Pill Bottles & Black Coffee

I sat on one of those uncomfortable looking sofas in the waiting room of Huntington Beach hospital. It’s funny how familiar these surroundings have become during a couple of years: after coming here once every other week, it kind of starts feeling like this is my other home. And why do I sit here? I’m just waiting for the nurse to step out of the door and call my name. Then I listen to my doctor’s whining for a good couple of hours and get sent home with another bottle of pills. Worthless waste of time.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when Matt stood up from his seat next to me and started walking towards my doctor’s office, expecting me to follow him.

“I don’t want to.” I whispered.

Matt turned and looked at me with a sad expression on his face. He sat on the couch next to me and took my hand in his. His hand was warm, mine was cold and sweaty.

“Please, Bri. It won’t take long, and then we’ll go home and watch movies for the rest of the day.” He said.

I stood up and started walking to the office, never letting go of his hand. He followed me and gave me a smile when I glanced at him before sitting down on a chair in front of the doctor’s desk.

“Well, Brian, at least it seems that your depression is not going to worse direction. I’m not going to change your medication” The doctor, whatever his name was, started. He fiddled with the papers he had been reading and typed something on his computer. I heard Matt sigh on the seat next to me.

“So, you don’t have anything else to tell us? Is that all? There has to be something, just tell me he’s getting better!” Matt nearly yelled. I could tell he was frustrated with coming to hospital so often and always getting negative feedback.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sanders, but Brian’s state hasn’t changed. The only positive thing I have to tell you is that he isn’t getting worse.” The doctor said, sounding tired and looking like he didn’t really give a shit if I died right in front of him. Bastard.

“Well, if that’s all you’re going to say then I guess we can leave.” Matt said and stormed out of the room.

I stood up and stared at the floor. I noticed my pill bottle on the table and took it, half running out of the door.

I slammed the door shut and earned an angry glance from the nurse at the reception. I mouthed ‘sorry’ and walked out of the main door, shivering in my thin jacket in the cold September wind. The clouds had gathered on the sky during the time we spent in the hospital; soon it would be raining. I noticed Matt’s car, walking towards it as he started the engine.

I closed the car door and fastened my seat belt. ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden was blaring through the speakers, Matt strumming the steering wheel to the beat. I put the volume down and looked at him; he was staring out of the window, looking at the first raindrops that had started to paint the pavement black.

“What was all that about?” I whispered. I nearly talk out loud these days: I find it easier to whisper.

“I’m just so fucking sick of that bastard of a doctor always telling us that you’re not getting better! It’s frustrating the shit out of me!” He yelled and punched the steering wheel. I flinched at his harsh tone. He never spoke to me like that.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t get rid of my nightmares, I’m sorry I can’t get through this depression. I should be able to take care of myself, I shouldn’t be grieving because of my fiancé who died two years ago. I’m sorry.” I said, choking back tears, looking outside of the window.

“Bri, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it, it’s not your fault you have these problems and we’ll get through this together, right? We’re strong.” Matt said. I sighed and looked at him.
“I’m not strong, Matt, you know that better than anyone. Now we’re going to end this conversation and go home, okay?” I said and turned the music up again. He cursed under his breath and drove away from the hospital a little too fast, wanting to get home as soon as possible.
I was upset; we usually never had fights like this, but lately something has been wrong with Matt. Everytime I ask him about it, he just “doesn’t want to make me worried”.
If this goes on, I’m not the only one depressed. Great.