A/N: So the only thing I really have to say this time doesn't really have much to do with this chapter specifically. It's more for the book as a whole. In case you hadn't noticed already, I changed the name of this story from 'Hero' to 'Colourless'. Obviously that meant I had to change the cover too (which I love a lot). I think it suits the book more, but yeah if you have an opinion on it, let me know.
As usual, if you enjoy this chapter, don't forget to vote or drop a comment c:
"Conor, you know you have to take these eventually." Taylor was holding a small pot of tablets, similar to the one before, which Conor had refused every day since. He was facing what he hoped was Conor, but all he could see was a lump of duvet. There wasn't any indication as to whether Conor was actually under there or not, but since Conor hadn't left his room for a few days, there wasn't anywhere else he could be.
"Why should I?" A muffled response came from the duvet.
"Because it's your prescribed medication and it stops this," he gestured towards Conor, "from happening."
"Better than having no emotions at all," Conor shot back quickly.
Taylor raised an eyebrow at his patient, not that Conor could tell. His voice was doubtful. "Is it though?"
Conor didn't reply.
Before Taylor got a chance to say any more, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. Jess poked her head around the door and said, "Jeffrey just got back with Ezra and Kitzie."
Taylor nodded and turned towards Conor. When he got no reaction, Taylor followed Jess out of the room.
Under the duvet, Conor was staring at the darkened white above him. Light was only just shining through the material, not that Conor cared. He lay there, still. He didn't have enough energy to move his heavy limbs even if he wanted to. Honestly, though, he didn't even want to. The only thing he found remotely appealing was sleep, but that was pretty much all he'd done over the past few days if you didn't count being bugged by Taylor.
At first, Conor guessed it had been okay just to finally be able to sleep. It was almost as if someone had flipped a switch. One night, he was sitting there and instead of being swarmed by thoughts and ideas coming from all different directions, then there was nothing. Well, nothing except a rapidly growing sense of sombreness, but that didn't really come into play while he was asleep.
Now that he was awake, things were a little different. Before, it had been a little difficult to deal with as he tried his best to pretend that he wasn't slipping into a depressed state. He tried his best to convince himself that he really wasn't actually in a depressive phase at all. But, of course, he was, and Taylor knew that too.
He understood why Taylor wanted him to take the Risperidone. He understood why he probably should have. It was Taylor's job to make sure that Conor was managing well and improving, and refusing to take medication isn't improving. The problem was that Conor hated who he was when he took that medication. He wasn't himself, whoever that person was.
Conor didn't really know who he was anymore. Was he Risperidone, or was he bipolar disorder? He had to choose one, didn't he?
He could either be a disorder that made him unable to keep a consistent mind-set, or he could just be medicine. He didn't want to be either.
The door opened again. Taylor began talking, letting Conor know about what had happened. He did that recently, as if trying to coax him out of bed because he didn't want to miss anything.
"Wait, what did Ezra's mum do?" Conor asked, his look of confusion hidden by his duvet shield.
"Apparently she told her that she couldn't see her little brother and sister until she recovered." Taylor replied with a voice that only just hid the fact that he was happy to hear Conor talking about something with a less monotone voice.
