Don't Give Up (On Me)

"G'mornin' Ley." Was the first thing I heard the following Tuesday morning, also known to me as his first morning home. I'd gone absolutely crazy for the past four months without him around the house.

It was just a really long time to be apart, even with the two visits I made out there while they were touring the States. But even that was two months ago, before they hit Europe and the UK. I couldn't fly over there and see him, that was just too far and expensive for me for just a few days.

But he was back now, and that's all I really cared about right now. He was home.

My eyes slowly fluttered open as I heard his familiar voice, still extremely raspy from the night before. It always was, because he put a lot into his vocal performances. He was a perfectionist, in a way. Sometimes that was good, sometimes it was bad.
His dark blonde hair was covering his forehead, greasy from not taking a shower last night. God he needed to, but he was just too tired, and to be honest, I didn't blame him. We got home at about twelve thirty to one in the morning because we hung out with everyone else for a bit as a post-tour catch up, even though we'd probably get together at one of the guys' houses later on through out the week.

His green eyes were what pulled me back into the present. They were the most intimidating things I'd ever seen- they could read anyone like a book and that was somewhat scary.

"Morning." I mumbled quietly, my lips turning into a small smile. Mornings were always so peaceful between us. They were my favourite thing bout each day, just laying there and looking at him. I could do that for days. "Sleep okay?" I asked softly, already knowing the answer. I'd felt him tossing and turning all night. Patients on antidepressants usually suffered from side effects such as insomnia and restlessness.

And let me tell you, John suffered from a lot of side effects.

"Yeah I slept good." He nodded, lying through his teeth before pressing a soft kiss against my cheek. He didn't want me to worry, he still wanted to be the alpha male. He didn't want me to see him as weak. "You?"

"Yeah alright. I felt you kicking though." I admitted, letting him know I knew. It would be a lot easier if he could be a little more honest with me. Than I wouldn't have to do the awkward 'I know you're lying, babe' routine almost every morning.

"Oh yeah, I woke up once or twice but apart from that, it was fine." He covered smartly. He had a knack for making things up.

"Well that's good." I nodded gently, letting him get away with it for now. "So after we shower, you wanna go out and grab some breakfast?"

"Sounds perfect, Leighton." He chuckled, leaning forward and pressing his lips against mine-this time, leaving them there. "Whatever you wanna do."

"How you feeling?" I asked softly, running a hand through his hair. I instantly regretted it when I felt just how greasy it was.

"Tired." He admitted. "I'm exhausted from tour."

"You handle the medication okay?" I pushed nonchalantly. He knew what I was trying to ask.

He let out a small sigh and nodded. "Tim couldn't trust me. He gave it to me every morning."

"Side effects still kicking your ass?" I asked. They'd been driving him crazy a few weeks before he left for tour, just getting worse and worse, really.

"You're the only one that can touch my ass." He mumbled, burying his head into my neck and wrapping his arms around my waist. I felt his lips on my neck and it sent shivers down my spine. He was so good at doing that.

"John!" I hissed, before I burst out laughing. "Don't be immature-"

"I'm a boy, what do you expect?" He joked, kissing me repetitively on the shoulder. I loved the feeling of his lips against my skin, it was my favourite. It made me fall in love with him all over again.

"Get in the shower, your hair is greasy and you smell." I scoffed jokingly, shoving him off of me. "Go on, I'm hungry."

He threw me a pout before pulling himself out of bed. At least I got him out of bed today. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass because he was just too depressed to motivate himself. I got at least three calls from Tim on tour saying John refused to leave his bunk some mornings. I had to sweet talk him out of bed, because he wouldn't listen to the guys.

I watched him grab some clothes and head into the bathroom. Usually he slept in just boxers, but he was so tired he slept in his jeans and a t-shirt. Jeans that were more than half way down his ass due to to the way he'd been sleeping. At least the insomnia was gone for now.

Looking at John, you wouldn't really expect that he had depression, or that he was on medication. He didn't look...sad.
He was relatively happy most days, but more often than not, he just wasn't feeling it. About six or seven months ago he was diagnosed with depression. The recording of Pioneer put a lot of stress on him-and then to go straight from that to the constant rejection form the record label was too much for him. He poured his heart and soul into that album. He gave it everything. The guys put a lot of their own money into the album and weren't expecting such a negative blow in return.
To have to face that rejection so bluntly pushed him into a dark place. He began drinking to block the pain. Eventually it only built up and he had a break down a month later. We took him to a specialist for an enquiry about medication for anxiety.

He left with something a little more crippling.

Depression.

Realising I needed a shower too, I got out of bed and quietly made my way to the our bathroom, pushing the slightly ajar door open. It was pretty big for an en suite bathroom, I will admit. We got this house towards the end of our first year together (soon, I know) for a reasonably good price, which was saying a lot considering the market was bad and people love to take advantage of young first time buyers.

"That you?" John called curiously from behind the shower curtain.

"Who else would it be?" I mused, pulling my t-shirt over my head. "Can I come in?"

There was a slight pause before he answered. I almost thought he was going to say no. "Yeah whatever."

I raised an eyebrow before getting undressed and stepping in with him. "You okay?" I asked casually, as he turned around and began washing my hair for me.

"Yeah, just over tired." He nodded monotonously. I knew there was more to it, because his voice was depressingly flat. But I knew he wouldn't want to tell me if he was in this kind of mood.

"I can understand that." I nodded, going along with it. "The show was great last night. You really had the crowd."

"Really?" He asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice as his hands combed through my hair. His mood could change instantly, which wasn't so good because it often disrupted the natural emotions and confused him. It could also fuck him up pretty bad psychologically. "You think so?"

"Definitely." I nodded. "You guys give good energy."

I felt lips on the back of my neck as his hands met my hips. His finger tips were extremely callused from the amount of guitar he played on tour. Apparently he did two solo acoustic numbers each night. He said he preferred guitar over piano any day. He used to play as a kid but for some reason abruptly stopped and never touched it again. For the record they got in a good friend to play, taking him on tour as well.

"I think you need a manicure." I teased, turning around to face him so I could give him a kiss.

"Manicures are for pussies." He chuckled, pressing his lips against mine passionately.

"Your nails are horrific." I stated, lifting his hand up to inspect his cuticles. Mmhmm, horrific. "I'll fix 'em up later." I assured. I took a course at a cosmetology school, so I did this for him regularly (even though I went into a different profession in the end). He didn't usually mind.

"Mmkay."

Something was off. I could feel there was something bringing him down and as we stood in a comfortable silence under the shower together, I couldn't help but wonder what it was. I used to be able to make him happy. I was running out of ideas how to keep doing that nowadays. I hated how disconnected we were beginning to get.

"C'mon, let's go grab breakfast." I said softly, leaning up on my tip toes to kiss him on the cheek before getting out of the shower. He soon followed in suit and we got dressed. I threw on a simple black dress and my black hi-top converse shoes before heading back into the bathroom to do my hair and make up whilst John got dressed. "By the way my parents called and want us to go round for lunch during the week." I called out to him.

"Yeah just let me know the day." He called back.

We never went to see his family.

Apparently one day when I was at work, he had to go to a family get together and arrived completely wasted and ended up hitting his youngest brother. Like, punched him. He punched a fifteen year old in the mouth. I don't the full story, because John refused to talk about it, but his parents called me and asked me to pick him up.
This was a month before he was diagnosed and we still haven't talked about it.

"Probably this weekend, that okay?" I asked as he walked into the bathroom, using the
towel that earlier hung around his hips to dry his hair.

"Yeah." He nodded simply, his lips a thin line. He wore torn blue skinny jeans with a white Tom Petty t-shirt. I swear to God, all he wore was band shirts. He had on his old black Vans which looked a tad worse for wear, but it was cute.

"You look good." I offered, unable to stop myself. I blushed immediately and turned back to the mirror, hurrying to cover my red cheeks.

A small smile appeared on his lips and he made his way behind me, his hands falling to my hips once more. "Love you."

"Love you too."

*
The last thing I was feeling right now, was love.
Currently sitting in a booth in Jimmy Rocket's, John and myself were engaged in what I'd like to call a debate, but really we were just arguing. I was right, and he was wrong it's as simple as that.

"John, you do not need to go on a diet."

He rolled his eyes and lifted his smoothie to his lips. "It's the fucking medication, I've actually put on like, so much weight-all my jeans are getting tight and it's not because of you darlin'." He scoffed, putting his drink down.

I rolled my eyes at his statement. God he could be so immature sometimes. "What size are your jeans right now?"

"28." He shrugged.

"Exactly, you're already naturally thin, going up a few sizes isn't going to hurt you." I scoffed. "You're being ridiculous."

"Nice to know my girlfriend is so fucking understanding." He muttered, looking back down at his food. He dropped his fork and sat back in his seat, arms crossed and totally disengaging himself from the conversation.

"John, I do understand where you're coming from." I sighed. "I get it, okay? It's because of the medication that you're putting on weight." I stated. "That's normal with Prozac."

"It's fucking annoying." He scoffed.

"It's just how it is, John." I said softly. "Maybe you should talk to your doctor about taking a smaller dosage. You know getting better isn't just based on medication. You have to make-"

"Lifestyle changes, yeah I know." He muttered. "All I do is record, tour and come home to you. That's my life and I'm not making any changes to that." He said firmly.

"You could try fixing things with your family." I suggested. When I looked up at him, he looked absolutely displeased.

"I am not going back to them." He muttered. "I'm not talking about this anymore." He stated finally. God he was so stubborn.

“I took the Tuesday off work for you and you’re not even going to talk to me?” I scoffed, sitting back against the leather bench of the booth we were currently seated at. “Really?”

“Nobody asked you to get the day off work.” He threw back rudely. Sometimes, I really don’t know why I bothered. I felt so under appreciated sometimes and it drove me to bad thoughts about how much easier or better off my life would be if I left him.

“I can’t believe you.” I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I tried to finish my breakfast. Though his little diet speech had kind of put me off eating, probably something he aimed to do for himself. “After everything I do for you, you still have the nerve to treat me this way.” I scoffed.

“Are you done?” He asked, ignoring my statement. Or complaint, whatever he wanted to call it. “I’d like to pay and leave now.” He spat through gritted teeth.

I threw down my fork and stood, grabbing my phone and leaving for the car. Fine. If he wanted to act like an asshole, the least he could do was pay for my food. I didn't say another word before heading back to the car as he went to the front counter.

Sometimes, I really fought for him.

He just didn't see it.

*
“You know I’m sorry.” He whispered quietly. “It’s the meds.”

It was always the same excuse, but it was always true. I’d seen his doctor and had been given warnings that his mood swings would take their toll on me, but I’d just have to ignore it. Well now it was getting harder to ignore. We were at home, laying on the couch watching some thriller movie. It was raining now, in contrast to the perfect we’d been enjoying earlier.

Well, I wouldn’t say enjoying.

He had arms wrapped around my waist and his chin over my shoulder as he laid behind me. Apparently this movie was a classic and he was shocked I hadn’t seen it.

“I know babe.” I sighed softly, reaching my hand back to run it through his hair. This time around, it was soft and clean, better than what it was earlier that morning. “I know.”

“I just feel so shitty.” He sighed, as the movie broke for some TV advert. We’d bought it off cable and were still having to sit through adverts. “You don’t deserve it.”

“But I understand why it happens, John. It’s okay.” I insisted. “Seriously, just stop thinking about it, it’ll only make it worse for you.”

“But I am sorry.”

“I know you are, and I appreciate the apology.” I responded, feeling him grip the hem of my t-shirt.

Restlessness.

The movie came back on and I tried to settle back into it, trying to catch what he’d distracted me from earlier. But of course, his twitching foot and constantly moving hands were distracting me. Restlessness at its finest, apparently. Or were they muscle spasms this time?

“You okay?” I asked gently.

“Y-yeah, fine.” He nodded, before letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He sighed before getting up from the couch, climbing over me and heading into the kitchen.

I hated seeing him like this.

He was still just my regular John O’Callaghan, but with added baggage he unwillingly picked up over the past few months. I knew it would help him to talk about it, but I just couldn’t see that happening and it was constantly driving me insane, testing my patience.

“John?” I called from the couch as I heard him move about the kitchen. “You alright?”

“Yeah I got it babe.” He called back confidently. Normally you wouldn’t really expect for this dialogue to be discussing medication for depression. That medication being Prozac. A year ago I wouldn’t have expected this sort of conversation with him. When we went to the doctor and I heard him receive the diagnosis, I wasn’t prepared. I tried not to cry in front of him, when honestly, it broke my heart. I cried in the shower, because I could get a grip on the fact that my boyfriend was clinically…well, sad.

He joined me in the shower, and told me he’d be okay. Some days he might want to rip his hair out, but he could get medication for that. He lightened up the situation for me because he knew it was hard to adjust to. I didn’t want to even begin thinking about what it was probably like for him.
But over the months I was forced to. I had to sit down with the guys and explain the situation to them one afternoon so that they understood how to approach it all. It was heavy stuff, especially for Jared and Kennedy. How do you react to someone close to you getting depression? Someone you’ve known for more than fifteen years who’s always been the life of the party, the daring one. I had to tell Eric too, and that was even harder. He took it well, looking at the positive side for my sake. He was exactly like John, yet he couldn’t figure out what could have triggered something like this. Nobody before John in his family had depression or any sort of chemical imbalance. I had to ring his mom in order to find that out.

John appeared at the door frame, the shaking and the twitching no longer evident. He gave me the crooked smile that made me fall for him a year and eight months ago. I threw him a pout and opened up my arms, moving back on the couch. He drifted over to me and sat down, before moving to lay in front of me.

My arms wrapped around his thin torso, and he let me bury my face into his chest as his strong arms took their grip around me.

“I love you, Johnny boy.” I teased softly, kissing his cheek.

“Love you too, my little dork.”

But then sometimes I felt that we were gonna be okay.