Page 24 of Don't Let Me Break
I’ve been suffocating ever since my diagnosis, and it isn’t even their fault. Why would tonight be any different?
Sensing my frustration, she murmurs, “I’m sorry.” She knows she’s overstepped. She knows she’s pushing when she shouldn’t be. She knows I don’t need a lecture, no matter how much she wants to give me one. “I love you, Kate. We both do.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“We want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Are you sure you’re okay?”
It’s an excellent question. And it’s one I’d love to answer without hesitation. But even I can’t deny I screw up sometimes. I don't always take care of myself. I’m not perfect. And sometimes…it’s hard to see thewhy. Sometimes, it’s hard not to ask myself, what’s the point? Why do I care? What does it matter?
So what if I don’t take my medication? Maybe I’ll have another seizure. Maybe I’ll wake up on the floor with a dozen eyes staring at me again. It’s not like the medicine is one hundred percent effective anyway. For some, it is. And I’m lucky enough to have found a pretty decent one. But still. I was taking my medication the last time I seized. Dr. Reed insisted on running some tests at the hospital, and his reasoning for how I ended up on the floor? Well, he told me sometimes, it just…happens.
Having your blood tested every few months and your memory turning to shit, not to mention all the money required to fill the prescription even if it isn't one hundred percent effective? It's a lot. And add in all the sacrifices, as well as trying to stay on top of things all of the time while knowing even if I am, it still won't be enough,Istill won’t be enough? It’s exhausting.
“Kate, honey?” Mom murmurs. Her tone is softer. More gentle. Like I’m being handled with kid gloves. Like she knows how close I am to breaking.
“I have a few more pills in my backpack,” I offer. “I’ll take my dose as soon as I go inside, okay?”
“And you’ll remember to pick up your prescription tomorrow?” she prods.
“Yes, Mom. I’ll remember to pick up my prescription tomorrow.”
“Thank you, baby.”
And I hate it. How I can hear the gratitude in her voice. The relief.
“You’re welcome,” I mumble. “Tell Dad I said hi.”
“Hi, honey!” he calls through the speaker.
“Hi,” I choke out, not surprised he’s been listening this entire time. Because he cares too. They both do. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”
“Okay, baby,” Mom acknowledges.
I start to hang up the phone when she speaks again. “And, honey?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget to text me once you’ve taken it.”
I close my eyes and fight the urge to cry. “Okay. Bye.”
8
MACKLIN
“Dude, you should come out with us,” Theo encourages me through the phone’s speaker.
It’s been a few days since we last talked. A few weeks since I’ve spoken to anyone outside of my job. Guess it’s getting easier and easier to become the mountain my mom’s worried I’ll turn into. But I like the quiet. Usually, anyway. Just wish I had someone to spend it with.
“Did you hear me?” Theo asks.
“Yeah, I heard you. But now, I’m curious. Did Mom recruit you to get me out of the house again?” I grab a grocery cart from the front of the shop and head toward the produce section. It was a long day at work, and I’m exhausted. But I’m out of food and need to keep the house stocked in case a storm hits, and I can’t drive back down the mountain.
“Nah,” Theo starts.
“But I did!” Blake yells in the background of the call.
“Ah, I see. Apparently, you’re a meddling Taylor woman in the making.” I chuckle dryly and grab a couple of oranges from the bin.