He exhales in what sounds like relief, and I pull him closer, dropping one hand from his hair to run my fingers down the nape of his neck to his back.
Luca can wait a few more minutes.
I’moutsidemakingsurethe chickens are in their coop when a bleary-eyed Theo finds me.
“Hey, gorgeous. You feeling a little better?”
He steps forward and rests his forehead against my shoulder, pressing his body into mine. “A little.”
“Percentage?” I ask, making circles on his back.
“Twenty, maybe.”
I hum. “That’s better than before. Any scary thoughts?”
He shakes his head. “No. Thankfully. Luca said we can reschedule. Do you think I’ll always be this way? Am I just doomed?”
“No, I don’t think that at all.”
I want to hold him and soothe him, but more than that, I want to look into his eyes, so I carefully adjust him until I can tilt his chin back.
Theo stares up at me with sad blue eyes, and I rub my thumb over his jaw. “It can take a few weeks for your medicine to start working, right? It’s only been a few days, sweetheart. It’ll get easier.”
His throat bobs with a heavy swallow. “And what if it doesn’t?”
“Then you talk to your doctor, and they try something else.”
He groans, his eyes falling closed. “You mean I might have to domoreof this shit? How long? What if this doesn’t work and then I have to take more and more and more pills and none of them work and I just fucking hate my life for the rest of it?” His chest heaves on a sharp inhale. “I can’t do this forever. I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
Tears slip from his eyes and slide down his cheeks, and my heart stutters in my chest. “Come here,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him and hauling him close to me.
He sobs against my throat as I hold him tightly.
There are no words I can say to make things better, and I know that.
“I’m so tired,” he whimpers against my skin.
“I know, sweetheart. Let’s go take a nap?”
He growls. “No. I don’t want to sleep. I want to stop feeling this way.”
I swallow hard, my throat tightening to the point of pain. “You’ve gotta give the medication time to work. That’s all, okay? Do we need to revisit the idea of inpatient therapy?”
Shaking his head, he whimpers. “Please, no. Don’t send me away. I’m sorry.”
My stomach aches at the raw pain and fear in his voice. “Don’t be sorry.” Cradling the back of his head, I rock us slightly back and forth. “I won’t send you away, I promise. Do you want to go inside?”
“Please?”
The weakness in his voice is breaking my heart, so I scoop him up. He wraps his legs tightly around my waist and his arms around my shoulders as he slumps bonelessly against me.
Carrying him is pretty light work, and when we go inside, I head for the stairs.
“I don’t want to go to bed. My brain wants me in bed, and I don’t want to let it win.”
I pause, considering those words, and make a detour to the living room. He hasn’t spent any time there at all, since he’s either hanging out in my room or outside with me doing chores.
But this is his home now, and I want him to feel comfortable using any part of it. I sit down on the couch with him still wrapped around me, and he sighs.
