"These are desperate times, Mrs. Lovett and desperate measures are called for." -Sweeney Todd, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street 

"Emmy! Are you awake? I hope you're awake!"

I reluctantly peeled my eyes opened and groaned, quickly assessing my situation. I was sitting on the couch in my living room, my blanket was on the floor along with a pile of notes, and the coffee on the table next to me had gone cold. There was someone banging on the door - Griffin, judging by the voice - at - seven-seventeen in the morning.

I let out another loud groan and swung my legs over the edge of the couch, "Hold on!" I called, grabbing a hoodie from the back of the couch and tugging it over my pajama shirt.

I knew I looked like a mess - I had passed out on the couch after studying, but, at that point, I really didn't care. I sighed and rolled my shoulders before walking over to the door and pulling it open enough for Griffin and I to see each other, but not enough for him to see how messy I still was. He didn't seem to notice.

"Thank God you're awake," he said, shooting me a sheepish grin, "I really needed your help with something. I've been up since five, but I didn't think it would be appropriate to get you that early."

Griffin did look like he was up since five. The clothes he was wearing - sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt - were crumpled, his hair was a knotty mess that would probably snap the teeth of a comb, and the bags under his eyes were dark and prominent. Desperate the evident exhaustion, however, Griffin seemed wide awake. Everything about him contradicted itself.

A walking paradox.

I frowned, too tired to try and act like being woken up at this time on my free day was anything but annoying, "What do you need help with?"

Griffin looked me up and down and bit his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing before his gaze rested on my face again, "Just get ready and come by my apartment, okay?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows instead, "I promise it won't take long."

Before I could ask what wouldn't take long, Griffin had gently shut my door for me. I stared at the closed door for a minute before letting out a frustrated noise. I wanted to go back to bed and get the much needed sleep I deserved, but I also wanted to see what Griffin needed help with. We had spoken much since the dinner at his dad's house, and I was just glad he needed me again.

So, without another thought, I trudged into my bedroom and began getting ready. My mind was running a million miles a minute, remembering the conversation I had with Ruslan the day before. He had told me to stay away from the Cutkosky case - to distance myself from Griffin, essentially - but now I was about to do the complete opposite.

Ruslan didn't understand, though. He worked the case from the outside, while it felt like I was working it from the inside. I knew things he didn't. Ruslan may have seen the case from a case file, but I was seeing it through spending time with Griffin, even if he didn't tell me too much.

I got dressed quickly, fixed my hair, and brushed my teeth before making my way into the kitchen. I grabbed a bagel out of the fridge, slipped into a pair of shoes, and made my way out of my apartment. I took a bite of the bagel and knocked on Griffin's door, nervously tapping my foot against the carpet under me.

"It's unlocked!" Griffin called, so I pushed the door open and walked in, surprised by the sight that greeted me, "Hey."

Griffin was sitting on the floor, papers, manila folders, photographs, newspaper clippings, and markers surrounding him. He looked up at me and blinked before standing, carefully stepping out of the circle that surrounded him and making his way over to me. It was then I noticed the smeared marker on his hands and the tape that was stuck to his pants.

Griffin frowned, "Is that a cold bagel?" he asked, but I was too shocked by the sheer amount of paper he had all over his floor to respond, "You can use the toaster if you want. I just want to talk to you about something."

Griffin started walking towards the kitchen and I reluctantly followed him, a feeling of nervousness rising up inside me. I had an idea of why Griffin had all those papers out - he was researching more into his mom's murder case. I could tell just by the newspaper clippings and the family pictures he had laid out.

It broke my heart when I remembered Ruslan telling me that they were closing the case.

"Here," Griffin said, plucking the bagel out of my hand and popping it into the toaster for me, "It's just a theory, really. I've been thinking for awhile, but I wanted to run it by you. I trust your opinion."

I was flattered that Griffin trusted me enough to run his theories by me, but also nervous. Ruslan was right on one account - I had gotten myself in deep with Griffin and this case. Was I in too deep if Griffin felt completely comfortable running theories of who killed his mom by me? I didn't know the answer to that question.

I sat down at his kitchen table and clasped my hands together, "Sure," I said, swallowing tightly, trying to keep my expression neutral, "Shoot."

Griffin clasped his fingers together and took a deep breath, blue eyes locked on me, "I was thinking - really, really thinking, Emmy," he started, voice losing any of the humor it previously held, "I think Ruslan was responsible for my mom's murder."

My stomach twisted, but I pursed my lips together, attempting to hide any emotion from my features. What would Griffin do if he knew I had secretly gone to meet with Ruslan the other day? I didn't want to know. 

The toaster dinged and the bagel popped out, tearing Griffin's attention away from me. He grabbed a paper towel and the bagel, passed it to me, and then leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath. I took a tentative bite from my bagel, Griffin's eyes following all of my movements. I felt like he was scrutinizing everything thing I was doing. 

"I was reading newspaper articles and looking at information - anything I could get my hands on. And it makes sense. He was the patrolling officer for my neighborhood, he had a ridiculously early arrival time, and... Well, he omitted information," Griffin told me, face turning as white as paper. Griffin paused, a frown etching its way onto his face, "Ruslan said there weren't any signs of a struggle, but there was. There was scratches on the top of the couch, signs that someone was forcing my mom to stay down."

My mouth was moving before I could even properly process what Griffin said, "How do you know that he omitted it?"

"He omitted it from us, at the very least," Griffin replied, voice not wavering in the slightest. I wondered how he could say all of this without, at least, a little bit of doubt, "The investigation crew saw it, but Ruslan didn't mention it when we went to talk to him. You don't find that suspicious?"

It wasn't suspicious at all, and I desperately wanted to tell Griffin that. I wanted to say how we had been lucky that Ruslan told us anything; that it was such a small piece of information that he could have easily forgotten. I wanted to tell Griffin that small scratches on the top of the couch weren't mind-blowing. But instead, I kept my mouth shut.

Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath, "Just listen, okay?" he asked, voice teetering on the edge of desperate, "After we visited him, things are - they're different. I'll come home and it feels like someone else has been in here. Things are moved. And it's such small stuff that I barely notice, but I do. It feels like someone's messing with me."

For awhile I knew that Griffin suffered from some varying degree of paranoia. That much was obvious, but this was something else. And, at Griffin's words, something popped up in my mind.

Paranoid schizophrenia.

I wasn't sure why. I had never taken a particular interest in schizophrenia, and, during my module for it, I didn't pay too much attention. But the signs and symptoms of the disease were coming back to me, and I was slowly matching them with Griffin Cutkosky.

I opened my mouth slowly, working the words out in my head before I spoke, "Griffin, do you feel like someone - anyone - is watching you? Like someone's out to get you?"

Griffin's jaw locked, "You mean do I feel like the person who murdered my mom could possibly be going after me?" he demanded, face flushing, eyes flashing angrily, "Then yes, Emmy, I do feel that way."

Paranoid schizophrenia had a major symptom - delusions of persecution, which meant that someone was out to get them. Usually the delusions were wild and out there, but Griffin's fit in perfectly. He felt like someone was out to get him and now, desperate to know who it was, he claimed Ruslan. But what if the entire thing was inside his head?

What if Griffin had left the oven on before going to bed? What if Griffin accidentally lit a candle before going to bed, perhaps in a moment where he was pulled from reality?

What if Griffin believed someone was going after him when, in fact, it was a delusion?

My heart was pounding in my chest and my mouth had gone suddenly, painfully, dry. It all made sense, honestly. Griffin often believed these irrational, insane occurrences to be done by someone else - someone who was out to get him. People with schizophrenia couldn't differentiate reality from fantasy, so what if Griffin had just gotten pulled in too deep to his own fantasies? 

"I'm going to say something, and I know you're not going to like it," I said, heart racing. Out of fear or nervousness I wasn't sure, "but I want you to hear me out."

Griffin's eyebrows rose, a hesitant look replacing the angry one on his face, "I'm listening."

I took a deep breath, hands trembling lightly by my side. I knew a lot of people with schizophrenia didn't know they had it. I knew that Griffin, clearly, didn't think anything was wrong with him or this situation. But I knew something was wrong, and I had to tell him before this spiraled into something else entirely.

"The things you're telling me are all kind of... Strange," I said slowly, carefully picking the words I said. I wasn't sure how Griffin was going to react, "You think someone's out to get you, but all these things can just be coincidences. You know that, don't you? The oven, the candle - "

Griffin cut me off angrily, nostrils flared, "Emmy, I wouldn't leave a fucking candle lit under my curtain - "

"Unless you were split off from reality," I cut him off and watched as Griffin's face flashed a million expressions: hurt, angry, confused, and more I couldn't begin to explain, "I know it all seems real, but occasionally being disconnected from reality could do that to you. It can all seem real, but it's just not."

Griffin's face terrified me, then, because he had absolutely no expression, "What are you saying?"

"Paranoid schizophrenia."

Griffin's jaw dropped slightly, though he didn't seem entirely shocked at what I had been building up to. Instead, the anger I had been expecting to see was replaced with a look of complete and utter hurt. Betrayal. Griffin looked like I had just stomped all over his entire life. His blue eyes were shattered, and he stared at me for a few seconds, body tense.

And then he snapped back to life.

His face went cold, expression a battle between anger and hurt. He looked like he either wanted to beat me up, or ask why, why I could ever accuse him of such a thing. I wasn't sure which reaction I wanted more.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment," he decided on, voice stern and cold, eyes as frozen as glaciers, "Right now. Get the fuck out of my apartment, Emmy. I'm not fucking kidding."

And so I left, heart shattering in my chest when Griffin slammed the door behind me and let out a loud, pained shout.

</ okay so first I just want to say: how emmy 'diagnosed' griffin is completely unethical. she didn't consult the dms-v, she didn't evaluate him, she just made a blatant statement. now, i'm not saying she's wrong or right, but I just wanted to put that out there!

remember to let me know your thoughts! thank you guys :)