“Stella, I swear to God, if you don’t stop tapping that freaking pencil….”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.”

I was able to sit still for all of about three seconds before starting to fiddle with the mechanical pencil again.

Cole sighed, looking up from his biology textbook. “Something on your mind?”

“Nope,” I lied, shaking my head.

“Okay. Well, whenever you feel like talking about it, I’ll be right here.”

“Thanks, but I already told you. There’s nothing to talk about.”

In response to this, Cole only shook his head in frustration.

I tried my best to ignore him, instead deciding to focus on my math homework. I stared at all the little letters and numbers, hoping for a revelation, but none came. I had been sitting at the desk for probably ten minutes already, working and reworking the exact same equation, but I was no closer to solving it than I had been when I first started. It wasn’t until after I felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on that I blew out a sigh and leaned back in my seat. In the process of doing so, I caught sight of the half-empty bottle of Risperidone in my purse and grimaced as I thought of the reason I was being forced to take them.

Ever since the incident, both students and teachers had been treating me differently. I would sit down at a table in the middle of the cafeteria, and all the other students would immediately grab their trays and move to a different part of the lunch room, giving no excuse as to why and making no attempt to be subtle about it. I tried to ignore them at first, but after a while, I got so fed up with it that Cole and I had started eating our lunch in the library, where there were no other people around.

Had I walked into class late a couple weeks ago, my teachers would have, at the very least, given me a dirty look and a stern talking to. Now, however, they chose to simply ignore me, making no mention of my tardiness and avoiding eye contact with me at all costs. Worse than any of that, though, was when I fell asleep in class, which had been happening more and more often. None of the teachers would wake me when I nodded off. I was never punished or even scolded for it, only gently shaken awake after all the other students had left the room. Even Mrs. Foreman wasn’t getting angry with me, which, given how strict she normally was, only made it that much more clear how sorry she and the rest of the faculty felt for me. They were also exceedingly careful whenever they spoke to me, as if afraid that just one wrong word could set me off, causing me to burn down the whole school or take all of the students hostage or something.

“I can help if you want.”

“No, you can’t,” I snapped, whirling in my seat so fast that I nearly tipped the desk chair over. “My therapist is supposed to be helping me, but he’s not. The Risperidone is supposed to be helping me, but I’m pretty sure it’s only making things worse.” I grabbed the bottle from my cluttered purse and chucked it at the far wall. The top popped off upon impact, and the tiny green pills scattered across the carpet.

“I can hear my mother crying in her room at night, just like she would when my father’s hallucinations were at their worst, and she and Dr. Boyd have both mentioned the idea of having me hospitalized. It’s also gotten to the point where I can’t even tell what’s real and what’s not anymore. Oh, and that stupid pitying look that everyone’s been giving me?” My hand curled into a fist, and I glared at the fallen pill bottle in the corner of the room. “I swear, the next time I see it, someone’s going to get slapped.” I unclenched my fist to reveal four tiny crescents from where my nails had dug into my palm.

The tension in the air was almost palpable. As the seconds ticked by and neither of us spoke, I felt my spine stiffen and the blood rush to my cheeks. I knew that I should apologize, but a lump in my throat the size of a baseball was preventing me from doing so. The “flight” part of my fight-or-flight response was telling me to bolt from the room and drive all the way home- or to Canada, where he was less likely to follow me- without ever looking back. The less instinctual, more logical part of my brain, however, was aware that running wasn’t going to do me any good; at some point or another, we were going to have to talk about everything that had just happened.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I told him, deciding to bite the proverbial bullet. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. It’s just the way that everyone’s been looking at me lately….” I paused, trying to think of an appropriate analogy. “It’s like they think I’m a ticking time bomb or something. Like I could explode at any minute, without any kind of warning. And the worst part is, these are people who I’ve known for years. Hell, some of them I’ve known my entire life. My mom, my relatives…. Even you,” I said, letting the accusation hang between us. “It’s the exact same look you’re giving me now. So no, Cole, you can’t help me. No one can.”

In lieu of a response, Cole simply got to his feet and walked slowly over to where the bottle had landed. He knelt down and started picking up the Risperidone, one by one. He brushed them all off on his shirt before carefully placing them back in the bottle. Once he had dropped the last of them in, he set the pills on the desk in front of me and took a seat on the edge of the bed, causing the worn mattress springs to creak and groan in protest.

“I meant that I could help you with your homework.”

Leah Rose has her master’s in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and is currently working as a therapist in Boston, MA. Her degree and career allow her to illustrate the struggles that the main character is facing in an accurate and non-judgmental manner. A personal essay of hers entitled “The Phoenix” will be published in an upcoming issue of *Jaden *magazine.

Header image: ILEHC rescue thoroughbreds, Colonel (f.) RIP (2006-2022) and Pee Wee (b.).
Colonel was the lead gelding until he passed in fall of 2022. PeeWee was his constant sidekick and protector until the day Colonel left us.
PeeWee called to Colonel for days after his passing, and has now transferred his protective nature to our three mares: Winnie, Foxy, & Lizzie.