“Isaiah—” “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kenny.” His tone is desperate, as if he needs to be fixed and I could be the one to do it. “It’s been eighteen years and every time the weather is like this, I can’t calm myself down. Every worst-case scenario runs through my mind, and I can’t relax until I hear from every single person I care about.” His fingers continue to toy with his mom’s ring on my finger, his face pained. “My skin gets hot and the way I breathe…” He taps his chest. “It’s not normal.”
:( poor baby
