Okay

.53.

Mo waits until he's rolling out of the parking lot after therapy before he starts to lay into me.

"Why didn't you tell me about the family session?" His voice is sharp, a little accusatory.

I guess I deserve it.

"I could have been there. I could have..." but as he talks, the anger fades from his voice and it waivers. "I'm trying to help you Drew and I can't if you don't talk to me."

His voice grows thick with emotions and I can't bare to look over at him in fear he's crying. I'm an asshole.

"It's fine, Mo, I'm fine." I force out. "I don't expect them to give a shit about me, they never have."

But I'm lying, I do expect it even though they don't. And every time I'm hit with the reality it's like someone stabbed another knife through my heart.

At this point I've just started a collection, a pile of them protruding from my chest, blood in various stages of coagulation as it drips from the open wound that I've been ignoring my whole life.

But it's okay. I'm okay. I'm trying.

I let my fingers tap along the window sill of his truck. It's a weak attempt at trying to expel some of the energy that I have. I'm not really sure if it helps but I tell myself it does.

"How is the change in medication?" Mo asks, changing the subject to one that's not anymore desirable.

"I already told you." I say. "It's fine."

I focus out the window, the scenery seemingly unchanging as we drive the same streets back to my apartment. Dr. Gregory has been checking in with me. Asking me about how the new meds are making me feel. I'm trying to give them time, that's what everyone's been telling me to do anyway.

"I'm having a hard time believing you son." Mo says.

Letting out a groan because I'm trying to convince Mo that I haven't completely lost it. That I haven't nailed fabric over my balcony windows because I swear to fucking God that the balcony is calling me to it. That I don't pace restlessly when someone's not there.

But as I tip my head back and let it roll to the side, I see his cheeks streaked with fresh tears and guilt rips through me. I'm putting everyone through hell.

How much longer can I do this to everything?

"They make me a little jittery." I confess. "Like too much physical energy. I'm just trying to give them time."

Mo's head bobs along. "And you've told Dr. Gregory?"

Don't lie, don't lie.

"Yeah." Fuck. I hang my head.

We're silent for the remainder of the ride back to my apartment. Mo goes to follow me out of his truck but I give him some bullshit about how I've got to be on a conference call in an hour and I need that time to prep. In my defense I am supposed to touch base with my team, but there isn't a scheduled time frame.

I just can't be around him any longer and my growing unease is starting to claw away at the front I've managed to hang on to.