"You need to learn to express your trauma correctly, Cy." The therapist sighed, looking exactly as you imagined, wearing a nice vest with a button up underneath, fancy shoes, and holding a clipboard in his lap; his brown hair, perfectly in place, besides a small hair sticking up on the back of his head. Cy focused on that hair now.
"Cy, why are you even paying me to be here when you won't listen?" His eyes meet with the young man's, causing Cy to look away.
"I'm not, the government is." Cy grumbled as he sat across from the therapist, wishing that the clock in the back of the room would move faster.
The therapist rolled his eyes, dodging Cy's comment. Cy was here on a government grant. As a condition of the grant, it was required he attend therapy, and it seemed like that was the only reason he was here. "Cyberus? You need to get out in the world, talk to people, make friends, and do something besides waiting for fate to kill you, you have to put an effort in to be happy." The therapist didn't like calling his patients by their full names because he felt it added unnecessary tension to the room, so he hesitated to do so, especially with Cy, but hopefully it would signal to Cy that he was serious.
"What if I don't want to be happy? What if I'm fine drifting from place to place with no friends and no care in the world? In all honesty.... it's pretty relaxing, you should try it sometime." The young man was almost 19, but he didn't feel that age. He didn't feel anything or at least, he thought he didn't. He leaned back, causing a few strands of bright blue hair to fall in his face. He pushed them back as he waited on the therapist's response. The therapist sat there, looking as if he really regretted coming into work that day. He pursed his lips as he looked to Cy, "Cy," he started slowly "when was the last time you were happy?"
In an instant, Cy's eyes flashed red and he was suddenly in his old home, his sister sitting criss-cross in front of him. He could feel the old floorboards beneath him, smell the smell of his mother cooking spaghetti in the kitchen, "Dang it, Ben!" His sister cried, "Why are you so good at this?"
He looked down to the floor, there were Jenga blocks scattered everywhere.
"Kids, you better clean up those games!" His mom called from the kitchen and like that, Cy was back in the therapist's office, the therapist waiting for an answer.
Cy crossed his arms, an attempt to keep emotions in, "Years ago..." He whispered, emotionless.
The therapist looked at him, almost sorry for the young man. As he looked at the clock it read 2:30. It was time to release Cy. The therapist sighed, "Maybe we'll get farther next week." It was the same thing he said to Cy every time he left for weeks now. Cy was just seemingly a walking, talking lump of nothingness and he liked it that way.
As Cy left the clinic, he looked for things to do. He elected to go to his favorite dinner and afterwards end out the night with a few drinks at the bar. This diner was special to Cy, being the only one that made his bacon exactly as he liked it and their hash browns... Cyberus' mouth watered at the thought, The hashbrowns at thar diner had to be the best on earth. An older black woman owned the diner, Cy didn't know her full name, only the fact that everyone called her Ms. Sheila and there was one thing about her you would never forget. Once you became a regular at the diner, she would greet you every time you walked in, even if she was hard at work scolding the chefs for making someone's order wrong. When the front doorbell rang she'd always stop whatever she was doing to greet the person, maybe even sneak a hug in if she wasn't awfully busy. Before Cy walked in, he took a deep breath in, making sure to straighten his shirt, or else Ms. Sheila would critique him for it...if she saw it overly wrinkled. She was old-fashioned like that. Cy stepped in and just as he expected, she peeked her head out from the kitchen door, "Hi Cy," She exclaimed warmly " how'd therapy go today?"
Cy looked at his hands seemingly looking for an explanation in them, "Well, Ms. Shelia," he started, "it went about as well as it usually does." At this the woman came out of the kitchen, wiping flour off her hands with a dish rag. She was a southern, stout woman who had a plump figure, she gave him a look a tired mother would when their son misbehaved for the hundredth time.
"Now, Cy," she sighed, cleaning the rest of her fingers, "you need to open up to that man. He's there to help you."
"I know." Cy replied, looking down at his feet, "but what if I'm just not made to be happy?"
"Not made to be happy," she questioned looking at him perplexed, "everyone has something to be happy about. You find it someday, Sweetheart. I promise. For now, sit down and I'll be out with your coffee in just a little bit. I assume you want your usual order?"
Cy grinned before nodding like a happy child and sitting at one of the booths. As he waited, he folded the napkin on the table, first into squares, then into triangles, then back to squares, the lines from each fold becoming more visible each time he folded over them. Soon as promised, Ms. Sheila came back with his usual cup of coffee.
"My cooks are knotheads today," she explained in a huff voice while putting his coffee on the table, "so the food will be a little bit."
Cy nodded and started to take out individual creamer cups from the basket on the window, steadily opening them before plopping them in his coffee until the coffee looked more like snow. He again thought about the hashbrowns, they were unique, almost spicy in a way, but Cy enjoyed that. The young man could probably live off Tabasco if it was possible. He sipped his coffee, careful not to drink too fast as it was popping hot. After probably twenty five minutes, Ms. Sheila again came out, this time with a plate of hash browns and bacon, and a bottle of Tabasco tucked close to her chest, "Here you are, hun." She smiled, carefully putting everything down, "enjoy."
Cy quickly opened the Tabasco bottle she had left and smothered his hash browns in it. He grabbed his fork and ate slowly, savoring every bite. He wondered if this is what the therapist meant when he asked about happiness, I mean.... He enjoyed it but was it happiness? Cyberus was indifferent, he thought he would definitely be sure of what happiness was. There would be no question about it. He didn't know if he was wrong.
Cy decided to leave, leaving a small tip on the table and heading out. Now, to the bar. Cyberus liked to drink. Cyberus was young but that wasn't the only factor, ever since Cy was small, he was... unusual. Cyberus was born with...a... special ability, shall we say? He could look into the future or the past, and actually be himself in that moment.. feeling, seeing smelling, everything, all the five senses. Today was the first time it had happened in weeks. Sometimes he could pinpoint when he'd get a "vision" but most of the time, they were random. They made him nauseous and people would always look at him weird when he'd randomly grip a seat in public like he was about to die. The only thing that gave Cy's power away? His eyes. His eye color would change depending on what was happening, blue for future and red for the past. His eyes usually were a dark, chocolate brown so... if you knew Cy and his "gift" the change was easy to spot. Cy didn't really care for his power. Well, he didn't care for the reactions of people when they found out about his power. In their eyes, he became like one of those fortune tellers. That's why his hair was dyed the way it was, so people would stop asking which color of his eyes was for what "era". You know, people annoying him is honestly probably what drove Cy to be so alone. It was all this that he couldn't possibly explain to a therapist. Now, back to how alcohol helped, it suppressed his power, for about twenty-four hours and to Cy, it was twenty-four hours of peace.
