Chapter Text
“Okay so, we’re starting you off with 200mg of Lamotrigine, since you’ve taken it before, as well as 10mg Zyprexa, and 20mg of Prozac. You take all of these daily, and we’ll check back in with you after 4 weeks and make adjustments as needed. Let us know if you have any issues before then. Any questions?”
“That’s quite a list.”
“Yes, well, it’s standard in cases such as yours to start you on medications like these.”
“In cases like mine?”
“You were acutely manic and hospitalized for a week and a half, Mr. Crouch–”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Apologies, Barty. As I was saying, we have to start you out on these to stabilize you. We don’t want situations like that happening again. Our time is up now, let me know if there are any problems with your medication this month. I’ll let your pharmacy know. Goodbye, Barty.”
“Fine. Bye.”
The walk out of the psychiatrist’s office is always the worst. The people in the waiting room glance as he walks out, probably seeing how fucked up he looks. It makes him annoyed beyond belief. Of course they were judging him, the guy dressed in dark clothes with tattoos and piercings. They probably think he’s psycho, just like everyone else, just like that fucking doctor. He grits his teeth as he makes his way to the car, shoving his hands in his pockets as he gets increasingly more irritated. That whole appointment pissed him off.
He slides into the passenger’s seat of the car, shutting the door behind him with a little too much force, making Evan jump slightly as he looks over at him. Evan is his best friend and roommate, and also subsequently the one who drives him everywhere when he isn't allowed to drive. Evan’s blond, grey eyed, with tattoos to match his own over his arms and.. Other places.
“How was your session?”
“Fucked, as always. Putting me on 3 different fucking meds at once, probably thinks I’m fucking insane, just like everyone else.”
“He doesn’t think you’re insane, B, it’s his job to medicate you. Also, I don’t think you’re insane, don’t put that shit on me.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“B, come on–”
“Just drive us home Ev, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
With a sigh and a tense jaw, Evan shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking lot, starting the drive back to their apartment. Barty simply sits there in the passenger’s seat, shifting restlessly as he looks out of the window. Why do the roads have to look like that? They’re so badly done, it’s obvious they haven’t been maintained in forever. Isn’t that why they pay those taxes? What’s the point of even paying them if they don’t fix the shitty roads? He grits his teeth together, grinding them against each other as his mind swirls with thoughts.
“Are they ever planning of fixing these fucking roads?”
“Eventually, yeah. I heard they might fix them next month.”
“Even if they do, they’ll look the same as they always do. It’ll be the same shitty fucking tar and rocks and lines.”
“B, that’s how they’re supposed to look.”
“Okay, and? They piss me off all the same! Fucking roads in this city.”
The rest of the ride is filled with Barty’s increasingly louder complaints about the roads, not making any sense to Evan, but the blond doesn’t say a word about it. He never makes much sense when he’s like this, gets irrationally mad over normal things, running on practically no sleep. Evan’s seen it a million times at this point. They’ve been living together since the end of school, both of them making the choice not to go to university for their own reasons.
Evan didn’t go because he didn’t feel ready, at least that’s what he always told everyone, and Barty had never pushed it when he’d asked. Barty didn’t go for the obvious reason of his mental issues, not ever stable enough to even attempt to go to uni. Evan had decided to stay with him, saying it was for the shared rent, but Barty knew deep down it was to make sure he didn’t kill himself out of loneliness.
They make it back to their dingy apartment downtown after another 20 minutes of Barty’s incoherent angry ranting, bordering on yelling once they pull into their assigned parking space. He’s still angry as he gets out of the car, his irritated voice echoing throughout the parking building. Evan doesn’t try to calm him down, he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of his friend’s annoyance. He’s dealt with that enough these past few days.
As soon as they’re in the apartment, Barty makes his way to their room, still seething with baseless rage, practically slamming the door behind him, earning him a knock on their roof from their upstairs neighbor. Evan again, doesn’t bother trying to sooth him or follow him into their room. He’s too tired to do that, and while that may sound like he’s being a dick, he’s fully prepared to accept that.
He’d been the one to find Barty at some random club a week ago, on a bender that had lasted way longer than it should’ve. He’d been the one who’d had to drag him to the hospital and endure the amount of insults and complaints the boy was hurling at him. He’d been the one to check him into the hospital and sign all the paperwork, calling the hospital for updates almost every day. He’d been the one to clean up the mess in their apartment, the evidence of Barty’s episode; the bottles, the ziploc bags, the papers upon papers of incoherent writings that he’d sworn would get him published, the cans of bug spray from when he’d thought their house was infested.
Evan had been living with Barty for 4 years, since they were 18, and he’d known him since they were 11. He’d been there when it first manifested, and when he’d been diagnosed. He’d taken him to almost every session and appointment, to the hospital and back, from random clubs and alleyways back to their apartment just to stay up while Barty threw up everything in his stomach. So if he was being a dick by not following Barty to his room after a full week of worrying, he was okay with that. He just sighed and collapsed on the couch, falling asleep in minutes, almost dreading the fact he’d eventually have to wake up and fall back into the cycle of worrying about Barty’s every move.
Evan had definitely considered leaving. He’d be an idiot not to have considered it, and some days it seems more preferable than staying. He never does though, he always finds a reason to stay. He remembers how it used to be, the times they’d run around the halls of their school, hiding out in the bathroom to skip classes. He remembers when Barty had first been diagnosed, how he’d stayed over at Evan’s house and cried into his shoulder until they both passed out. He remembers that night they got too drunk, the night after graduation, egged on by their friends; how they’d kissed and Barty had laughed so hard about it, forgetting it by the morning.
He couldn’t leave, not just because Barty couldn’t live alone, but for his own sake too. He cared for his best friend despite it all, no matter what type of care that might be. Evan couldn’t imagine a life without him, even with all the hardships that come with staying. He’d take all of the sleepless nights spent making sure he doesn’t run away, all the times he has to wash Barty’s hair for him, all the times he has to take him to the hospital, all the times he comes back just as irritated as he was before. He’d take all of that if it meant he could stay. That might make him psychotic, maybe even more so than people saw Barty, but to him it was worth every moment.
Evan would always be able to forgive him, after all, Barty’s illness was chronic; incurable. He’d been told that by countless doctors and psychiatrists over these past 4 years. Warned that it might not ever get easier, that they were only able to treat it. He’d researched everything, asked questions on forums and picked up prescriptions. Barty would always apologise when he came back to his senses, when he was stable enough to understand the damage he’d caused on himself and others. He’d cry and sob after it was done, telling Evan he should leave and find anything better. Evan would never listen, of course, he’d remain planted there. He understood, more than anyone.
He’d understood since they were 16 and Barty told him he was bipolar, and he’d understand until it killed him.