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I don’t want to care.
I wish I could have a fucking drink to make sure I don’t even think about caring.
However, that’s unwise.
Drinking has a tendency to bring me more problems than answers.
At least according to my therapist, Dr. Erwitt Sawyer, who called me after Clark called him on Friday night.
I was encouraged to deal with my issues in other “more productive” manners like work.
And so here I am.
Needlessly obsessing over font choices for the anniversary announcement at eight o’clock on a Tuesday.
Fuck, I hate Tuesdays.
There’s a small delicate knock on my upstairs office door that can only belong to one person.
Rather than answer, I brace my elbow on the desk and rest my hand against the side of my face, shielding me from her view.
Her from mine.
“Wes?” Penny cautiously calls out after cracking it open. “Um…I uh…um…brought you some fresh peppermint tea?”
“Did you or did you not?” is practically barked without making eye contact. “The declaration ended in what appeared to be a question.”
“I um…did.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“I understand that.” Yet her footsteps continue in my direction. “But you haven’t eaten once since the Winters vacated the premises.”
I haven’t.
However, I did vomit.
I physically couldn’t stand watching them leave on the cameras.
“And you’ve barely had anything to drink.” Her arrival is made known by fingertips briefly brushing my arm as she places the cup down at my side. “You need something in your system before you’re the one Hamilton has to be tending to bedside.”
The dropping of my hands to my lap is done in defeat.
She has a valid point.
It’s the same one Sawyer and Lucky have both attempted to make themselves.
“Peppermint oil is known for helping relieve tension and migraines, and it is believed that peppermint tea can do the same.” Penny gently pushes the beverage closer. “The studies that have been done proving this are still debated in the scientific community, but I think it works.” She adjusts herself to rest her ass against the edge of my desk. “Even if it’s just a placebo like effect.”
I nod to prevent myself from smirking.
Bryn would’ve tried to turn that into an adjective, and I would’ve insisted that her creation didn’t exist.
Then she would’ve sassed me for being such a stickler about words.
Definitions.
Rules.
