riley’s sitting on her bed when he comes through the window , typing away on her laptop , writing up some more advice for those who asked ; she’d started a sort of blog for it , always liking to help others , and managed it along with doing homework , baby - sitting , working at the bakery , and being part of at least four clubs . it’s definitely NOT EASY to be her , so she’d been getting a little help ; but not in a good way .
she’d tried coffee - didn’t like it - and then frapuccinos , but they didn’t do much . then it was ENERGY DRINKS , also a no . finally , someone saw her struggling and offered her a solution : pills . ‘ nothing too bad , helps keep you focused ’ , that is what they told her , and sure enough they did the trick . sleep isn’t needed much anymore , and she feels okay enough .
‘ right now i’m answering someone who’s having relationship problems , but i’ll be done right -’ a few more taps as she finishes , and then looks up at him . ‘ everything okay ? ? ’
EVERYTHING OKAY? he wants to avoid the question, wants to say no, of course not, riley, and just sit beside her with his head on her shoulder for a while. he wants to be close to her because he worries this conversation will push them apart, but it needs to be done. he hesitates, long, thin legs shifting beneath his weight as he sticks his hands into his pockets, and he presses his lips together. here goes.
“no, riley. and i think you know that.” this feels familiar. you have to tell them what you feel. “you have to admit you have a problem.” he knows it could be WORSE, but he doesn’t let his mind wander there. riley is smart--- probably too smart for her own good--- and so she doesn’t do anything worse than this, but what she’s doing is still bad. she feels too much pressure, puts too much on herself to handle ( to fix ), and this is her way of coping with it, of having enough time in the day. it’s not okay.
“you have too much on your plate, and taking pills isn’t the way to handle it. you know better; i know you do.”