Fulton's POV
Okay so maybe sick was a little melodramatic, physically I was as healthy as possible. But I was seeing a doctor weekly and I was taking a prescription to keep me the way I needed to be. What was that prescription? Prozac an antidepressant.
"So what's wrong with you?" Portman sat down on a kitchen chair as I dug through my refrigerator for a bottle of non-curdled milk. "Are you... you're not dying are you?"
I snorted a laugh, was I dying? Come on now talk about pessimistic.
"No, I'm not dying Portman."
"But you said..."
"I said I was sick." I cut him off. "I never said I was dying, you just assumed that's what I meant."
He shook his head at me, confusion behind his green eyes.
"So that what's going on?"
"I've been seeing a therapist Dean, I'm suffering from deep depression." I sighed pouring the milk into a glass and mixing it with some chocolate syrup. "With the potential to go manic."
"Okay, so are you taking medication?"
"Yeah."
"So then what's the big deal?"
What's the big deal? I began to see at that very moment why girls always say we're insensitive. What's the big deal? I wanted to hit him. I was suffering from a severe case of depression and that's all he could say.
I was disgusted.
"What do you mean, what's the big deal? Portman that's a very big deal."
"No, no, no, that's not what I meant. I mean I know that's a bog deal, it's just it's not like its' going to kill you." He waved his hands at me frantically.
I rubbed my temples and took a long sip of my milk through the straw I'd put in it due to laziness. It was good to know he was so worried about my mortality, unfortunately the fact I was going crazy seemed to have no effect on him. Maybe he didn't understand the importance of what I was saying.
"No, it's not going to kill me so what?"
"Well, I was thinking on the drive back here that maybe the reason you broke up with me was because you were dying."
Portman ran his hand through his hair and rocked back in his seat. I stared at him for a long minute thinking. He was obviously anxious and it took me a second to figure what he was really asking me. But I realized he did deserve an answer, even if I hadn't really seen fit to give him one before. How could I explain this situation to him? It was a hard thing, especially since my therapist thought he caused my condition. According to Dr. Saucer the feeling of inadequacy compared to Maryanne sparked the depression. I however didn't blame him, that wasn't why I dumped him.
"You're partly right Portman. I did break up with because I'm sick and the reason for that is, my doctor said I'm going to get worse before I get better. I'm going to have really up days and really down days, I just don't want you around on those down days."
"But I want to be there Fult." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "And I will be, if you'll let me."
I shook my head.
"I want it all or nothing Dean. I can't just have you here because I'm losing my mind and you think you can protect me from it. I either want you love me and be here for me or I want you gone. You can't do that from Chicago, you can't give me what I need being a part time boyfriend. It's not fair to you either, you should be with someone in Illinois."
There was an ackward silence hoffering in the kitchen, the only sound the humming of my fridge. Finally he pushed back his chair and got up from the table. Without so much as a word he walked into my bedroom and picked up his bag. Remaining soundless he left through my front door. I was shocked to say the least, but I was certain he'd be back by the end of the night.
He didn't come back.
Okay so maybe sick was a little melodramatic, physically I was as healthy as possible. But I was seeing a doctor weekly and I was taking a prescription to keep me the way I needed to be. What was that prescription? Prozac an antidepressant.
"So what's wrong with you?" Portman sat down on a kitchen chair as I dug through my refrigerator for a bottle of non-curdled milk. "Are you... you're not dying are you?"
I snorted a laugh, was I dying? Come on now talk about pessimistic.
"No, I'm not dying Portman."
"But you said..."
"I said I was sick." I cut him off. "I never said I was dying, you just assumed that's what I meant."
He shook his head at me, confusion behind his green eyes.
"So that what's going on?"
"I've been seeing a therapist Dean, I'm suffering from deep depression." I sighed pouring the milk into a glass and mixing it with some chocolate syrup. "With the potential to go manic."
"Okay, so are you taking medication?"
"Yeah."
"So then what's the big deal?"
What's the big deal? I began to see at that very moment why girls always say we're insensitive. What's the big deal? I wanted to hit him. I was suffering from a severe case of depression and that's all he could say.
I was disgusted.
"What do you mean, what's the big deal? Portman that's a very big deal."
"No, no, no, that's not what I meant. I mean I know that's a bog deal, it's just it's not like its' going to kill you." He waved his hands at me frantically.
I rubbed my temples and took a long sip of my milk through the straw I'd put in it due to laziness. It was good to know he was so worried about my mortality, unfortunately the fact I was going crazy seemed to have no effect on him. Maybe he didn't understand the importance of what I was saying.
"No, it's not going to kill me so what?"
"Well, I was thinking on the drive back here that maybe the reason you broke up with me was because you were dying."
Portman ran his hand through his hair and rocked back in his seat. I stared at him for a long minute thinking. He was obviously anxious and it took me a second to figure what he was really asking me. But I realized he did deserve an answer, even if I hadn't really seen fit to give him one before. How could I explain this situation to him? It was a hard thing, especially since my therapist thought he caused my condition. According to Dr. Saucer the feeling of inadequacy compared to Maryanne sparked the depression. I however didn't blame him, that wasn't why I dumped him.
"You're partly right Portman. I did break up with because I'm sick and the reason for that is, my doctor said I'm going to get worse before I get better. I'm going to have really up days and really down days, I just don't want you around on those down days."
"But I want to be there Fult." He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "And I will be, if you'll let me."
I shook my head.
"I want it all or nothing Dean. I can't just have you here because I'm losing my mind and you think you can protect me from it. I either want you love me and be here for me or I want you gone. You can't do that from Chicago, you can't give me what I need being a part time boyfriend. It's not fair to you either, you should be with someone in Illinois."
There was an ackward silence hoffering in the kitchen, the only sound the humming of my fridge. Finally he pushed back his chair and got up from the table. Without so much as a word he walked into my bedroom and picked up his bag. Remaining soundless he left through my front door. I was shocked to say the least, but I was certain he'd be back by the end of the night.
He didn't come back.