Bottle it Up

Chapter Eight

            I don’t like to lump dozens of people together, but at Dr. Rhodes’ practice there are two people. There are the considerably sane, and then there are ones who are about to break. We don’t get many of the later, but there are a few.

            “Name?” I asked quietly, looking up at the man who I was almost certain classified as a later. He didn’t say anything in return. He just looked at his hands, unwavering from his spot before the desk. I asked for his name again, but he didn’t answer. His eyes were focused on his hands, which were clasped tight. “Sir, I’m going to need your-“

            “Can you please stop doing that?” he asked in a tense voice, and I felt my forehead crease. 

            “Stop doing what?” I asked slowly. The man raised his eyes ever so slightly and focused them on my hands. I focused his gaze and noticed that I was lightly tapping the wood with my nails. It was an instinct, a habit I never really noticed. Still, I froze my right hand and he gave me a nod, his hostile aura melting away slightly.

            “Thank you,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. I gave him a forced smile, one that was slightly scared.

            “So your name?” I asked.

            He paused. “Kyle.” I nodded and typed in his name. A beep rose from the computer when I pressed enter. I tried typing in his last name again, but I got the same reaction from the computer, and a new one from the man.

            “I’m sorry sir but-“

            “You’re doing it again.” I sucked in a breath and looked back down at my hands that, sure enough, were tapping against the top of the desk. It was a nervous tick, and Kyle was bringing out the nerves in me.

            “I won’t stop doing it until I get you checked in. Is Kyle your first name or your –“ His hand shot across the small divider that kept me from the patients, and gripped my wrist. His strength wasn’t surprising, but it still caught me off guard.

            “Sir, please let go of my wrist,” I said through gritted teeth. His strength gave him a tight grip, one that was hard to struggle against. “Please,” I added, my voice soft and scared. I wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt me, but he was there for therapy.

            “Hey,” a voice said, and I heard Mason push himself up from his chair, “let go man.” I gulped and shook my wrist, not wanting to have to rely on Mason for help. Kyle just looked at me, his eyes surprisingly filled with emotion. I held his eyes for a moment, seeing a sense of loss in them. An emotion I’d barely been introduced to, yet I knew well.

            “Please,” I repeated softly, holding his gaze. The man quickly jumped back, and Mason flinched from the sudden movement. I slowly lifted my sights from the man and then to Mason. “I’m fine,” I assured, although he looked anything but. He looked at me, and then my wrist, and then the man.

            “Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded, a deep breath through my nose, releasing it through my mouth. “Ok then,” he muttered, shrinking back and sitting down in his seat. He was reluctant to go back to reading his book though. His lingering gaze was set on Kyle’s back.

            “Is Kyle your first name or your last?” I asked him as he slowly moved back. I ran the fingers of my opposite hand across the hurt wrist and felt a small sting. It wasn’t broken or sprained, just bruised.

            “First,” he replied, “my last name’s Jordan.” I nodded, and typed in the name, a small pain coming from my right wrist as it bounced over the keyboard. I gave him a thank you, and then went to sit down. My eyes followed him as he went to sit down, and I noticed Mason’s were as well. Our eyes met when Kyle/Jordan settled into his seat, and I couldn’t find myself looking away.