Angry at Love

chapter 18

<<<MILES>>>

When Fisher walked in, that's when everything went to hell.

Not gonna lie, this home had kinda grown on me. And I hated that it had. Fisher and his wife were nice, they fed me well and asked all these annoying stupid questions. But those questions proved they had cared.

Apparently, that can go all out the window in less than a minute.

He yelled at Casey to leave, and Casey did.

When he came back from pushing him out the door, probably throwing him in the end, he was fuming.

He yelled about how sick I was, how wrong and unnatural it was. I'd heard it all before, but it still hurt. I had thought I shut myself away from that . . . but apparently every single time I open up, it all goes wrong.

I was scared, not gonna lie. Of course I was. I'd been hit and beaten for the very reason Fisher was raging.

"Phone!" he yelled, his hand out expectantly. I gave it to him, hoping he was just going to ground me or something. I handed it over, and he made me unlock it, which I did. Though very reluctantly.

He went through all my apps and stuff, yelling about how I shouldn't have this or that. After a bit, he put it in his pocket.

But then he did something that scared me to death.

He snatched the pill bottle from my nightstand, and walked out. I gaped after him, and when my mind caught up, I scrambled after him. I ran down the hallway as fast as I could, stumbling into the wall.

But I had let him get ahead of me. The bathroom was too close to my room.

Just as I skidded around the corner of the doorway, the toilet flushed. And in his hand, Fisher held my empty pill bottle.

Shit.

He spit in my face as I stared at the still swirling water in the bowl in disbelief.

"No pills should be wasted on some no good fag!" he yelled, backhanding me across the face.

I shrunk back, trying to keep out of his way to avoid more hits. Thankfully, though I don't know if my strategy worked, or if he just didn't feel like hitting me, he stormed out without touching me again.

I waited in silence for a few moments to make sure he wouldn't come back before I let myself really think about what had just happened.

He just stole my meds.

I won't be able to take medication until I get a new bottle, in two weeks.

I started pacing as I mulled it all over.

Do you know what this means?

Probably not . . . maybe.

It means that I was going to have much more frequent partial seizures, and greater risk of having a big one. And with my personal epilepsy(it might not be the same for someone else), it was almost guaranteed. I could go a few days off my meds without a major seizure, but I'd still have to be extremely careful.

A whole two weeks? Guaranteed tonic clonic seizure. Along with a lot of other shitty symptoms

Not good.

Not good at all. Shit.

__

Monday was not a good day. Of course it wasn't.

I hadn't had my meds for however many days and it was starting to get to me. I snapped at people and things more than usual(and I already do that a fair bit). I was very irritable.

I was tired, so I slept through almost all my classes.

The lights were brighter. The classes and just... everything in general were louder.

And then on top of that, I was just generally in a horrible mood, because well... who wouldn't be?

And guess what?

Something that made it even worse, so much worse, was that Casey completely ignored me the entire day. Acted as if I simply didn't exist.

I felt like absolute shit. No... I felt worse than absolute shit.

I had to constantly keep myself from crying, something I had only ever done in solitude, and not in years. I had multiple outbursts of yelling, and once I even yelled at a teacher and it wasn't even lunch yet.

I walked into English class, exhausted. I went to my regular seat and fell heavily into it. The class was still almost empty because I hadn't stopped to do anything in the hall, usually I talked to Casey in between classes. Of course, for reasons I couldn't understand, that was out of the question.

So I just laid my head down and went to sleep again.

What felt like moments later, there was a gentle shaking on my shoulder.

I looked up groggily to find the teacher, Mrs. Linache, looking down at me.

I knew everyone was staring at me, but I didn't care, nor acknowledge it.

"Miles, I know you're tired, but I need you to listen, this is an important project." her voice was soft, and I could practically see the pity dripping from her words like sticky honey and half dried glue. That only made me angry.

I tried to just go back to sleep, I didn't want to snap at her. She was nice.

But she knocked on my desk gently, she did everything gently. I peeked at her from my arms and saw she had squatted down to eye level with me.

"Miles, this project is the biggest one of the year. I know you're tired, and I know you're probably having a bad day, but please, just listen for a little bit. Okay? If you want, we can talk after class, maybe I can help you out." her honey coloured eyes were full of sadness and sympathy, and that stupid fucking pity again.

"Yeah, you're right, I am having absolutely fucking horrible day, thanks for fucking noticing.

I don't want your pity. I don't give a flying fuck if I fail, so no, I don't think I will listen. And I think I'll be good after class. As if you'd be any help. Let me go march on the fuck on home and just patch every single one of my problems, while singing and dancing to fucking nursery rhymes!"

At some point in my ranting, I had stood up, and my voice had risen.

Mrs. Linache's face had morphed into one of horror, apparently she didn't like being yelled at. Nobody said a word, nobody moved a single muscle.

Then, the teacher spoke. Somehow her voice was still soft and gentle, and yet somehow also menacing, angry. She was seething. "Miles... go to the office... now."

I rolled my eyes, "Sure thing teach, now I won't have to listen to your shitty project."

She pointed to the door, hissing, "out."

And so I sauntered out the door, pretending not to care that I just made the one teacher I didn't mind hate me.