Rip - Becoming Whole

Goals

"Dammit boy, sit down, or I tie you to the chair," Mr Dutton growled at Rip, who for the umpteen time tried to get past Mr Dutton to leave the therapist's waiting room. "Well, I've changed my mind," Rip argued back. "Darn it. We're here now, and we're going in when she calls us. You can change your mind after," he told him.

When the therapist stepped out of her office to call them, she realised right away that talking to Mr Dutton on his own while the boy was staying in the waiting room was not an option. His mistrust of her and regret to have come was written all over him. One look at the boy, sitting uncomfortably slumped on one of the plastic chairs that lined the wall outside her office, fists dug deep in his trouser pockets, legs jittering rapidly up and down, and a scowl in his face, told her as much. She didn't even suggest it to them and was glad that in this case it was not necessary either. She was familiar with the boy's history, so she brought them both into her office right away and focused on putting him at ease, putting them both at ease.

She took her time talking to them, trying to reassure Rip that he was completely in charge of what he was going to share. There was no need to tell her anything about himself or his past if he did not want to, she told him.

"Why? Is that not how this shit works?" he challenged her rebelliously right away. His uncle breathed loudly in his seat beside him. His left hand was holding on tight to the wrist of his right hand, which was just itching to give the boy a slap on the back of his head.

"It's one way, but not the only one," she simply told him, "it much depends on what your goals are."

"My goals?" Rip asked glaring at her.

"Yes, you are here for a reason, are you not? What are you hoping to get out of this?" she asked.

"Huh," Rip went biting his lip, instead of giving her a reply. At that moment of time the only reason he could think of was that his 'wardrobe of an uncle' had been blocking the exit in the waiting room. He couldn't think of a single good reason why he would have agreed to come. As if he was going to just tell her what was going on in his head, and what good would it do anyway? He started to look around but didn't like what he saw.

"I can see, you are not comfortable talking about this right now. That's okay. We can talk about it next week, when it is just you and me," she told him after a few moments of awkward silence.

Rip smirked. 'There's not going to be a next week,' he thought but kept his thoughts to himself, when he noticed his uncle's grip on his own hand tightening and him shifting again in the seat beside him.

"Mr Dutton, can you name something that you would hope for Rip to get out of the therapy?" the therapist asked and noticed how the boy's whole body seemed to sink even deeper into the armchair he was sitting in, if that was even possible. As soon as she asked the question, he dropped his head to his chest, and his face was suddenly fully covered by his hair like a curtain in front of a theatre stage.

Mr Dutton didn't have to think long about his answer.

"Sleep, I'd like him to be able to have decent night sleep with no nightmares. For once, I'd like him to be fresh and well rested in the morning. Half the time I look at him and want to send him back to bed, but I know that'd mess up his sleep even more. He always looks tired, no matter what time of the day." His uncle sounded grumpy, and Rip felt the urge to turn and lift his head to look at the mirror on the wall next to him but didn't. Did he really always look tired?

The therapist nodded and wrote something on the sheets of paper in front of her.

"So that's one thing I'd like for him. The other is about food. I'd like him to enjoy his meals and still eat when he's upset without one of us having to stand over him. It's gotten a lot better, but he still would happily miss a meal anytime he's a bit upset. I won't let him though. Not anymore I don't," Mr Dutton paused, and the therapist nodded to encourage him to elaborate.