Hedon

Hedon - Chapter 1

  "You know why you're here, right?" The psychologist's voice was calm and authoritative. "Cas?"
  "Don't call me that." The aforementioned boy tightened his crossed arms and flicked his head to the side carelessly.
  "My apologies, Caston. You know why you're here, don't you?" She crossed one leg over the other, placing her notepad on her knee.
  "Oh gosh. That's a tough one." Caston clicked his tongue and shifted on the couch, slouching further. "Could it possibly have anything to do with the lack of affection I show my father?"
  "It's more than just that, Caston."
  "Right, right. It's about me never wanting a dog and the fact that I don't have friends, right? Why the fuck is that concerning?" Caston huffed.
  "It's concerning because you had a dog, Caston. Do you remember that?" She was speaking to him like a child.
  He rolled his eyes and nodded his head harshly.
  "Do you know why you don't have that dog anymore?" She asked in the same calm voice.
  Caston shrugged, looking off to the side.
  "You strangled it, Caston." Her voice dropped slightly. "According to your dad, you were in the backyard, playing with the puppy. He left for two minutes to get you a snack and when he came back, the dog was dead and you were playing with your other toys. He asked you what happened and you said 'the puppy was jumping. I held the puppy down and it stopped moving.'"
  Caston stayed silent.
  "Do you remember that?"
  "I was just a kid. Maybe I shouldn't have been left alone with a pet." Caston sighed.
  "So..you do remember it, then?"
  "Yes! I remember it! It's like my earliest childhood memory!" He huffed, still looking away from the therapist.
  "And how does it make you feel? That memory?" She looked up from the page she had been writing on.
  "I don't fucking know." Caston sighed and rolled his eyes again.
  "Okay. Sometimes feelings are hard to explain. They can be strong and overpowering. They can be confusing and scary sometimes-"
  "I'm not fucking scared." Caston snapped. "I'm not confused either. It doesn't make me feel anything. It's just a memory."
  "Okay.." She wrote on the paper again, then looked back to Caston. "Is that..the only thing you remember from your childhood?"
  "Obviously not." Caston rolled his eyes.
  "You said it's your earliest memory. Is that true?" She held her pen above the paper, but didn't write anything.
  Caston shrugged.
  "We're not going to get anywhere if you keep shrugging. You're here to get better and in order to do that, you need to talk to me."
  "What if I don't want to get better!? You ever think about that! I don't even know why I'm fucking here! It was my dad's idea! I feel fine! I'm fine! I don't need to get better!" Caston said loudly, using air quotes and throwing his arms.
  "Well at least we know you can get angry." She made a note on the paper, her tone unidentifiable to Caston.
  "I'm not fucking angry. I'm annoyed at your incessant questions." Caston effortlessly mumbled his learned vocabulary and threw himself back against the couch.
  "I guess you're gonna ask me about it now?" Caston huffed out a meaningless laugh.
  "About what?"
  "Don't play dumb. You know what." Caston rolled his eyes, his arms once again ending up taut against his chest. He raised his eyebrows, gesturing towards her. "Ask me."
  The therapist sighed, having no choice but to oblige, as it was already her prepared question.
  "What do you remember about your mother?"
  "Ooh subtle. Nice luring." Caston winked, then shrugged. "I was like five when she died. How could I remember anything about her?"
  "You were also five when you killed your puppy and you remember that."
  "Stop calling it my puppy. I didn't ask for it. My dad got it for me. I didn't want it."
  "So you killed it."
  "I was a kid!"
  "Kids don't kill pets, Caston! They want them and love them. Your dad was worried about you and that's why he got you the puppy. He thought it might teach you to love and care for something."
  "Well he was wrong. You can't just spring responsibility on a kid like that. He should've asked."
  "I agree. I think the idea was sound, but he should have told you about it first. I'm sure it was a lot to handle as a kid." Her voice lowered back to its calm, level tone.
  "I didn't know." Caston said quietly.
  "What?"
  "I didn't know it would die so fast."
The therapist was hesitant, her expression becoming slightly alarmed. "What..do you mean by that?"
  "I thought..it would run away or struggle out of my hands before my dad got back. I thought he would see and...get rid of it."
  "Oh. Okay. Did you..want to kill it?" She chose her words carefully.
  "I.." Caston flicked his eyes up to the therapist, seeing the same thing in her eyes that he saw in his dad's that day. "No. I wanted to scare it. So it would run away."
  Caston always found himself lying impulsively in situations like this. Almost as an instinct.
  "Did you also want to scare your mother?"
  And there it is.
  Caston let out another airy laugh. "Is that how you're gonna ask that question?"
  The therapists eyes flashed something different, her body shifting slightly.
  "Do you remember the day your mother died?" She asked, her features now tensed.
  Caston looked away and back to her with attitude. He smiled. "How could I not?"
  Caston remembers the day his mother died vividly. It's a clearer picture than what he had for dinner yesterday.
  He reminisces on it quite frequently. Whether by choice or not, it plays in his head like a movie.