Tranquility ✧ Syndisparklez

Day 2

Day 2

So far so good, I still feel like myself. I'm going to work today, like I usually do...

I googled MPD yesterday. Just to learn more about it. I should deserve to know what is causing this, symptoms, cause really, I don't believe it's correct. Don't get me wrong, Doctor Andor is great at what he does, but it doesn't sound like me. Anxiety, self-harm? Amnesia and self-destructive behavior? I've never had any of those things. Maybe anxiety when I order at a restaurant, but everyone feels that. And to fix this... Thing, I have to take talk therapy? Talking won't fix anything, it'll just make me feel more stupid than I already am.

Andor, when you read this, please realize that MPD most definitely isn't me. Find a different diagnosis, cause your original isn't working.

I'll continue life as normal.
-Jordan Maron

I pulled on a pair of denim jeans, slipping on my "Dine at Night" t-shirt, that I was forced to wear at work. I've never understood the name of the place. We open at noon and close at 9 p.m., at the latest. Might as well call it "Dine at Afternoon."

I quickly scurried out my door, rushing to get to my car. I reached into my pocket, fumbling to grab my keys.

I was instantly pushed to the ground, feeling the rough concrete tear apart the skin on my forearm. My keys bounced out of my hands, landing in front of me, as pages of notes scattered around me.

I supported myself on my scraped arm, trying to absorb what had just happened. A scrawny boy, about my height, was sprawled out on the ground in a similar position I was in.

"Oh god, I'm sorry mate," he purred, in a thick English accent. He scurried to grab the papers. His fingertips brushed against mine as I helped him collect the pages, before they were lifted away by the wind.

"It's okay, mistakes happen," I assured him. I looked up into his dark almond eyes, watching them quickly shift to look at the ground.

"I'm Jordan," I said, pushing myself to my feet. I organized his papers before handing them to him.

I watched him wipe away beading sweat dripping from his bronze hair.

"Tom. Not used to this L.A. weather, how do you deal with it?" he asked, awkwardly.

"You get used to it, don't worry," I laughed, grabbing my keys off the ground.

"Good. I'm studying abroad for three more years, so I better get used to it fast, ya know?" he blurted out, rushing his words. I looked down at my phone, realizing I only had five minutes to get there.

"I'm gonna be late to work, I'm sorry. Nice to meet you though! See you around?" I asked, shooting him a quick smile.

"Uh, y-yeah. Bye!" he spat nervously, speed-walking away from me. I hopped in my rust-covered car, passing the speed limit to arrive on time.

Tom. I'll have to remember that.