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“I thought that I was getting better,” Scott mumbled to Jimmy, staring dully ahead into the emptiness. His voice caught, but that was all the emotion that showed, the rest slipping out of his heart into the ground far below.
Jimmy reached for his hand, and lay it on top of Scott’s. The warmth made little difference, but the gesture itself was sweet. Symbolic, maybe. Once meaningful, but now devoid of personal value. It was strange, how vicious depression was that it could twist meanings so vividly.
“Healing isn’t linear,” Jimmy spoke calmly, patiently – far kinder than Scott deserved, given how he’d behaved in exchange. “A bumpy road still leads to the same destination. You’re getting better every day.”
Scott scoffed lightly.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“I know,” Jimmy whispered, this time into the darkness ahead. “I know.”
His legs swung gently over the edge, his hand held in Scott’s. “Doesn’t mean you’re not, though. Doesn’t make it not worth it.”
This time, Scott didn’t reply. Instead, he squeezed Jimmy’s hand, and leaned against him softly.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the yesterdays, and the days before. In the end, it was still moving forward, even if not in a neat, straight line.