2003, September

"Mom- Mom! Seriously, it's fine, I got it, I got it-" Ryan pushes himself away from his mother gently, his hands both raised defensively in front of him. "Mom, really, I can do my own hair- Mom, I'm seventeen. What are you doing?" Ryan looks at his mom with pleading eyes, his lower lip jutted out in a pout.

Stupid, fucking, fuck-!

The calm mood evaporates and Ryan flinches as he accidentally catches onto the neighbors thoughts. Their neighbors are usually quiet and reserved outside of the house, but Ryan knows better. He's glad they're moving soon. He heard the wife thinking about it yesterday. The two of them are getting divorced, and neither wants the house. They don't have children, or a dog, although the husband has been wanting children for years now. From what Ryan can hear, the woman is scared of commitment, and children only solidify a marriage with the idea of abandonment playing in the forefront of her mind.

Does Ryan ask to know all of this? Of course not.

Ryan's mother ignores his protests and continues to reach over Ryan's skinny arms, flattening down his hair. "I'm making you look presentable, Ryan," she sighs, finally drawing her arms back to her side. Ryan scoffs, and rolls his eyes, smiling lightly.

They share a moment; both of them smiling, looking into each other's eyes. It's Ryan's junior year, and his readings have only been growing in distance as he gets older. School is an almost impossible idea, buts he's obviously going to give it a shot, anyways. Not much of a choice. He needs to make it in life.

This old shitty car, it doesn't even work anymore.

Ryan can hear the neighbors begin to yell back and forth from the driveway to the house. He's annoyed that he's able to hear both of the unspoken and spoken arguments, but in all honesty, it's much better than some days. Some days he hears so far as down the street. The voices crackle, the farther away they are. Like an old radio. There's a young boy living down the street, with the crackling sound attached to his thoughts. Ryan's seen a young, blond haired boy who looks as though he matches the voice, whenever Ryan walks to the end of the street; waiting for the bus. The thoughts are random, and vague. The mind of a child.

Ryan realizes he's thought about the young boy who lives down the street too long, as the crackling sound begins to hum low in the back of his ear. Rarely, he can make out a couple words. Focusing on certain people as well as thinking about reading is definitely a big no-no.

Suddenly, his mothers lower lip begins to tremble, and she beckons Ryan to follow her, with a wave of a useless-looking, limp hand. She sits on the couch, yet again, waving limply at the unoccupied chair across from her.

"Sit," she croaks.

"Um..." Ryan starts, looking confused.

"I just-" she sniffles, rather dramatically. "I wanted to let you know that I'm really proud of you. And you know that I'd never force you to do anything you don't want to, and- And this is a big thing, okay? But, just, hear me out- Alright?"

"Uh, yeah?" Ryan raises one eyebrow quizzically, staring at his flustered mother.

"I've been asking some doctors, who specialize on, um, people like you, and Dr. Rybelak said he has some sort of experimental medicine he'd like to start you on." Ryan's breathing visibly hitches, but his mother is looking at the ground now, unable to see him.

"And, I know," his mother rushes out, quickly, "I know that you might need some time to come to a decision-"

"Yes, oh my God, for the love of Jesus, yes!" Ryan yells, standing quickly on both of his feet now.

"Are you sure? I mean, we need to meet with Dr. R. again, with you there, to make sure, and all."

"Yeah, yeah of course!" Ryan's slightly out of breath, the idea of hell, itself, managing to rob him of any logical thinking. He jumps towards his mother, who reluctantly stands as he pulls her in for a hug. She seems a great deal less enthusiastic about the medication than Ryan.

Side-effects...

Ryan barely hears his mothers concern over his own thoughts, preoccupying his brain. Little lucky moments like this.

•••••

The entire school day was mostly uneventful, compared to the usual Ryan had to go through. He had to skip most of his classes, as he sit outside them, forcefully clutching his head to try to shake the readings. Most of them fell off easily, but were only replaced by some other students rambling about how her two thumbs might be a different length, and later he walks through the halls, and accidentally bumps into a group of girls, and looks up from the floor to apologize. It's a mistake, as he catches her making eye contact with him. She looks away, but the damage has been done as Ryan gaps for air, stumbling away, not far enough-

-Brad was totally checking me out. What do I do? Ah! He's looking at me! Um, look away. Yeah. I'll look awa-

Ryan shakes his head forcefully, breathing hard, realizing that he's been taken into someone's thoughts. Blonde hair, long nails, some guy- Ryan can't even remember what the guy looks like, now. It's... Terrifying to become someone you're not, and have no control over your actions.

He's visibly shaking by the time he makes it to the door of the classroom, and once he makes it into the hall, his mind enters frenzy mode. Even with hardly anyone in the halls, he manages to bump into someone, again, immediately slipping into their train of thought. The hallways dim, and his eyelids slowly close, the floor raising itself to Ryan's height quickly, now, and he's falling.

Holy shit, this kid's out cold. He's skinny. I wonder if he eats a lot. Is he gonna wake- She's so pretty, I'll talk to her. Left, right, left. Bright. Ouch. Windows need curtains.

He doesn't have a name, but the kid Ryan bumped into finally manages to wander off far enough away from Ryan for him to slowly slip back into consciousness. His forehead hurts, and he brings himself to a sitting position in the empty hall, leaning against the hard metal lockers.

"I think I'm gonna puke..."

He's bordering on tears by the time he pulls himself up from the floor. Feeling sick, he leans on the near wall for support, and holds a shaky hand up to his mouth. He stumbles into the nurses office to rest.

The door gives easily and he uses it to push him into the small office.

"Oh, sweetie, what's wrong with ya?" The nurse is tall and more curvy than skinny, accompanied by short arms, but a bit longer than usual legs.

"Sick," Ryan winces, and sits down on the old bed, covered in protective paper. The paper folds and let's out an unpleasant sound when he lets his weight fall on it, and it only feels like daggers in his head. 

•••••

Sooner than Ryan realizes, it's three, and the final dismal bell rings throughout the hallways. He's carefully not to bump into anyone so hard he'll cause another blackout reading, and manages to slip into his mothers car without issue. He's focusing heavily on his own thoughts, trying to keep them concentrated.

"Hey hun," his mother says cheerily, but the smile seems fake, and worried.

"Hey," Ryan responds, void of emotion. The sound of the radio blaring in his ears. He chooses the pain over risking thinking too hazard about reading. He doesn't think he can handle another episode today.

"Are you still up to go see Dr. R?"

"Yeah," he says, sounding a bit happier at the mention of hope.

"How were your classes today? Find out what you got?"

"Oh, um, I didn't, actually... Just an assembly."

"The whole day?"

"The whole day," Ryan repeats.

•••••

It's early morning. His mother isn't up yet.

He holds the strange bottle of pills in his hand. It's been a week. They're finally here. He turns the bottle over and over in his hand, examining the neat print plastered all around it.

Tyroxinex

For unstable readings

Four Pills Daily
Two in the morning
Two in the evening
Altering prescribed dosage, or a lack of scheduled dosages could lead to adverse side-effects

Side-Effects
Most common side effects include:

Fits of severely uncontrollable reading. Also known as 'Unshakeable Readings.'

Migraines, headaches, stomach ache.

Suicidal Thoughts, or an increase of suicidal thoughts.

Depression, or an increase in depression.

He looks at the clock and shrugs, unscrewing the cap and popping two of the oddly colored pills into his mouth. They taste funny, and he swallows them dry.