Sativa.

21. Medication

Blaine is living her worst nightmare. That used to be trivial -- not enough morning coffee or a heated argument with her so.

Now life is defined by episodes like Clark suffered all these years. Will today be a good day or will her mind go hollow again? Sometimes she compares her faulty brain to a pile of mush stuffed into her skull and, on worst days, the most important parts start leaking out of her ears.

Before the brain tumor diagnosis her sick spells weren't severe. She doesn't want medication, slim pills sliding thick down her throat like an oil of false hope, but it's more effective than chugging bottles of aspirin. Since following the Doc's orders she hasn't experienced amnesia.

But that damned little orange tube in the medicine cabinet is always there, a harrowing reminder.

Despite improvement, Travis refuses to let her out of his sight. Being with him all the time is suffocating. A part of him is insecure, no matter how small and obscure. In her heart, though, she understands he's just as worried as her. Now he's never late home from work, watching over her like a favorite toy he had to duct tape back together.

It's Saturday. The weather is warming up but Blaine wakes to a grey overcast morning. Staying in her pajamas, she shuffles down the hallway and yawns jaw breakingly as she shuts herself in the bathroom.

Already morning routine is monotonous. A purple cup she used to store her toothbrush in now refilled with tap water three times a day as instructed. She tips her head back, stomaching the tasteless but bitter pills.

Setting the cup back on the sink, Blaine stares at a ghostly reflection. Her hair is unruly and her grey T-shirt about two sizes too big but her eyes are the worst - green pupils swallowed up by vivid red lines shooting through the white.

Blaine cringes.

Travis should still be in bed so she turns right down the hall for more sleep. His voice comes from the left. "Morning beautiful."

Dazed, she faces him. Already wearing jeans and his hat Travis stands in the kitchen preparing a fresh pot of coffee. Mere minutes ago she'd left him sound asleep and snoring. He's a morning person, awake right when his eyes open, but she isn't. Not even a little bit.

"What time is it?"

"Nine fifteen."

The coffee pot turns on with a stutter and steam bursting like a small cloud from the top. Yawning a second time she wanders into the kitchen, opening the cabinet, and stands on her tip toes to grab the last two mugs from the top shelf.

"I forgot the dishes last night." Blaine says.

"Worry about them when we get back."

"Back?" Her brow furrows. "Back from where? I'm not going anywhere today."

"Some people down the river asked for a hook up." His sunny disposition is a jarring contrast to her disgruntled attitude.

If she weren't so familiar with his vocabulary she'd have gotten the wrong impression but Blaine knows he's referring to selling weed. Patting him lightly against the chest she says, "Well you're a big boy. You can do that on your own."

It's too easy to concern him anymore. She watches his good mood practically leak out of his body as his expression goes flat. "How are you feeling today?"

Discouraged, she slouches against the counter and twirls already messy hair around her finger. "I don't have to be sick to not want to go anywhere."

"I know that." Travis snaps the plastic lid back onto the coffee can a little too forcefully. "Kinda like how I should be able to ask how you are without getting my head chewed clean off."