Trevor has a therapist. She's a fat, balding old lady with ginger hair and black teeth and she buys into Freudian psychology too much for his comfort. Never has he been in love with his mother; he hadn't known her long enough to even truly love her, so the presence of non-familial love is completely out of sorts.

Karen, however, doesn't know this. Trevor doesn't talk about his family to her, if he even makes it to her appointments.

"How are you doing, off the meds?" she asks, pen poised above the tablet. There are colors swirling off the side of her head, smiling at him, and Trevor turns towards the ceiling to get away.

"Fine," he says, thinking about the toothy shadow in his and Carter's bedroom, the swarm of white bats that live in the living room, the talking in the television, and the toy rabbit that hides under the kitchen table. Karen sighs, scribbles something on her notepad and a voice in his ear says, 'she's saying that you're still crazy.' Trevor manages to ignore it.

"It's only been a few weeks," she says, her voice sounding a lot more timid than it had moments ago. A barely-there gray wisp laughs loudly, spitting on her face, and disappears when it passes through her. "There's still time. It could be the best decision you've made yet."

He wants to go home. Carter's home, waiting for him like he always is after Trevor's appointments, and he'll be waiting and far less judgmental than Karen, who's looking at him as though he's about to attack her. He'll be there with warmth, even if Trevor's far beyond lividity on the outside, calming Trevor and bringing him back down to reality. Trevor doesn't deserve him, not the least bit, but he's glad Carter's with him, regardless.


Sometimes, he never gets out of bed. He spends days in bed, not eating, not sleeping, barely moving to go to the bathroom. Carter used to watch him from the door, ask if he was all right, if he should call an ambulance. Trevor's not sure what changed, because Carter never stands just outside the room anymore, instead pressed against Trevor's side with a book in one hand and a beer in the other, and just waits for Trevor to get over his 'mood' of staring at the ceiling and waiting for something to... He's not even sure. Waiting for something, though.

He always hits a wall his third day into these moods, where he couldn't move if his life depended on it. He's since learned how to cope, but it doesn't change the fact that when he does get to that point, his mind goes from odd and disconcerting to fucking terrifying in seconds flat, and if he could make one sound or one move... It's a bit like sleep paralysis, maybe, because nothing he sees is actually happening, like it's a dream, but he can't-fucking-/move/ and it's all so confusing and horrible and when he does come out of it, he spends twenty minutes dry heaving onto the carpet and trying not to piss himself.

Carter still watches from afar when he does that. There are some things that never change, Trevor supposes.