A/N: Honestly I have no idea what this is but I'm gonna post this anyway so I don't get writer's block. I can sort this out later if I need to.
This hasn't been proofread, so please point out any mistakes.
Don't forget to leave a vote if you liked the chapter, or drop a comment if you feel like it c:
"Conor, what's that?"
He turned abruptly to face Taylor, who didn't look particularly happy. Conor didn't say anything, because he knew that nothing would sound like a good enough excuse, especially not when he had closed the word document so fast. His heart pounded in his chest, but he wasn't sure whether it was because of the shock or the feeling that he already knew what was going to end up happening next.
"It's three in the morning, what the hell are you doing here?" Taylor continued to ask questions, knowing that Conor wouldn't have a lie prepared.
Conor was supposed to be shut up in his room, preferably asleep, but that hadn't been happening recently. In fact, he wasn't exactly sure when the last time he slept was. However, this was the first time Taylor had walked into the recreational room to see Conor, illuminated by a dim blue light. Conor had been hunched over the computer, typing incredibly fast.
"What were you writing?"
Conor shrugged. To be honest, he wasn't even that sure. His brain was going to fast for him to keep up. He had just been typing everything, not knowing whether it made any sense. He knew he was following some sort of plot line, but he didn't know what the plot was when he stopped to think about it. He could have been typing in Spanish for all he cared.
"Was it one of those novels again?" Taylor wasn't going to stop asking questions until he got an answer he was looking for.
Conor didn't talk very loudly. "Yeah, I guess."
"The last time you wrote one of those, wasn't that when you were in a manic phase? Before your medication?" Taylor watched Conor's reaction carefully.
He didn't seem to be listening to what Taylor was saying. "Yeah, probably."
"Wasn't that the manic phase when your tattoo happened?"
Conor started to laugh, "Yeah."
Taylor wasn't finding it funny. It was clear that Conor wasn't taking his Risperidone. He'd had his suspicions for a while now but this was just screaming it to the world. The problem was that because he'd never seen Conor throw away any of the tablets, he couldn't confront Conor about it. Not effectively, anyway. He didn't really know what else he could do without telling a different nurse. It was an option, albeit not a very good one. Every nurse who worked here either had multiple patients to care for, or one that was so severely mentally ill that they couldn't leave that patient alone long enough to care for another.
"Conor, you're in a manic phase, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.
He didn't reply.
"You haven't been taking your medication, have you?"
Another statement, another silence.
"You were prescribed those tablets for a reason, you know that, right?"
Conor's eyes snapped up to Taylor, but he stayed silent.
"You need to take them," Taylor stated, knowing that it wouldn't change anything.
There was a longer silence, followed by the sound of Conor's chair scraping against the floor as he stood up. Conor was taller than Taylor. It was only by a few inches, but in the moment, it was enough to make Taylor shrink back (even if only slightly, and for a few seconds). Conor loomed over Taylor, a serious expression on his face. He could practically see the anger radiating off Conor.
