The Gay Gatsby

Chapter 12: In Which Chance Has 83 Protons

REALLY IMPORTANT: Check bottom of chapter for content warnings (because it's kind of a spoiler.)

Author's Note: Basically Chance being an adorable, caring, and nosy nerd. Another long chapter. (3600 words. Jesus, this is what my life has come to.) I hope you like it!

Chapter 12: In Which Chance Has 83 Protons

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Chance

Prozac.

The small word sailed through my mind as I sat, stunned.

I gaped at Callaway for an instant from my spot on the couch. The shorter boy continued to work, oblivious to my internal distress.

The bottle had been lying plainly by the sink, free for anyone to see. Though, when I had made my trip to the restroom, I had still felt like an intruder.

I wasn't supposed to see that.

I wasn't supposed to know what that small bottle of pills meant; what it insinuated.

But I did and I didn't know what to do.

I had spent a good minute or more than usual in the washroom, in an attempt to gather my thoughts and refrain from jumping to conclusions.

Maybe it's his dad's or mom's.

Maybe it's his brothers.

Maybe it's not for what I think it is.

Nevertheless, all the explanations my brain had created were thrown away when I looked at the bottle more closely. There was a sticky note adhered to the side of the bottle, filled with a messy, scrawled message.

Cal,
Remember to carefully follow the instructions inscribed on the bottle and to remember to come to our sessions for Mondays and Thursdays. And please don't refrain from calling if you're ever in need of immediate help.
- Dr. Thompson

Then everything fell into place:

Callaway was depressed.

Callaway was depressed.

I looked back at Callaway, trying to imagine the small curly haired boy next to me taking pills and going to a therapist twice a week. That realization made me gape at him, fear dressing my features.

I didn't know much about mental illness, but I assumed that if he was obligated to meet his doctor bi-weekly, his condition was probably pretty severe.

As I continued to ogle him, Callaway's eyes darted up to mine. I awkwardly snapped my head towards my work, trying my best to remain calm and nonchalant. He looked at me oddly for a moment, surely having seen my previous expression. I refrained from looking at Callaway then, to prevent conflict.

I stared at my, mostly abandoned, work. I had only taken down one note.

- Elevator sex

Which really made no sense. Though I may have recalled an elevator scene in the novel, I was certain there was no "elevator sex".

I forgave myself for my mental absence considering that my thoughts are focused on something of more significance.

I debated asking Callaway, blunt and specific as to not have any confusion.