Under the Influence

Chapter Four: The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

To say that Scott was merely upset would be the biggest understatement of the century. He was depressed, heartbroken, and despondent about life. He was down in the dumps, to say the least.

   After his big falling-out with Tiffany, it was like Scott just…stopped. He stopped laughing, he stopped caring, and it was almost as if he stopped living. He wasn’t the brother I used to know; he turned into a robot. He didn’t eat anymore, nor did he sleep. I knew he didn’t sleep that well anyways due to his insomnia, but he usually got at least a few hours in every night. Not anymore. He didn’t even try now. He also ceased drinking caffeine in the morning. Usually, I would’ve been proud of him for not indulging in so much coffee (because it was like he was addicted to the stuff), but not lately. A few days ago, he just cut himself off completely and wouldn’t even go near the coffee machine.

   So then he pretty much transformed into some robot-zombie hybrid. He was never fully awake, but he wasn’t asleep either. It was like Scott was stuck right in the middle, trapped in this state of lethargic melancholy with no way of getting out.

   I tried to help him every way possible, but he refused to let me. He had his own brain, but he just wouldn’t use it (which was why I thought of him as a zombie).

   He still worked at the comic book store and took his night classes at the university in the evening, but it just wasn’t the same. The whole day he had this deadpan expression on that I hadn’t seen him wear for a long time, like a mask to hide whatever emotions he was feeling.

   His usual grin, the ever-present carefree attitude, it was all gone—wiped from existence, almost. The brother I knew and loved, he was gone too, and all that was left was a broken shell of a man who just gave up—on life, on living, on everything.

   As I leaned against the doorway in the kitchen and watched my brother stare into his bowl of soggy Fruit Loops, I felt my heart sink lower and lower with each passing second until it was residing all the way down in the pit of my stomach. I hated seeing Scott like this, I really did, but there was nothing I could do to get the old Scott back. I already tried everything.

   He just sat there, eyes fixed on the bowl of cereal I had given to him, as if he was staring into oblivion. Occasionally, he would pick up his spoon and stir the milk a little bit, watching as the Fruit Loops would tint the milk different colours until it just became one rainbow-coloured pool. He reminded me of a little kid that refused to eat his vegetables. Except with Scott, he abstained from eating anything. Period.

   “Did you get any sleep last night, Scott?” I queried. I ceased asking if he slept well, and rather questioned if he got any sleep at all.

   His gaze didn’t leave the bowl of cereal as he answered my question. “Do I ever?” He forced out a loud, mirthless bark of laughter that actually made me cringe. It was probably for my sake, his own little way of trying to tell me that he was fine. Just by the tone of his voice, it was brazenly evident that he was anything but okay.

   “I have a tutoring session at noon,” I apprised him of my schedule for today. “Are you gonna be okay?”

   “Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

   I actually winced a little at the lack of emotion in his voice.

   “I’m going to the comic book store,” he deadpanned, abruptly standing up. Abandoning his breakfast on the table, Scott walked out of the kitchen in a few long, stiff strides. As he passed me, our shoulders bumped roughly, but I didn’t think he noticed. A moment later, I heard the distinct squeal of rusty hinges as the front door opened and again as it slammed back shut.