder. My sister found out I was off my medications and convinced me to come here," she admitted. Dr. Alderman, nodding empathetically, responded, "I'm glad you're here. It takes a lot of courage to seek help. Can you elaborate more on what you've been feeling?" In the therapist's office, a space designed for healing, Marisol felt a sense of relief, knowing that she could share her struggles without judgment.

After a brief pause, Marisol gathered her thoughts and began to speak, her words carrying the weight of vulnerability. "Lately, I've been feeling numb, like I'm disconnected from the world," she confessed. "I've lost interest in things I used to love, and my moods have been swinging wildly from high to low."

The therapist listened attentively, nodding in understanding. "It sounds like you're going through a challenging time. Can you tell me more about these mood swings? When did they start?" she inquired, prompting Marisol to delve deeper into the complexities of her emotions.

Marisol unraveled the intricate narrative of Cobra Kai's karate war to Dr. Alderman, who, with a discerning tone, cautiously suggested that disengaging might be the prudent choice. Pushing back, Marisol painted a vivid picture of the potential consequences should she step away from the conflict, emphasizing the complex web of relationships and personal stakes involved.

Understanding the gravity of Marisol's situation, Dr. Alderman advised, "Make sure to be safe and watch your actions, so you don't inadvertently become like the others in Cobra Kai—avoiding the pitfalls of turning into a bully."

Amidst the discussion, Marisol opened up about the people shaping her world, detailing the roles of individuals like Sam, Mila, Eli, and others. The therapist listened, absorbing the complexities of Marisol's life, as the conversation unfolded in the safe haven of the therapy session.

A measured silence hung in the air before Dr. Alderman spoke with genuine compassion. "It sounds like you've been carrying quite a weight," she acknowledged. Leaning forward, she continued, "I want you to know that you don't have to face this alone. There are people who genuinely care about you and want to be there for you. You have a support system, and reaching out to them when you need it is a crucial step in your journey."

Her gaze intent on Marisol, Dr. Alderman offered guidance, "Taking care of yourself involves more than just therapy. Remember to take your medication consistently, prioritize getting enough rest, and don't hesitate to lean on your support system. They're here for you." In the sanctuary of the therapist's office, these words resonated as a lifeline for Marisol's journey ahead.

Marisol nodded, the weight on her shoulders easing ever so slightly. Amidst the challenges ahead, a glimmer of relief found its way into her consciousness. She recognized the journey wouldn't unfold effortlessly, but there was a quiet satisfaction in acknowledging that she had courageously taken the inaugural steps toward her path to recovery. The therapist's office became a haven, a place where the burdens felt a little lighter, and the promise of a better future seemed a bit more tangible.

Stepping outside the therapist's office after completing her first session, Marisol was met by her patiently waiting dad. "How did it go?" he questioned, a puzzled look etched on his face. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "It went well," before climbing into her dad's truck.

As she settled in, Marisol absentmindedly checked her phone and discovered a picture sent by Hollis. The image captured Miguel, Robby, and Hollis together, a tangible reminder that they were on their way back. A mix of emotions swirled within Marisol—satisfaction from her therapy session and anticipation for the return of friends who held a special place in her life.

Hollis: on my way back🏃‍♀️

A snort escaped Marisol as she shared the picture with her dad, who responded with a head shake and a grin. "That little shit. I'm gonna tease him when he gets back," he joked, starting up the truck. Marisol couldn't help but giggle at her dad's playful threat.

Feeling mischievous, she suggested, "Let's send them a picture back." The duo took a spontaneous selfie, making funny faces that cracked them both up. Amid laughter, Marisol swiftly sent the goofy snapshot back to Miguel, Robby, and Hollis, creating a light-hearted connection across the miles.

Marisol: my dad he's gonna murder you when you come back.

The engine hummed as her dad steered away from the therapist's office, and a sense of contentment enveloped Marisol. Leaning her head against the window, she gazed at passing scenery with a gentle grin, the weight of the therapy session gradually giving way to a quiet sense of relief and optimism.

—

ash speaks!

Next chapter is packed with drama so enjoy this somewhat good chapter🏃‍♀️