Ive lost all control of my heartbeat now

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There was something wrong with him. He knew that. But if nobody noticed at first, that meant that he could control it. He controlled everything he did in his life, and fuck if anyone tried to say otherwise.

"Charlie, you don't control your Anorexia." Geoff frowned. "If you did, would you have chosen to faint in the Louvre?"

He pinched at the inside of his elbow. " No. But that doesn't mean I'm not in control." Maybe he was just feeling more stubborn than usual. But even then, who cares? How dare Geoff tell him what's wrong with him. Geoff didn't understand what it was like.

"Are you in control of your self-harm?" He probed.

This one, he considered. Yes, that was the first thing that came to mind. Yet, the more he considered it...that night in October, the argument in January...He wasn't in control at those times. But every other time he was. He squeezed his arms. "I'm in control of everything."

"Are you? Would you like to name things in your life that feel...in your control?" Geoff crossed his legs.

He nodded, but as he tried to come up with something...anything. He came up short. He wasn't in control of his eating, because his parents and nutritionist monitored that. He wasn't in control of his relationships with people because they all stuck around out of pity . He probably growled a bit, since Geoff handed him a stress ball. Another thing he wasn't in control of, was his emotions. He was depressed, he got angry anytime something went wrong, but sometimes he just got really sad, or panicked. It was horrible. Geoff called it black-and-white thinking, but he preferred to chalk it up to him just being crazy.

"I can't." He looked down.

"That's a good realization, Charlie. You wrote in your journal that you were never going to fold to that belief. Did something change?"

"You made me...actually think about it." He squeezed the ball tight in his grasp, he wanted to throw it at the wall and make a hole. One that's too big to be plastered over, one so bad that he'll be kicked out of therapy.

He leaned his head between his knees at the thought of Geoff not being his therapist. He could feel himself drop the ball and grip the sides of his head, but it didn't feel like it was him doing it.

"Charlie?" It felt like he was underwater.

"Charlie?" He was drowning.

"Charles, I need to let you know that you can hear me." His lungs were rapidly filling up with water. All of his thoughts were muffled. Only one stood out.

Bang your head.

So he did. Hard against the coffee table in the room until someone who wasn't Geoff was holding him. Their heartbeat was rapid, he knew his was faster, and that he was drifting out of consciousness. His head hurt. He slipped away from the normal world and went to the one inside his head. The world where he was awake, but his body acted on autopilot. His dad was holding him, he watched as he lifted his glasses up to wipe his glassy eyes dry of tears.

"He looks...so dazed." He whispered.

Geoff sighed. "...It's the dissociation we discussed. I'm sure you've seen him like this before, at the dinner table when he's staring at his food...You just can't see how...he looks."

His father choked out a sob. "Why can't we help him..."

"It takes time Mr.Spring. Charlie...he needs time to get used to therapy, and healthily cope with his thoughts...for his medications to start altering his brain chemistry in the way we need it to so he'll feel less..."

"Scared." He heard.

"I'm scared." He whispered. He wanted to cry too, maybe he already was.

"I know Mijo." His dad whispered back. "Do you wanna go home...?"

He nodded solemnly, and his dad tucked him into the backseat. Laying a blanket over him and tucking his jacket under his head.

He doesn't remember much from between then and when he wakes up, but at some point, Nick had arrived. He was lying with his head on his chest, enjoying the nice cadence of his heartbeat. Nick played with his hair, running his hands through it, shoving his finger into individual ringlets...it felt nice. There was something playing on his laptop, but his eyes couldn't focus to see what it was. He just enjoyed the music that was playing.

"Good morning..." Nick whispered. "Are you feeling any better...?"

He nodded. "Fuzzy..."

"Yeah..." He mumbled. "It'll be alright...you took some emergency medication and your mum said it'd wipe you out. I uhm...I got you a little gift."

He tilted his head, Nick getting him gifts when he was said was par for the course, he usually brought him rocks he found, cool wildflowers he'd later press and have Elle make into bookmarks for him, or he'd get him a book and they'd read it together.

But this time, Nick pulled out a stuffed animal. "I just...I thought maybe having something to hold when you're at therapy. It might help you...stay physically safe."

His hand drifted to touch his forehead. He could tell there was a bump and some scabbing there. He winced and nodded, it was a turtle. He looked very very angry, he kind of loved it...

"Thank you..." He held it in his arm, snuggling as close to it as he could. It smelt like Nick's house. "I love him."

"What're you gonna name him?" Nick started stroking his hair again.

"Gilbert." He smiled softly. "Maybe Elle can sew him a little suit...so he's not naked when I go to therapy."

Nick laughed. "Yeah...that's our priority now. Making sure Gilbert doesn't flash Geoff and the other patients." He laughed for the first time in days. Maybe even weeks. "Although...Gilbert sounds more like a name for a frog."

He scoffed. "Well...My Gilbert is a turtle."

Nick kissed his cheek, he knew he was avoiding his forehead...but it was alright.

His kiss felt magical, instead of painful like touch had been feeling lately. Nick closed his laptop and shuffled down further. He smiled wide at him.

"I can't ever stop being in love with you...Charles Francis Spring."

"I won't stop ever being in love with you...Nicholas Luke Nelson."

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