Taking Hits

Chapter 6: Are You Expecting Anyone?

Weeks passed. Troye found a psychiatrist, and Connor somehow kept up on all of his appointments, even from halfway across the world. He would call Troye before every appointment to make sure he was up and actually going to the appointment. Sometimes, Troye dreaded Connor's calls for this exact reason, but he knew his friend was right. He needed help. He had to admit that to himself.

It was one of these "appointment" days when Connor called again. Troye was still in bed. He'd hardly left his room except to get some food every now and then for the past week. He felt weak, like his body was just giving up on him, and he knew it was from his lack of appetite, but he had no motivation to change it. If he just never left his mattress ever again, he swore he'd be fine with that.

He'd had a particularly rough session with the psychiatrist last week. Things felt like they were getting worse instead of better. Just talking about all of this, especially to some stranger who didn't know his life, who didn't know him, almost made him feel more isolated, more hopeless, more like a loser who couldn't figure out how to get his shit together. Plus, the anti-depressants that they had put him on weren't having the desired effect. In fact, he was having even more headaches and stomach pain than usual.

Connor called right after Troye had had one of his more intense bouts of anxiety. Glancing at his vibrating phone, Troye figured out how to calm himself before he answered his friend's FaceTime call. Still, as soon as he answered, Connor could see it. He knew Troye too well. He could see it in the watery, off-color shade of Troye's eyes, and in the slightly uneven pace of his breathing. He could hear it in Troye's voice, which strained just a bit more than usual to remain even.

"Panic attack?" Connor asked gently after Troye had answered the phone. Troye just nodded.

"I know how you're feeling," Connor told him. "And it's not your fault that this is happening. You can blame yourself all you want and let the guilt eat away at you, but in the end, it's really not your fault." His voice was so gentle, so soothing, it could have been a lullaby.

Troye didn't have the courage to actually look at his phone - at Connor. "I know," he said slowly, under his breath. "I just... I haven't been able to get over last week's session..."

Connor nodded knowingly. "It feels like it's getting worse instead of better," he said. Troye bobbed his head again, agreeing, but said nothing else.

"Are you ready for today?" Connor asked. Troye shrugged, looking off to the side. Connor was patient, willing to spend all the time it took to pull Troye through this. "What're you the most worried about?"

"Just... telling some stranger all of my problems..." Troye replied. "I mean, what does he know? It's not like he really knows me. He doesn't know me like you do, or my other friends do, or my family does. It's just strange talking to him sometimes."

Connor's eyes looked sad. He wished there was another way to help his friend. "Well you can talk to me anytime about any of it, Troye," he offered. "You know that."

"I know, I just..." Troye shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Troye?" Connor probed. "What is it? Tell me."

"I feel... well, just lonely I guess. Like I'm more alone now than ever before," Troye admitted.

They were silent for a few seconds. "It's going to get better, Troye," Connor finally said. "It doesn't seem like it now, but give it time." He paused for a few seconds more. "Your appointment is in a half hour," he said softly. Troye looked up and nodded. "Go. I'll call you later."