Heal the Heart

44.

What did one say when they finally saw the cause of all their pain? What was the correct reaction? What was the perfect way to handle the situation? How did one become a better person through this?

Because that was what a proper, normal human being did, right? Find new ways to better themselves through the experiences they go through. Surmount problems and grow. Flourish. Use those prior teachings to make the future better.

What a load of Zen Mastery bullshit.

Goddammit, LA was rubbing off on me.

Christopher Beckett's wide eyes and mouth didn't seem to be returning to their usual state anytime soon. So, there went any hopes of him not recognizing me. With the beard—that I had just trimmed to a fancy sharp cut the previous evening before heading to Syama's place—and sort of longish hair, my own mother didn't recognize me when I'd returned home for Clarissa's wedding. But, clearly, my new do didn't faze him.

He saw right through me.

There was a time I thought I could see right through him, too.

Christopher Beckett had his own fair share of changes to boast as well. His auburn hair almost looked brown with how close to his scalp he had it. A few days' worth of dark stubble was smattered across his cheeks and neck. And it could've been the polo he was wearing, but it seemed like he had gotten bigger... Broader. More rugged.

After the quick glance I'd had of his face, I kept my gaze solely on the light skin in the hollow of his throat. I didn't have it in me to look into his eyes. I didn't know what I would find there. And gone were the days where I took risks and ventured into the unknown.

I steeled myself.

Don't panic. Don't panic.

There was absolutely no reason to panic, and untangling my emotions could come later. I had a patient on my hands. Shutting off and doing my job wasn't a novelty to me. There was no reason it had to start being one now.

I entered the room and let the door shut behind me. "Dr Samuel will be here soon. I'm sorry to keep you waiting. In the meantime, I'll just ask you a couple of questions to get to know you better and we can have a quick assessment to further narrow down the problem." I planted myself on the chair in front of the computer, opening his new profile on the app which Marisol must have updated by now, and gestured to the visitors' chairs beside the desk. "Could you please sit here?"

I scanned the basic information displayed in front of me. Name: Christopher J. Beckett. Age: 30. Profession: Hockey Player. Phone Number. Address. Activity Level. Injuries. The plastic covering on the examination table squeaked as he got off, and I resolutely did not turn around. He gingerly sat down on the chair beside, and I cursed all seven hells. This meant we were face to face, and the last thing I needed was to have him, out of all the people in the world, in front of my face.

This was what I got by trying to move on and be slightly healthier. Over the years, my obsessive googling of Christopher Beckett had reduced. The last time I'd checked up on him was when Jaylin was still trying to off himself. These days, he focused more on offing me, so that meant a couple of months had passed since my last check-in. Had I continued my compulsive checking, I wouldn't be blindsided by the fact that Beck was in LA. Why was he even here? Was he now going to be starring in a movie I didn't know about? Did his new partner live here? Did he even have a partner?

Not your business. Not in the slightest.

"So—" I finally looked at him, only to find him gazing down at his hands folded in his lap. "What brings you in today?"