Alex stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, cold water dripping from his hands as he struggled to ground himself. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and he clenched the edge of the sink, knuckles white with tension. The hallucinations were creeping into his waking hours, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. He splashed his face again, hoping the shock of cold water would pull him back into focus, but the panic still hovered at the edges of his mind.
After a long moment, he took a deep breath, wiped his face dry, and stepped out of the restroom. As he walked back to the table, he noticed Mark waiting for him, concern etched into his face.
"Hey, man, you good?" Mark asked as Alex sat down, his tone more serious than usual.
Alex forced a weak chuckle, but his voice betrayed him. "Hard to say."
Mark leaned in, frowning. "Alex, this isn't funny. You looked like you were having a panic attack back there."
Alex didn't respond immediately. His eyes drifted to the street outside, where life went on as usual. Inside, though, the weight of everything—his condition, the case, the facade he had to maintain—pressed down harder.
"Alex." Mark's voice cut through the silence, sharper this time. "Talk to me, man. What's going on?"
With a sigh, Alex finally met his eyes. There was no use deflecting anymore. No more joking his way out of it.
"You promise you won't snitch?" Alex tried to smile, but it didn't quite land.
Mark sighed, leaning back in his chair as if trying to ease the tension. "Yeah, man. I promise. No snitching."
Alex swallowed hard before speaking. "I... suffer from schizophrenia."
The words landed like a punch, and Mark's expression froze in disbelief.
"W-What? Schizophrenia?" Mark blinked, his voice dropping. "Are you serious?"
Alex nodded, his tone steady but quieter now. "Yeah. It's manageable, mostly. I can still do my job, you know? But I get these hallucinations sometimes, like what happened earlier."
Mark's face remained tense, his mind racing to process this. "How long have you had this? Were you born with it?"
Alex shook his head. "No... I don't think so. At least, I don't remember dealing with it as a kid. It's just... been getting worse lately."
Mark rubbed the back of his neck, overwhelmed by the revelation. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? Does anyone else know?"
"I didn't want anyone at work to find out." Alex's voice grew quieter, almost ashamed. "I thought they'd pull me off the case. My mom knows, but other than that, I've kept it under wraps."
Mark looked away for a moment, absorbing the weight of it. "I get it... I do. But if you ever need help, don't hesitate to reach out, alright? I'm here."
Alex smiled faintly. "Thanks, Mark. I mean it."
The waitress came by, pulling them both out of the moment.
"Sorry for the wait, folks! Busy day." She smiled, her presence adding a lighter touch to the heavy atmosphere. "What can I get for you guys?"
"I'll have a coffee, two cubes of sugar, with eggs and bacon," Mark said, managing to shift gears smoothly.
"And for you, sir?" the waitress asked, turning to Alex.
He hesitated for a second, snapping out of his thoughts and noticing her for the first time. She had a bright smile and warm eyes, and for a split second, Alex felt like he was seeing her through a fog. He shook it off.
"Uh, yeah. I'll have pancakes with syrup and blueberries. Oh, and a hot chocolate—with a couple of marshmallows, please." His voice was uneven, as though his mind was still trying to settle.
The waitress scribbled it down, her smile never faltering. "Great! I'll have that out for you in about thirty minutes. Hope you can wait that long!"
Alex forced a grin. "We'll survive."
"Great! Be back soon!" She gave them a quick wave before heading to another table.
As she left, the silence settled back in. The clinking of plates and soft murmur of conversations filled the diner, but the weight of Alex's confession lingered between them. Mark sipped his water, watching Alex closely, his mind already racing through what he'd just learned. Alex, on the other hand, stared at the empty plate in front of him, trying to piece together the next steps, both in the case and in his own battle.