The Dysfunction Of Evan: Books 1-3 Collection

35. Medication

Tom tossed the bottle of pills at me, I let them land in my lap. The appointment he'd taken me to on Friday had been to a psychiatrist, and by the end of the three hours, I was prescribed an anti-depressant and a warning that if I cut myself or did any other kind of self harm, I'd be put in a hospital. I wasn't allowed to take anything that wasn't prescribed to me, and I wasn't allowed to have more than one glass of anything alcohol; and that was a compromise. The doctor had originally said none at all, but even Tom argued that that wasn't fair, not because I self medicated with it, but because even he agreed that I should be allowed some control over what I can and can't put into my body.

I opened the bottle and took out a pill, putting it on my tongue. He handed me a glass of water and I took a large sip.

"Open." He said. I opened my mouth to prove that I'd really taken it. The first two days, I'd tried to cheek them. I hated anti-depressants. They made me numb and stifled my creativity, and made my depression worse over time. Not to mention that soon, my sex drive would be non-existent. Tom said it was a side effect he was willing to deal with if it meant I would get better. I handed him back the glass and the pill bottle.

"This is stupid." I said. "You're my husband, not my keeper."

"You need someone taking care of you, Astrid. Clearly, you can't do it yourself. As your husband, that's what I signed up for." He said from the kitchen.

"So, when you leave tomorrow, who is going to take over?" I asked. I shifted my leg and looked at the five lines on my inner thigh. They hadn't been healing well, the scabs kept breaking open. I leaned over and picked up the A&D ointment from the coffee table.

"Jake is staying until you come to London for spring break." He said. I carefully applied the ointment to the cuts. "If I think you still need a baby sitter when it's time to come home, he'll be back."

"I'm almost thirty fucking years old." I muttered. "I don't need a fucking baby sitter."

"I beg to differ, Darling." He said, startling me. I wasn't expecting him to be so close. I looked up at him, leaning over the back of the chair. "Stuff like this, means you need to be watched."

"I've been through this before with out a baby-sitter." I replied.

"That's one reason why I think this last episode was so bad. You've been holding everything in, trying to pretend that you aren't sick." He came around and sat next to me, taking the tube of ointment from my hand. "Welcome to my version of suicide watch. Less restrictive than a hospital, but still giving you less independence and privacy than you'd have left to suffer alone."

He took my left arm and carefully applied the A&D to my cuts.

"I feel like a child." I huffed. He looked up at me.

"I'm only doing this because I love you. You know this is not healthy." He said. "You've told me yourself."

"Please don't use my words against me." I said.

"Baby, I know you don't like living like this; I don't like doing this, but I can't trust your illness. I can't trust that it won't make you do things like this. You need to learn that I'm here to help you, and until you do, this is how it has to be."

His voice was soft, kind. I knew he was doing it out of love, I was just pissed that it had come to this. He didn't deserve to be the outlet for my anger, but he'd told me not to bottle anything in. This had been one of the worst episodes I'd ever had. I'd come so close to suicide this time, it scared me. Would I ever be able to admit that I was grateful for what he was doing right now, even if I couldn't show it?