Bad Boy Chemistry

45. Coping Techniques

Charlie's POV

"Selective mutism." Doctor Laura Marin diagnosed me.

Keyword: selective.

"It's an anxiety disorder, a coping mechanism, typically shown children, teens and young adults."

I rolled my eyes.

"Will he ever talk again?" My mom asked from beside me, as if I wasn't even here.

"With time. With most people afflicted by this particular disorder, it could take a while before he speaks again."

My mom put her hand on my arm before I pulled away.

"Charlie, would you mind waiting outside? I'd like to speak with your mother." Laura looked me in the eyes.

I eagerly jumped at the chance and made my way to the waiting area outside the door.

Why couldn't people just understand that I didn't want to talk?

I was sick of talking. I was tired, like annoyingly tired. And I'm not talking about tired for sleep. I was exhausted.

~

My mother didn't speak the entire ride home. Then, when we entered the house, she still didn't speak until I was well out of ear shot.

I could hear my father's muffled voice from upstairs. They were talking about me, probably making plans to get me on medication or something.

When I entered my bedroom, Cinnamon meowed from my bed.

I walked towards the bed and sat down next to him, stroking him gently. He purred as I stroke behind his ears.

I wonder if Cinnamon ever feels lonely and sad?

We could start a club together.

I lie down on my back with a sigh, staring at the ceiling whilst continuing to pet a purring Cinnamon.

I didn't like feeling this way.

Depressed, pathetic, worthless.

Lost and alone.

I hated it.

And I hated myself.

Charlie fudging Harrington, ladies, gentlemen and non-binaries; the gay freak going through a mental health crisis.

I connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and began to play music at a high enough volume that would hopefully make my thoughts disappear.

I couldn't explain the way I was feeling. I was on edge, irritable. This is what I'd imagine being high would feel like.

Speaking of being high, I wonder if weed would help me chill the heck out.

No.

Definitely not, Charlie.

I amped the speaker up more, but it didn't work, nothing did.

I guess it couldn't hurt to try hemp.

I pulled my phone out and unlocked it using face I.d. Surely someone I knew had some, or at least knew how to get some.

The only person I knew who seemed like the type to know where to get weed was Ace, which was stereotypical of me.

I searched his name up on social media. I've known him for awhile now, and we still weren't friends online. I mean, I sent him a friend request before our argument. When he didn't accept, I canceled the request.

No, this was a bad idea.

I didn't need illicit drugs to help me. Instead, I rushed to my laptop on my homework desk and started googling possible solutions to my anxiety problem.

Breath? Oh, cause I guess nobody has ever tried that first before googling.

I scrolled down.

The 5-4-3-2-1 coping technique?

Okay, I'm intrigued. I continued to read.

Five: Look around the room, then name five things you see around you.

I inhaled a breath and exhaled before naming five things in my head.

A pencil.

A lamp.

My backpack.

Bookshelf.

PlayStation console.

Alright, easy enough.

Four: Next, name four things you can touch.

Uh... The carpet, the chair beneath me, the laptop and my homework desk.

I inhaled a deep breath, holding it a minute before releasing and continuing to read.

Three: Acknowledge three things you can hear.

Cinnamon purring. The faint sound of my laptop humming. And the sound of my own heart beating.

Two: Note two things you can smell.

Freshly cleaned sheets. My own body odour.

One: Notice something you can taste inside your mouth.

Does saliva count?

I admit, that felt oddly calming. It took my mind off, well, my mind.

I was able to think of something other than my problems.

Ryan's POV

"Have you heard from him?" I asked Ella.

We were hanging out at her house to discuss what was going on with Charlie.

"His mom says he's still not talking. Like, at all." Ella stated, continuing to refresh her texts for the one hundredth time.

"What do we do?" Clayton wondered out loud. "Should we just go over and talk to him?"

"That's a bad idea." Tom voiced his opinion, causing all eyes to fall on him.

"Why?" Clayton asked.

Tom sighed. "From what you guys told me, it seems like he's pretty upset." He sat up, removing his arm from around Ella's shoulder before continuing to speak. "No offence guys, but you really fucked up."

Ella gasped. "Huh?"

Tom put a hand on her arm. "Sorry babe, but it's the truth. Charlie's your best friend, and he was pretty hesitant to throw a party to begin with. Then, when he agreed to throw a party, he asked for it to be small. Turns out everyone except me showed up." He turned his glare to Clayton.

"And you've been secretly hooking up with his older sister who dropped out of college, behind his back, for god knows how long."

Then he turned to face me, his index finger pointing straight into my soul.

"And you knew about Clayton hooking up with Nora, and you didn't say anything to him?" Tom sighed dramatically.

"I love you guys, but you're pretty bad friends.. and boyfriend."

Ella elbowed him in the ribs. "You're supposed to be on my side, even when I'm wrong."

Tom winced. "Nah, I'm on team Charlie." He cracked open a can of soda and took a loud sip from it.

"He's been through a lot. I mean, he was bullied for being gay, he got beat up by Joey which resulted in him having a broken leg. His birthday turned out to be a shit show, and basically all of his friends, his sister and his boyfriend, betrayed him. So, I really don't think you guys should just show up and try and talk to him on your terms. It's selfish."

He's right.

Who knew Tom fucking Barrol to be a wise-ass?