Matters of the Heart

Chapter 0.15

|| Madison ||

"Madison, Mads, are you okay? Mads?"

The familiar voice infiltrated my ears as I was awoken from a deep and dark sleep.

"Mads? Come on, sweetheart, wake up."

I groaned and forced my eyes open but then shut them again when the force of my migraine refused to allow me to open them.

"Madison, wake up, sweetheart." That voice was too familiar.

Again I forced my eyes open and they stayed open this time. After adjusting to the blurry light, I made contact with a very familiar pair of mossy green eyes.

"Calum." My voice came out short and raspy.

"Thank god you're okay," He sighed. "You kinda disappeared on us and we were worried."

I frowned. "What?"

"Mads, nobody's heard anything from you since Friday. You tend to have people worried when you fall off the grid for four days," He told me.

Four days?

And then it all came back to me.

Madeleine's call.

Hillary's call.

The series of panic attacks that followed and continued into the early hours of Saturday morning.

Me finally letting my mental illness win and drag me into a deep dark pit.

This isn't the first time this has happened. My depression is prone to leaving me in a comatose state for days if triggered enough. The last time this happened was nearly a year ago.

"I'm sorry I came in without your permission again but fuck, you really had us worried, Mads," He sighed again, running his hands through his hair. "You weren't answering anyone's calls or texts. I even managed to get in touch with your aunt yesterday and even she hadn't heard from you. Neither have your uncle or your other aunt. Fuck, Madison, do you have any idea how close we were to filing a missing person's report?"

The stress and strain could clearly be heard in Calum's voice as he spoke.

"What's wrong, Madison?" He asked gently. "Tell me, please."

I couldn't bring myself to speak. I couldn't bring myself to tell Calum that I had no control over my mind and I had allowed myself to be dragged into what felt like the pits of hell. I couldn't tell him that my depression and anxiety forced me to cut myself off from the world and wallow in days of a self-induced coma because my body physically couldn't fight the demons inside my head.

"Madison, please," He pleaded, desperation etched into his voice, "tell me what's wrong. Tell me why you're feeling like this again."

Still, I said nothing because if I did, he wouldn't see me just as Madison anymore. In his mind, I'd be Madison with depression.

Our gazes met again and my heart trembled at the pain and desperation in his eyes.

God, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to talk to him so badly but I couldn't. I just couldn't.

"Why won't you talk to me?" He asked softly. "You know I'm here to listen. You know you can tell me anything."

I stared at him lifelessly while my voice lost the fight to come to fruition.

He sighed and then ran his hands through his hair again. I knew he was getting frustrated by my silence.

"Okay, fine," He said, "don't talk then. But I'm not going anywhere until you do." He solidified his stance by dragging the plush chair I had in my room over to the bed and then sat down on it.