NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

29: a very sad man with enormous wings

            'Cecilio will be fine,' Bobbi assures me again. 'You take care of yourself, Nicolás. Try to get some sleep tonight.'

I fidget with Sasha's stapler as I tell her that I will. I'm not sure that Bobbi believes me but she resigns and hangs up. Dropping my phone onto the desk, I grant myself a minute-long power nap before I grab my disinfectant spray bottle and exit Sasha's office.

Joe looks up as I drag my feet up the ramp to the Sistine Chapel room. We've not talked much today. Neither of us has turned on any music. I suppose she's cross with me for cutting off our conversation last night. Joe's flattened lips and scrunched brow certainly give that impression.

By now, it goes without saying that my dating life is fucking pathetic and always has been, but there were a few people I clicked with in the spring when I downloaded Bumble—three, to be specific. What nipped those connections before they could bloom were the same thing: Cece.

It's a lot like that one scene from Love Actually where Laura Linney's character finally gets to hook up with her fit coworker only to be interrupted by a call from her brother. Yeah... It's a lot like that scene, actually, except I never hesitate to pick up the phone. And the fit coworker character is out the door without giving me as much as an opportunity to dodge their questions.

I can't blame them. Everyone wants to be prioritized, it's a fair deal breaker to have. Don't change the fact that I need to prioritise Cece. Don't change the fact that I'll never date or befriend someone who doesn't wanna "deal" with it. And if that means losing friends then I guess I'm okay with that.

But the sharpness in Joe's eyes that I'd identified as anger might've been worry.

'Are you okay?' She wrings the biodegradable wipe in her hands. 'Don't take this the wrong way but you look really tired. Everything's okay with your brother, isn't it?'

'They're alright. I'm alright.'

I pick up wiping the bar counter where I left off when Bobbi phoned but Joe continues to stare at me. 'Maybe you should go home. You can't drown yourself in work every time you're stressed.'

I should never have told her that.

No surprise I look tired—I am completely done in. I didn't end the call with Cece until eight in the morning and though it is Sunday and the earliest commitment I had were the start of my shift at six, it's not like I fucking slept. It's not like I'll sleep if I go home now, not when I could spend hours later in a research hole, the same frantic googling I've done this morning and dozens of times before that.

Hey Google: Signs someone is in psychosis. Hey Google: How to support someone through psychosis. Hey Google: How to support someone with schizophrenia. Hey Google: Understanding suicidal ideation. Hey Google: Drugs and schizophrenia. Hey Google: Drugs and OCD. Hey Google: Drugs and PTSD. Hey Google: How to talk about drugs with a loved one. Hey Google: Are compulsions good? Hey Google: How to tell someone not to do compulsions without sounding controlling. Hey Google: How to stop doing compulsions. Hey Google: How to get rid of obsessive intrusive thoughts without compulsions. Hey Google: Intrusive thoughts v hallucinations. Hey Google: Schizophrenia v PTSD. Hey Google: What to do if someone you know is struggling? Hey Google: What to do if sibling is suicidal NOT "tell parent*"?

Hey Google: What if I don't love my brother but have lied to myself and them for so long that I've managed to convince myself I do? Hey Google: What if I don't know how to love? Hey Google: Why am I like this?