Normal Things (Tate Langdon FanFiction)

Chapter Nineteen:

I was seated on my living room couch, a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream in my lap, a large spoon sticking out of it like a flag.

Mom had gone to work earlier today, and I knew she was reluctant to leave her insane, recently diagnosed schizophrenic daughter home alone. I could hear her in the kitchen before I'd emerged from my room; she had been hiding the kitchen knives and anything sharp, scared that I'd go off the deep end and end up like Drew.

The thought made me furious.

I stared at the TV, absently stirring my ice cream, occasionally lifting the spoon to my mouth.

I let the ice cream melt on my tongue before I swallow.

I'd been out of school for almost a week. Uncle came home with all my work. I'd moved my textbooks to the coffee table, because I usually did my homework on the couch as of late. Tate visited often as id my friends, and so did my therapist, Angie, who always asked if I was doing okay or if my medication was helping with the voices. More had come and joined Drew's, but her voice rose over them all.

Always with the medication.

The medication had calmed me; I hadn't had more than one nightmare this week and I wasn't hearing her voice in my head during the day. Often.

I sigh and take another bite of my ice cream, leaning forward and setting it on the table next to my textbooks.

I stood up and walked to the front door, opening it and stepping outside onto the front porch. I stretched, arms over head, leaning back until spine popped, big yawn splitting the corners of my mouth. I lick my newly yawn-split lips and go down the porch steps, making my way down the driveway to the mailbox.

Nothing but an onslaught of We Miss You cards awaits me in the mailbox. With a sigh, I reach in, grab the lot of them and, leaving the box open, make my way back to the house, flipping through them. We Miss You, We Miss You, Get Well—what was I? Dying—We Miss You, Wish You Were Here, Get Well—AGAIN! Not dying!—It's Not the Same Without You. I sigh, stop looking through the cards and take the steps one at a time, dragging my feet inside.

I throw the cards on the counter with the other two trillion that had come in the past week, and return to the living room, sitting on the couch, tucking my legs under me, and picking up my ice cream again, which has melted slightly. I raise the bowl to my lips and sip the melted ice cream, watching at the rest slowly slid towards my nose. An iceberg made of milk.

I lower the bowl and stir the cold treat around with my spoon.

Ring, ring, ring.

Grumbling, I stand up and my ice cream and I make our way down the hall to my bedroom, where my phone has stayed all day, nestled on my bed, still on its charger. I walk over to it and pick it up, seeing that Mom was calling.

It must have been her lunch break.

I unplug my phone and answer the call as I make my way out of my room.

"Penny, honey?" Mom asks. I can hear that she's anxious. "Penny, is everything OK?"

I roll my eyes. I go to the kitchen, and set my ice cream on the kitchen table.

"Mom," I say, my voice hard and tired, and I lean against the table.

"Penny, oh my gosh," she huffs. "I was worried. I just wanted to call to check in, to see if everything was okay. Is it? Okay, I mean? Is everything alright?"