Malcolm looked... exhausted, emotionally more than physically and he didn’t have the wherewithal to shove it in its box.
He nodded down at the floor, only hesitating slightly before slipping out the door to lead the way down to the kitchen, twisting the towel between his hands. He left it on the counter when he got there, putting the kettle on before turning to look at Raylan, his hands gripping the counter behind him on either side of his hips with almost white knuckles.
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” he told him softly. “The withdrawal is passing now, but.” He sighed. “I take an antipsychotic at home and I still see things under stress. Without it? I don’t have any control.” His grip on the counter tightened a little. “I’m afraid of getting to a point where I don’t know what’s real,” he confessed.
no subject
He nodded down at the floor, only hesitating slightly before slipping out the door to lead the way down to the kitchen, twisting the towel between his hands. He left it on the counter when he got there, putting the kettle on before turning to look at Raylan, his hands gripping the counter behind him on either side of his hips with almost white knuckles.
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” he told him softly. “The withdrawal is passing now, but.” He sighed. “I take an antipsychotic at home and I still see things under stress. Without it? I don’t have any control.” His grip on the counter tightened a little. “I’m afraid of getting to a point where I don’t know what’s real,” he confessed.