ZEIN
The little bottle sits heavy in my pocket, like a ton of bricks, weighing him down.
I don't know what to think.
I also don't want to jump to conclusions, but I can't stop overthinking everything.
Fingers tap incessantly on the steering wheel, leg jumping even as the even traffic demands that I remain patient and calm.
Calm is the last thing on my mind.
We are driving home, and a text comes through that the meeting has ended, and we can just retire to our homes.
A new schedule will be sent tonight, as we have a time, date, and location now all set, for the world tour to commerce, where we left off.
That's all the last things in my mind, though.
When Jude, the boy seated next to him, now napping once again as I drive him home, slid through and ran to vomit, something dropped on the car seat in his rush.
A bottle of pills.
