Four hours, lots of picking up, a shower, a lesson in hygiene, and twenty minutes later, Malory sat on the couch, more or less properly dressed, more or less sitting correctly.

Rachel sat in the chair across from the couch, a notebook and pen in hand, examining Malory's half-brushed hair, lazily thrown on brown sweater and jeans, and her unsightly posture. She sighed as her friends gaze wandered, and looked down to her notebook.

"So. Malory. How have you been? It's been a week since I last saw you." The blonde began smoothly, her gaze also wandering to the luxurious, modern apartment building. The walls were painted a coffee brown, with dark flooring and furniture. Windows were everywhere, along with lots of lamps and heavy curtains, and just adjacent to the living room was the large kitchen.

Dark wood cabinets and stainless steel appliances, and marble countertops and hanging lights gave it a cozy atmosphere.

Or just dark. Yeah, dark...

"I'm good. Been good. Am good. Hungry though. Did I eat breakfast? Or dinner...?" Mal went from answering, to going on a tangent about her bad eating habits. She picked at the fuzz on her sweater uncomfortably.

"I thought you were keeping track of your meals." Rachel said gently, though she was exasperated, clicking her pen open.

"I was. Till... Last... Week? Or the week before? I lost track. I eat when I'm hungry and that's enough." Malory grumbled, unhappy with herself for disappointing her friend.

"And what do you eat when you're hungry?" Rachel questioned, sounding serious.

"I eat ceral. I eat... Goldfish crackers. I eat... Pancakes once but that was just cos I had some in the fridge from who knows when." The younger woman answered after some thought, kicking her feet like an ashamed child.

"No fruits? Vegetables? Meat? Vitamins?" Rachel checked, writing things down and looking tired.

"I don't have any. And vitamins minus pills I take twice a day, every other day. Two every other day like I'm supposed to." Malory answered somewhat proudly, smiling a bit.

"Good... And pills?" Rachel asked, looking up from her papers, pen still ready to write.

Malory didn't answer, and suddenly found a stain on her jeans very interesting, and looked very closely at it so Rachel couldn't see her face.

The stain really was rather interesting. It wasn't bleach, though it lightened the denim. It-

"Malory." Rachel stated firmly, interrupting the black-haired woman's train of thought.

"I- I don't like them, Rachel..." She whispered, fisting her hands.

"Why not? You know you have to take them." Rachel replied firmly, meaning Malory's prescribed medications.

"They make me depressed! And mess up my memory. Not to mention I was starting to develop an addiction to one of them when I stopped taking them." She muttered distastefully, looking up to Rachel. "And nightmares. I slept four in the two months I took them. I slept eight hours. Had HORRIBLE nightmares, and woke up terrified. You KNOW I hate dreaming, and sleeping. I don't want to sleep..." She ranted, getting progressively louder till the last sentence, where she sounded just tired, ironically.

Rachel sighed, setting the notebook aside and sitting up more, leaning on her elbows, on her knees and folding her hands.

"You know, I told you when I gave them to you, they would have those side effects. We were going to fix one problem at a time. They're anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills, along with the things that fight your insomnia and cause the depression. You're well balanced. The nightmares... I think that was you, not the medication-"

"Yeah, I know it was me." Malory snapped, interrupting her friends doctorly mini-speech. The friend sighed again and rubbed her face a bit.

"...So you need to keep taking them. One step at a time, remember?" She continued after some irritated patience-gathering silence.

Malory shook her head and sat back, folding her arms. "I am not taking that medication. At least not the nonbenzodiazepine one." She huffed, saying her medication with surprising pronunciation accuracy.

"That is the best one for your insomnia." Rachel sighed, her left hand that Malory couldn't see clenched tightly around the seat cushion in frustration.

"I don't have insomnia! I have a phobia, that makes me not want to sleep! It's not that I can't it's that I don't want to!" Malory shouted in exasperation, flinging her hands up and flopping back like a child on the couch.

And with that, Rachel excused herself and left the room to calm her frustrations with her friend and patient.