See In Him

11

"If you're sick, you should stay upstairs," Micheal called when Kennith left the bathroom. His father could hear the door open and his footsteps in the hallway. Aja didn't like spending time with anyone who had any kind of contractible illness; it was devastating for her and her coworkers to take any time off work. Kennith could hear the television.

"It's just a bug," he insisted. "You're still taking the Prozac, right?" Micheal asked. The man asked that same question every time his son showed even the smallest signs of withdrawal. Kennith gave his father that signature, heavy sigh. "Yes, Dad. I'm still taking my Prozac."

There was no reply. The man was satisfied.

—-

It had been almost four days since he took his last pill. It made Kennith feel free, but he was also far more agitated. Not as sexually pent-up, but angry over very small things. The vomiting and diarrhea had stopped that morning. It was replaced by a dry mouth. Soon, his sleep schedule would turn hectic again, but this time, the insomnia would be far worse. He only had a few days to live out peace (or relative peace) before withdrawal finally was at its worst. He would have to take his medicine before that.

Today, his father was taking an hour or two to drag his son and new housemate out into the world. They visited that same coffee shop that they did before, much to Kennith's dismay. He fought the outing hard. Then, they took a walk through a little, local park. Jesse and Micheal were growing closer, and Kennith hated it. It meant that it would be harder to get the guy fired.

Kennith didn't like the sun. It was so bright, it made his eyes hurt even with his sunglasses on. The sound of the loose gravel on his cane annoyed him further. He wanted to scream at his father to stop talking. He wanted to slap the people passing them for walking so close. The boy's breathing was growing heavy. It seemed to blend with distant laughter and yelling.

A runner passed them, so Micheal instinctively leaned down to pull the hand holding Kennith's cane towards him, just to make sure he didn't trip the guy if his son decided to stick it out. He had done it before. Kennith never told anyone that he had done it on purpose. Instinctively, Kennith lurched away. "Don't touch me," he hissed, heart turning fiery-red and burning his rib cage. Micheal was taken aback. Normally, Kennith never retaliated when Micheal tried to help him. It was just something he allowed, sometimes thanked Micheal for.

"What's your problem?" his father demanded, stopping. Kennith was quick with his venomous comebacks. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah, I would. You're being an asshole again."

"Obviously. I wanna go the fuck home."

Micheal Arche was getting so incredibly tired of his son's tantrums. They seemed to only happen in public places. Normally, they weren't horrible, unless—

Kennith raised his eyebrows and shook his head. He was waiting for his father to choose the fight he wanted. Instead, Micheal's reply was rather soft. "Did you stop taking it?"

"Taking what?" Kennith knew how to hide his sudden fear perfectly.

"Your fucking medication, Kennith!"

The entire park seemed to fall silent, even when no one had even noticed the battle between father and son. A dog barked close to them. The rage that boiled in Kennith's body was so hot and destructive, his lip curled up over his teeth. His fists curled and shook. Who was he to tell him when to take his meds? Who was Micheal to say that he couldn't just give himself a few days of sleep or jerking off?

"Guys, let's go home. I can make us a good din—," Jesse tried to break them up, but Kennith certainly wasn't in the mood. Neither of them were. Before Micheal could politely tell Jesse off, Kennith collapsed his cane in one fluid motion.