Way Back Home

Pills

I haven't dared to open Wattpad in the last month, terrified that I might fuck things up more.

Why now?

Why why why why why?

I groan in frustration as I look up at the black tv screen.

"You know what will happen if you come back," Olim mocks me, "you only have two choices. Send her and the baby back alone, end the story and never see them again to keep me from getting to her, or," she chuckles darkly, "come back with her to face me. But we both know how that'll end, Abby."

"Stop calling me that," I growl, balling my fists up.

"It's your name, isn't it?" She feigns innocence, "so why can't I?"

"It's not the name I chose," I hiss.

"But it's your given name," she grins, "Abigail Kinsey."

"That's not my name!" I shout, throwing the vase on my side table at her, destroying my tv.

"It's so easy to piss you off."

I look to the window, the darkness outside and the lights inside making the reflection clear.

"Just leave them alone! Leave me alone!"

I quickly get up and close the curtains.

My phone starts to ring but I don't answer it, too busy trying to calm myself down.

It rings again, this time I answer it.

"Hello?"

"Milo," y/n says, voice worried, "I'm coming up on your street, something else is happening."

"Okay," I look around at my ruined house, "I'll let you in."

"Thanks," the call ends.

I quickly start to pick up the shattered glass and thrown books, put my couch back together and put away my shoes that are in different rooms entirely.

The door bell rings and I freeze in my steps.

"Milo, it's me," y/n says from the other side and I breathe out a sigh of relief before answering it.

"What's wrong?" I ask as she quickly walks inside.

"This," the takes off her coat, and rolls up her sleeve, revealing her arm.

"Oh god."

My hand goes over my mouth as I look at the sight.

There's no skin, just paper. Pages of my old diary, my words scribbled across them.

"Milo! What's going on?" She sobs.

"I- I can't tell you," I back away from her a step or two.

"Why not?" She gets closer.

"I need to take my meds," I turn away from her and hurry to the kitchen.

I pull out my pill bottles and a cup, filling the cup up with water.

"Milo, I need you to talk to me," y/n follows me but stops when she sees the pill bottles, "what are all over these for?"

"ADHD, ADD, OCD, anger control, anxiety, insomnia," I list without thinking.

She picks up one of the bottles and reads the lable.

"Risperidone," she says, seeming lost in thought, "what's this one for?"

"Doesn't matter," I take the bottle from her hand and down all the pills quickly.

I put them all away and turn to her.