𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟏𝟒 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

A/N

Hello loves! 

Here's another update for you. Hope you enjoy it and I hope you're all well. 

Carys x

~~~~~~

~ calculation and patience ~

I wiped my mouth with my towel and reached into my washbag for that familiar little orange bottle I had become so accustomed to holding twice a day: once in the morning, once at night-time.

My doctor warned me about the side effects of taking iproniazid (in Layman's terms: the popular antidepressant of the 70s); the regular dizziness, headaches, tiredness... I expected those, but what I didn't expect was the muscle twitching. Of course, my doctor informed me of that as well, but I was doing that 'that'll never happen to me' thing. Stupid. Besides, I was desperate for something that would help take all the pain away.

I hadn't been taking this medication for very long, nor had I told anybody I was on antidepressant medication – I was still waiting to see if it agreed with my body and more importantly if it would help me at all.

After I swallowed the small pill, I stared at myself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, wondering how I'd gotten up to this point. How I was a year out of university, blessed with a sustainable job, but cursed with an unstable family I barely spoke to, mental issues, disordered eating, and on top of that, the recognition of my bisexuality in a world that was yet to accept the mere idea of liking men and women at the same time.

I was 25 years old, and I had the world under me. I was working for John Reid, for God's sake. With determination and boldness, I could build a successful life for myself, yet still... that little voice in my head, that voice I wished so badly would go away every single night, persisted that I would never be good enough.

With a sigh, I chewed on my lip.

At least you look cute today, Maria.

"You look like shit."

I looked toward the open bathroom door to see Paul, hands in his back pockets.

"Rough night?" He asked with a slightly condescending edge.

"What do you mean?" I asked rather quietly.

"Well, I was wondering if you and Roger had a rough night, with you—"

"Sorry, excuse me? Me and Roger?" I scrunched up my eyebrows.

"Come off it, Maria, you were both sleeping on the sofa in a public space. Did you not think somebody would see you?" He smirked.

"Paul... Nothing happened with me and Roger." I said bluntly, turning on my heel to look back in the mirror.

"Sure, sure... Either way, you must've had a rough one. Like I said... Not looking too glamorous this morning," he gestured to his own face in reference to mine. I waited until I saw him leave out the corner of my eye to drop my head and hunch over the sink, my brain feeling as though it was being weighed down by the disappointment of being right. I do look like shit.

I ran my fingers through my hair, scratching at my head in frustration before taking a single deep breath.

"You almost done in here, dear?"

I jumped at the second interruption at the bathroom door, this time looking over my shoulder instead of turning. I let out a sigh of relief, flattening my messed-up hair. "Freddie... You scared me."

"Sorry," he laughed, resting against the doorframe. He looked over me for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "Is everything okay, darling? You look frazzled."