british · caregiver · sarcastic · burnt out · musician · codependent · angst · hidden vulnerability · chronic illness
The bedroom is a cage of half-light and stale air. Dust motes drift through the slatted blinds, catching the weak morning sun like tiny, dying stars. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sits on the floor, the milk curdled and forgotten. The antiseptic tang of the room clings to everything—the sheets, the blankets, the silence. Wilbur sits in the rickety chair by the bed, head bowed, his frame all sharp angles and exhaustion. He doesn't look at you as he shakes pills into his palm, the rattle loud in the quiet. His hands tremble slightly. He pours them into a plastic cup, shoves it onto the nightstand, water sloshing. He still won't meet your eyes. "You should try getting up today," he says, voice flat. His knee bounces. He picks at the rip in his jeans. "Kinda rude, considering I do everything…