Geodon
“Have you taken your meds today?”
“Have you taken your meds today?”
“You didn’t forget your meds tonight, did you?”
“Don’t forget your meds.”
“Did you take your medication?”
Not tonight. He was tuning that out entirely.
Jude scraped the glass of his plate noisily with the silver prongs of his fork. He had swiftly scarfed down the contents of his dinner with such a fervor that his parents were staring at him in concern. His father was mouthing something, his mother was motioning with her hands.
How’s it going to be, when there’s no one there to talk to. Between you and me. Cause I don’t care.
Prying one headphone away from his ear, Jude lifted a brow in question as he made a gesture of listless, sarcastic confusion. He’d been irritable all day. Had been chewing on the border of his swollen tongue, still licking away the bitter kiss of a pill he’d spit angrily into the trash.
Fuck that. He wasn’t going to do it anymore.
“Jude, your mother was asking you a question.”
The murky blue waters of his eyes traveled from his fathers weathered, wary expression, to that of his wounded mother. Dropping the metallic clang of his silverware with a ceremonious dismissal, Jude crossed his arms, leaning back in a classic sign of withdrawal.
“I was wondering how your day was? How’s school?”
He scoffed, closing his eyes as they rolled in annoyance within his skull.
“Fine. It’s always fine. Grades are fine. Teachers are fine. Everything is just fine.”
Jude grinned, painting his face with the bow of his pearly smirk in a way that felt as unnatural as it looked. He hadn’t summoned a genuine smile in what felt like forever. Nothing medicated ever felt real. All of his emotions lacked their sincerity. He was placing the blame entirely on the drugs. His brain had never been a chem lab for experimentation. His heart was not a toy to be meddled with. He wasn’t a broken machine that needed a new motherboard. His smile dwindled into a sour grimace as he scraped the heavy soles of his boots against the polished floor.
“Jude... Did you-”
“No. I haven’t taken my fucking prescription.”
His voice erupted harsher than he had intended, though he honestly didn’t regret it. Not even after his father leaned back, his brow furrowing in a way that projected his displeasure as his mother, alternatively, leaned forward, folding her hands the way she did whenever her kindergarten students acted out.
“How do you expect to feel any better... You know you have to take them regularly otherwise they don’t-”
“Build up in my system. A happy fucking reservoir of farcical fulfillment that my fried neurons won’t be able to differentiate from... oh... I don’t know- my own happiness.”
“Is that how you feel?” His mother questioned weakly, a pinching ache noticeable in her voice as her eyes softened in a way that testified to a maternal guilt he couldn’t possibly understand and also did not care for in the moment.
“But hey, fuck it. Months of therapy at three hundred whopping fucking dollars an hour, a laundry list of medications we get to cycle through that-- surprise-- haven’t done jack shit-” Jude growled, the muffled chorus of an unnamed song blaring from his headphones as they slipped around his neck, his body trembling helplessly as his arms gestured wildly in order to illustrate his frustration.
“Jude. Give it time, they’re not false emotions.” His father interjected briefly, as Jude bristled in an outward groan of disbelief.
“My pale ass.”
“Will you please--” His mother began, jumping nearly out of her own skin as the young man threw himself violently to a standing position, thrusting out of his chair. Stomping out of the dining room, the over-sized fabric of his plaid button-up flapping like a flag behind him, the thunderous sounds of his footsteps muffled by his increasing distance.
Within a moment’s time, he was trampling his way back down, storming through the open threshold as he leaned forward, slamming an empty orange bottle on the table. He opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue in order to display the powdery remnants of every dose he had swallowed as his father stood up and made his way to the front door, grabbing a rattling set of car keys.
“How many?” His father shouted from the door, wrenching it open as his mother scrambled out of her seat and scurried like a wounded animal out of the room- covering her face with her hands, hiding the tearful aggravation festering there as her quiet footsteps padded up the stairs where she would undoubtedly spend another night crying.
“Who cares?! I took them! That’s what you guys want, right?! What do you want from me?!”
“Get your ass in the car.”