hc heavy
Ever since it all started, he's been... acting strange. It's almost unbelievable, how a single trip to the psychiatrist could've resulted in all of this.
With every single day that went by, you felt like you were losing him more and more. In a way, you were happy he was finally getting the help he needed, but... it's like he's not all there anymore, at least not in the way he used to be. Before everything.
"...damn, I said, I'm fine...!"
Slingshot would say, hugging his knees a little closer to his chest as he sits on the bed, his back against the wall. All he does is look at you, almost like he's waiting for you to go away, the irritation you very recently familiarized yourself with seeping in.
The room is a mess, in all honesty. Papers and other clutter laying on his desk in an unorganized manner, the window blinds having been rolled all the way down days ago, having not been lifted since. The only source of light in the room being the small, warm-toned desk lamp resting upon the edge of the desk, plugged into the wall socket. The bulb is letting out a soft hum, buzzing with electricity.
"I got discharged for a reason...! I'm fine!"
His tired, rambling voice soon becomes background noise, your disappointed eyes laying upon the bottle holding his prescription. For something that was supposed to help, it sure is doing a good job at making you feel like you don't know him anymore. Ever since Slingshot came back that Monday night, things just... haven't been the same. And you're not sure if everything'll be okay, after all that occured recently.
The air in the room is stale and warm, the blinds not letting in even a slither of fresh air. You glance between the orange bottle and him, slowly opening your mouth as to speak, before being interrupted.
"I'm okay! I feel fine, seriously! Ever since I came back, you've been overreacting..."
You're not sure what the contents of that plastic container are doing to him, exactly, but you know you don't like it. You don't like it in the slightest.
"Just... leave. I wanna sleep."
Sleep.
That's always the excuse as of late. It's the only thing that really makes you go away. Sometimes, you hold onto the last bit of hope you have, that he'll wake up and suddenly be 'fixed'. That everything will be back in order.
But you've been doubting that'll happen recently. Every single day, it just gets more hopeless. You stir the cheap pre-made cake mix in the plastic bowl, your grip on the whisk unnecessarily tight. You continue to beat the eggs into the flour-y mix, combining it all into a low-quality goop. You whisk it all harder and harder, trying to put it all into a somewhat appealing form.
"..."
A quiet huff of air escapes your mouth. You begin to wonder why you even took this up, why you couldn't just ask Slingshot for help, to make a way better cake from scratch... it's like he lost all his passion for baking. The cafe is practically falling apart without it's boss, and he's just rotting away, neglecting.
The air in the kitchen is warm, but fresh, a stark contrast to Slingshot's room. You glance over at the open window, hearing nothing but silence in the whole house, broken by the birds chirping in the distance every now and then.
You drop the whisk into the bowl, the metal handle of it colliding with the plastic rim of the deep dish. You've had enough.
Approaching the door to Slingshot's room, you pull the cold, metal handle down, pushing the wooden entrance open.
The hot, unpleasant air instantly washes over you, as you take the first steps into the bedroom. Paying no attention to Slingshot, who's still on his bed, you make your way to the large window in the room, grabbing a hold of the lift strings and pulling them all the way down, instantly drowning the room in warm sunlight.
"Wh... pull them back down!"
Slingshot near-yells in response, his eyes squinting as he puts his phone down, clearly not appreciating the sudden interruption. He sounds actually... upset over this.
"Just... close the blinds."