“Yeah. He explained that I wasn’t crazy, lazy, or an asshole.” He laughs, but there is no humor in it. “That’s how I genuinely felt. I knew something was wrong with me, but I just assumed that was my normal.”
I lie quietly, listening to him admit something he’s kept to himself for years.
“He put me on medication, but we’ve had to tweak it over time. Once we found the right combo and dosage, I felt… normal. Not the version of normal I thought I was supposed to be—but stable, clear-headed. It was such a stark contrast to the year before, when everything felt hopeless and gray. My energy came back. My mood evened out. I felt alive again.”
Being a teenager sucks sometimes, with raging hormones and the constant popularity contest, but adding anxiety and depression on top of it? That has to feel like hell.
A soft rattle reminds me of the pills in my pocket, so I pull them out and look at the labels. “So… these were prescribed by my dad?” I turn the bottles over in my hand, reading his name printed on the side. “What do they do?”
“The larger bottle is my everyday med,” he murmurs. “It helps with the depression, general anxiety, and the panic attacks. The short bottle is basically a supplement for when my anxiety spikes and I need the extra support.”
I hand them to him, but he sets them down on the bedside table without even looking. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I never told you.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I can’t say I’m not a little hurt. Not to guilt you, but you know I’d never judge you or treat you any different.”
“I know.” He looks down at his fidgeting hands. “But it’s embarrassing, Cull. I figured if nobody knew, then I’d just be Hudson. Not Hudson you have to walk on eggshells around. I just want to be normal.”
“Youarenormal, Hud. You’ve just had to carry more than most people. That shows strength, not weakness.”
“Maybe. But Iama burden. At least to my parents.” He sighs. “Why do you think I obsess over school? I do it so they have one less thing to stress about when it comes to me. I don’trock the boat, I always agree, I do what they ask. It’s my way of lightening their load, however I can.”
He sits up and leans into me, catching me off guard. I nudge back with my shoulder, just enough to let him know that I’m here.
“I have some questions,” I murmur, “but I’m going to save them for later, when you feel better.”
He surges off the bed, his mood swinging like a pendulum. He paces across the room, then pivots sharply, pointing at me, his face a war between anger and sadness.
“This,” he yells, his voice harsh and splintered like broken glass. “This is exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know. Now youseehow pathetic I am, and you're scared that a few questions will make me crack.”
His voice breaks again. “I don’t want to be weak…”
The anger slips away into sobs, his grief overtaking everything else. He drops to the floor with a hard thud, landing on his butt. He pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face behind his arms, muffling his words. “I hate my brain. Even with medicine, I still have breakthrough depression. I still have panic attacks. I’ll never be whole. I just… want to be okay.”
That protective urge crashes over me, and I leap off the bed. I drop to the floor behind him, scooting in close until his body is pulled between my splayed legs. Wrapping my arms around him, I tug him against me and rest my forehead on the back of his neck.
My throat tightens at the sight of him breaking again, but I keep my voice steady. “I don’t think you’re weak, Hud. I think you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, fighting.” His shoulders bob up and down with his quiet cries. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I just wanted to give you space, that’s all.”
He nods weakly, but he doesn’t move from our locked position. My head is still resting on the back of his neck, and the urge to ghost my lips across his skin is nearly unbearable.
I shouldn’t do it.
But I do.
I lift my head just enough to let my lips brush the top of his spine. A shiver rolls over Hudson, but he doesn’t pull away.
That was dangerous. Knowing what his skin feels like on my lips could become an addiction. One I won’t be able to feed.
I sigh and rest my chin on his shoulder, my eyes drifting across the room. They land on something sticking out from beneath his bed. Trusting that he can handle some questions, I ask him about it.
“Hud, when you’re depressed… is it hard to keep up with stuff?”
“Yeah, why?” he sniffles.
“I noticed some bags of trash under your bed. Is that part of it?”
He fidgets for a second, then gets up and sits back on the bed, his knee bouncing frantically. “I, um… I tend to lose my appetite when I get like this. And since I don’t want my parents to worry, I take the food my mom brings and dump it into empty grocery bags. If she comes back up and sees a clean plate, she thinks I’ve eaten. So no stress for them. At least… that’s the goal.”
I didn’t think my heart could break more. He thinks he’s broken, but he doesn’t see the strength in all those shattered pieces.
