Scared

Chapter 4

Paul entered his patient's bedroom with a smile, happy to start.

He had a guitar strapped to his back and his arms were full of music sheets.

He was excited to talk and play music with John.

Two days before, the last time he had seen him, John sounded eager to hear him play and to sing along to some of Elvis's songs.

Paul had decided that music and painting were the most efficient methods for John to express himself.

He found out pet therapy wasn't something the young man was fond of, especially if dogs were involved.

He had said, though, that Paul's big sheepdog, Martha, was cute with all that long shaggy fur and big dangling tongue.

Paul had promised that one day they would take her out for a walk in the park together. So John could enjoy the fresh air and Paul see how he reacted to crowded places such as the park.

The boy had sounded very happy and even made the therapist pinky promise him.

But that day, something was surely different.

When Paul entered the bedroom, he saw Mimi. Not a weird sight, obviously, because Mimi was always there before his arrival.

He then noticed John.

Paul had to gulp. He looked dead.

John was sitting in bed, completely still. His big brown eyes, usually lit by a spark of enthusiasm and almost childish curiosity and joy, looked dim.

Upon his arrival, the woman turned around, looking at him with pain in her eyes.

"It's a bad day" she said softly, one hand never leaving the back of the auburn haired man.

John was breathing softly, his chest moving was the only movement of his body, aside for blinking and breathing.

It was almost a scary sight, and suddenly Paul was filled with discouragement.

All the progress they have gone through, puff, disappeared.

But then Paul decided it wasn't worth to dwell on it. He was there, ready to pick up John's broken pieces again.

Mimi gently cradled John a little, "He has been like this until early this morning. I'm not sure what the trigger was, but I think his uncle is probably what has triggered him" she explained softly, looking very conflicted.

"His uncle?"

"Yes, his uncle, my husband. Today would have been his birthday and John misses him terribly. I miss him too, eh, don't take me wrong, but with John's fragile mentality" she trailed off, looking into the distance with a sad expression.

Oh, Paul could understand perfectly. He had lost his own mother, back when he was only 14. It was then that he had decided he wanted to become a therapist. To help people cope with their traumas.

He didn't say anything, only nodded as she got up from the bed, left a gentle kiss and bye to John before starting to walk out.

She stopped in her track, turning to look at Paul, "Try to spoon feed him something. Nothing heavy, though, or he will throw up. I've packed a sippy cup and some nappies too, because when he's like this he isn't in full control of his body" she said, giving him a last smile before going away.

The day was passing slowly.

Paul missed terribly John's laughter. His enthusiasm, his eyes looking so happy and hopeful.

He missed tucking John in bed when he was exhausted, just an hour or so before he had to go away.

He missed all of this.

He didn't have much to do. He mostly sat on the desk chair, doodling over some paper, sometimes playing something on the guitar.

He had hoped that maybe, with music, John would get happier.

Almost like a switch, he hoped he would come to life.

His eyes would lit up and he would show Paul that pretty pretty smile he was able to do.

Instead, all he got was silence.

"Johnny, please, talk to me" he pleaded, but was met by nothing. John was still as still as a statue.

Paul sighed, getting up from the chair with a stretch and groan. After posing down the guitar, he walked to John.

He got to the side of the bed, softly moving his body, stretching him a little and changing his position.

John wasn't paying any attention to him. He was simply emptily staring at the wall in front of him with dead-looking eyes.

Paul's movements stopped abruptly at the slight hissing sound coming from the boy.

His doe eyes posed over his face.
Nothing. Emptiness like before.

His face coloured red as he understood what had just happened.

He grabbed the bag Mimi had packed him, getting out a rather thick disposable nappy and some wipes, along with cream and talcum.

Paul couldn't help but blush as he laid John down on his back, timidly taking off his trousers and wet nappy.

He exhaled deeply, still feeling a little embarrassed, but not so much anymore.

He had done that before, even on eldery men and women, much to his embarrassment, plus John didn't have anything he didn't have.

He was glad John wasn't even reacting, knowing that if he was in any coherent state they wouldn't even be in that predicament in the first place.

He tried hard not to look, but his eyes inevitably had slipped down there a few times.

Though he did fancy John and thought he was very good looking, he knew it wasn't fair at all to take advantage of his condition and current mental state.

Little he knew that John had fallen head over heels over his sexy doctor the very first time he had seen him, even if he didn't act on it because he thought Paul would only laugh at him and think of him as a loon.

When the nappy was finally snugly close around his hips, Paul released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

After the nappy change, Paul had simply fed him some oatmeal he had asked the canteen to prepare for him, before sitting next to the window.

John was snuggly curled up in his arms, head posed on the other's shoulder, simply trying to match his breaths to the doctor's ones.

Paul was happily passing his hand through his soft auburn hair, gently murmuring the words of a song he had tried to write recently in a spark of motivation.

But right now, his focus was one hundred percent over the precious boy on his lap.

Even if he wasn't able to fully pull him out from his catatonia, Paul felt like he did something good nevertheless.