"Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water."

~ Christopher Morley

***

"Colby wake up, you have an appointment today." My mom's voice eases me out of my sleepy state and I roll in bed, rubbing my eyes and trying to adjust them to the sunlight creeping through the window. I squint to look at my digital clock on my bedside table and barely make out 10:46. I lay back in my pillows and groan. I vaguely remember coming home last night - or more accurately, this morning - a pretty song sung in Korean playing in my head, and my state being half awake and groggy from the late night. I remember being lifted up the stairs to my room and laid gently in my bed by a person with strong arms, who smelled of vanilla and green apples.

If I'd just remembered I had that goddamn appointment with Doctor Price this morning, I would have had a reason not to go to Caitlyn's last night. No reason to stay over until the early morning watching Shadowhunters and eating pizza with Mac and everyone else. No reason to be wearing those awful clothes that clung too tight to my skin and made me feel like I was being wrapped in Saran Wrap.

"Come on Cole! Let's go, your appointment's at twelve!" My mom says again, smacking my butt. I groan loudly and roll out of bed - quite literally - and tumble onto the floor in a jumbled heap of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. I seem to be prone to these incidents.

I struggle in the pile of softness, getting my legs stuck in the sheets and actually having to use more muscle than I'd like to get myself out. Once I'm free I stumble my way to my feet, almost falling forward but my closet catches me. Thanks bud, I think to the door. Now my mom is going to think I need two EEGs. I open my closet and pull out a blue faded shirt with the STAR WARS logo on it, a pair of leggings, and my Converse. I sleepily traipse to the bathroom across the hall and shut the door, bringing a brush through my hair and washing my face. I then head downstairs, still in a daze, and wistfully hope that my concealer covered the bruise already forming on my head from the damn closet door.

On the main floor my brother lies sprawled across the couch watching The Vampire Diaries, a surprise since our parents don't exactly approve of the show. You'd think I would be surprised that he's watching the freaking Vampire Diaries but ever since I tried watching it back in junior year, he's been hooked and it's normal to see him freaking out about Elena and Stefan. I hardcore ship Damon and Elena so we often get into big fights, though I know what's endgame and he doesn't so, kudos to me. My mom is talking with my dad in the kitchen, whisking eggs in a bowl - probably for my brother, my dad and I hate eggs. My dad is leaning up against the counter drinking a glass of orange juice while intently listening to my mom rant about something to do with church.

"Morning," I greet them. I walk over to the fridge and take out the milk and set it on the counter, next searching for my Frosted Flakes.

"Morning Cole," my dad says. "What times the appointment today?"

My mom answers for me and I pour my bowl of cereal. "Twelve. Which means I have on hour to make Braiden breakfast, go out to my mom's to get the check, and drive all the way across town to Dr. Price's office."

I internally roll my eyes at her. My mother is so high strung it's unbelievable. She's like Caitlyn on a school day, but everyday.

I sit down at the bar with my cereal to look at my parents and my dad makes a cuckoo sign at his head, pointing at my mom with his index finger on his other hand. I shake my head in amusement and take another bite of my Frosted Flakes.

"I KNEW IT!" Braiden shouts from the living room. I jump and look over my shoulder where a house goes up in flames on the TV. Oh lord. Season 4, episode 15, when Elena burns her house down. I know the episode by heart.

"Are you sure he should be watching this?" My mom asks softly as she pours the whisked eggs into the skillet. "There are some awfully inappropriate scenes." A sour look appears on her face and I answer,

"If he can watch Sherlock he can watch this."

"Yeah but you know how I feel about the witches and vampires and such." She says. I scoff to myself. Yeah and you think that's bad, I say to myself. Watch Shadowhunters and you'll have a bloody heart attack. I shovel more cereal in my mouth and hastily finish the bowl, putting it in the sink with a clang and rushing upstairs again to my room.

I have less than forty-five minutes until my appointment, I have time to kill. I pick up my iPhone in its blue case with the Percy Jackson trident on the back to find a message from... what the...?

Mac The Hotness Monster😍😘:
Hey beautiful

Was I drunk or something? How in the actual hell could I have done this? Was I delirious? Did I have another attack?

I groan and text back,

Hi

I sigh in annoyance and I flop down onto my bed, pulling up my covers from the ground and rolling myself around in them. I wish I could stay here and sleep all day. I could read more Sarah Dessen and catch up on Mrs. Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. But instead I have to go in for yet another appointment with my neurologist. Yet another EEG and more bad news.

My attacks have gotten worse over the months. I had one during our finals last month. It only took up a few minutes, maybe less, but I couldn't think afterward and I didn't finish the arithmetic packet we were handed an hour and a half earlier. My mom always tells me that I have to take my Brivaracetam, the pink pills that make me dizzy and throw up. I don't want to take them, but whenever my mom notices that I'm not she hides it in my food or persuades me by crying. I haven't taken them in about a week but even when I was taking them before that I knew it'd gotten worse. I haven't told anyone, but I'm scared. I'm scared because the pills don't help even when I do take them. I'm scared because my head hurts and my zoning out has become more frequent. I don't know what to do. I don't want to tell my parents because they'll say it's on me because I don't take my pills. I haven't told my friends because it's not like they can do anything about it. It's up to me. The only thing that can help me with this is the appointment. I just don't want to be bombarded with more bad news. I don't know if I can take another consultation full of Dr. Price's sad eyes, consistent tapping of my own fingers, and Mom's tears.

What's up?

I look at the text wistfully. James Maclean Thompson... what would our relationship be if I had't made that one mistake? It's all because of me why I turned to be such a bitch. It's because of my stupid choice to let him in and give him power over me. What would've happened if I had just trusted myself? Would this Mac Thompson be more important to me? Would I be more comfortable and more open to being friends? Would I have remembered seeing him around school since junior high? Would he and I have known each other better, maybe even been as good as friends if I'd only known what I'd turn out to be? I don't know.

I just don't know.

***

I get home at three. After a seemingly eternal appointment with the neurologist and an unavoidable diagnosis full of my mother's tears and a headache the size of Alaska, we were able to make it home just as my brother gets to a sexy part in Vampire Diaries.

"Ohhh, no you don't!" My mother yells as we enter through the front door. She storms into the living room and with sounds of my little brother protesting, grabs the remote and shuts off the TV.

"Mom!" Braiden shouts and I come through the entryway, my new bottle of Brivaracetam clutched in my hand and my mom's other medications she bought from the drugstore hanging in a bag at my side. I ignore my mom and brother's arguing and walk into the kitchen, setting the little bag on the counter and retreating upstairs. There I pull out my laptop and set up the first part of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. While I wait for it to boot up, I lay down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

After my appointment with my neurologist we had to go to the drugstore and refill on my Brivaracetam and my mother's meds to help with her food issues. Mac was there, buying an orange bottle containing white pills. When he noticed me he came up to us, introducing himself to my mother who was generally pleased I'd made friends with a gentleman. Mac's comedic smile on his face not once wavering as we conversed, but I saw his hand subtly trying to hide the orange container behind his leg. What could that have been for? Should I have asked him? No, that would have been unthinkable. I met him three days ago, why would he have the reason to trust me after just three days? Right. Get it together, Cole. It was probably just for his mom. Or it might've been pills for something stupid like constipation. Jesus, don't get ahead of yourself.

I'm picking you up for dinner. I'll be there at 5.

Mac. This boy will be the death of me yet. Forget my stupid disorder and annoying little brother. Mac is surely worse.

I groan to myself and grab a random book off my nightstand, Sarah Dessen's Just Listen as my movie begins to play. Just Listen is one of my favorites. Granted, I have a lot of favorites - The Black Sheep, The Truth About Forever, Beautiful Creatures, Throne of Glass, etc. etc. - and Just Listen is one of the many.

I begin in chapter one and I read from there, Harry Potter playing in the background. By the time I check my watch it's already four twenty. I stumble out of my bed after marking my place in the book and setting it on my bedside table, and I hastily rush down the stairs to tell my mom I'll be going out for dinner and I'll be back for our seven o'clock church service. My mother looks at me suspiciously and asks who I'm going with.

"My friend." I say vaguely. What's it to her anyway? Even if she knew I was going with a boy, I should be allowed to without her getting in me like this all the time. I'm biologically an adult now, she doesn't exactly have a say in any of this anyway.

"Be back before seven," she tells me. "You were out too late last night and tomorrow you have school."

I go back upstairs to freshen up. I wash my face with cold water and brush my hair. I put on a little bit of makeup and twist my hair into a long blonde braid at my back. I look up at my reflection ten minutes later. Brown eyes look me up and down in the mirror, taking in my oval face and round nose and my   hair that's streaked with natural blonde.

You're so stupid, I tell myself. You know all too well what happened last time.

I turn away from the mirror and unlock the door, rushing to my bedroom as if to escape the voice resonating in my own brain. But I can't. And I should have known that.

I open my closet and grab a sweater with the words "SHUT UP" printed across the front in swirly letters. My mom has never liked the sweater, she always tells me that it gives people the wrong impression of me. I always tell her that she's wrong. My mom thinks the highest of me. She thinks I'm a caring, sweet, fun-loving, bundle of happiness that God gave to her wrapped in sparkly gold and topped with a big red bow. I know it might seem weird, but it hurts sometimes that she thinks that. I didn't tell her about him and so when he left and I was thrown into the chaos and emptiness that was my new life, my mother seemed to not give a second guess. It was as if I hadn't changed even in the slightest. As if the same old me - happy, fun-loving - hadn't left and been replaced by the new, sad, untrusting cynic that is me.

I check my phone, anything to get me out of my head and focus on something else. It's now five and I check my hair and makeup in my closet mirror before heading down the stairs when I hear the doorbell ring. I reach the bottom step and grab my keys and wallet just in case, then hurriedly make it to the front door. My mom has answered it and has invited in a fresh-looking Mac into the entryway, chatting him up while he replies politely, his Colgate commercial smile never faltering.

"Oh hello, Cole," My mom says turning around, a huge grin spread across her face. "You never told me that he was taking you out!" Mac looks at me, genuinely amused.

"It didn't matter at the moment." I say shortly. My mother sighs comedically and shoves me forward, causing me to almost fall into Mac, but I catch myself and save the embarrassment. Mac gives me one of his signature goofy grins and grabs me by the arm. I feel myself blush red and he says to my mother,

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Matthews," He farewells and my mom smiles at us again sweetly and pleased.

"Nice to see you again too," She replies. "Now you kids be back before seven, we've got church." Mac begins walking me out the door as he promises I won't be late and just as the door shuts, he's slipped his hand in mine and is pulling me towards his red truck.

"So, where are we going?" I ask. Mac jams his key into the ignition and peels out of the driveway -  quite carelessly might I add - and he shrugs.

"I dunno," He says. I keep myself from groaning at how indecisive he can be and how angering it is even though I do the exact same thing.

He's wearing a light blue V-neck that compliments his olive skin and brings out his eyes. It makes his hair look like gasoline, dripping in threads to frame his face. He's wearing glasses tonight, which I remember seeing in him once or twice before I knew him. Black ones that are rectangular and fit his face almost perfectly. He smells like vanilla and green apples.

He notices me looking at him and he smirks. "Like what you see?" He asks and I quickly look away. Stupid, I scold myself. Mac must have seen the look on my face because now he's chuckling at me.

"I've been wanting to show you this new song that came out recently," he ventures and he takes out his phone and plugs it into the stereo. "It's my new favorite, I thought you might like it too." I watch him select the song and not a moment later, he lets the music play.

"Ain't got a soapbox I can stand upon,
But God gave me a stage, a guitar and a song,
My daddy told me, "Son, don't you get involved in politics, religions, other people's quarrels","

I look over at Mac who takes a left onto a road that leads onto the freeway. His fingers tap on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, like my dad does, and it takes me back to the early days. When we drove down the highways in our beat up Toyota, past the farmland where I'd spent my toddler and elementary years, listening to Skillet and Seether and Kansas as the car roughly made its way down the road.

"I'll paint the picture, let me set the scene,
I know when I have children they will know what it means,
And I pass on these things my family's given to me,
Just love and understanding, positivity..."

It surprises me when Mac starts singing the chorus. His voice reminds me of my uncle Jeff's, smooth, soft, and sweet, and through the song's melody all I want to listen to is him.

"We could change this whole world with a piano,
Add a bass, some guitar, grab a beat and away we go,
I'm just a boy with a one-man show,
No university, no degree,
But lord knows everybody's talking 'bout exponential growth,
And the stock market crashing in their portfolios,
While I'll be sitting here with a song that I wrote,
Sing, love can change the world in a moment, but what do I know?"

We pull up in front of a pizza place and for a few moments, without warning, he disappears. Not five minutes later, he comes back with a huge pizza in his arms and making me feel as if I want to hug him. I don't. Instead I smile and unlock the car for him to climb back inside, not for once wondering if I should help him. I'm so thoughtful.

"Wanna split it half and half?" He asks and with an enthusiastic nod I take the box from him, open it, and start eating a slice. As I practically shove the pizza down my throat, I can't help but notice Mac looking at me with an entertained but somewhat surprised look on his face.

"What?" I ask him through a mouthful of gluten and tomato paste. Mac's ice blue eyes sparkle and his lips pull back into yet another smile. "What!" I ask again and I hold back a chuckle. He doesn't. His laughs softly not unlike his voice minutes before with the song he showed me, and he starts up the truck.

"You amaze me, Colby Matthews," he says in awe. "You amaze me."