Hollow Grace

ᴛʜɪʀᴛʏ - sᴇᴀ ᴏꜰ ​​ᴛᴇᴀʀs

A deeply emotional chapter. Read with caution.

This text contains references to suicidal thoughts and violence. It also contains a free interpretation of the psychotherapist's work and the practices used in therapy. It is not recommended to use them on yourself. If you feel you need psychological help, please contact a professional.

November 22nd

"How're you feeling, Evan?" Nathaniel inquired with solicitude.

Evan had settled precariously on the wide daybed next to the doctor's armchair. He wasn't particularly keen on lying down, but this position was the only one in which his body could fully unwind. The guy was clutching a massive, soft toy for comfort. This long raccoon served as a substitute for Charlie's presence during private sessions when he had to work with the doctor one-on-one.

"A bit better now, thanks, doctor," Evan smiled.

"How much sleep did you get today?"

"A lot. As I was told, I fell asleep at six in the evening and woke up only for breakfast. It was at eight in the morning."

"So, fourteen hours, then," the doctor jotted it down on paper. "And how did you feel after sleeping?"

"Rested."

"Did anything hurt?"

"Had a heaviness in my head, but it went away quickly."

Sleep tracking was now as much a part of treatment as going to therapy and taking prescribed medications. Doctors noted with mild concern that Evan had developed an unhealthy tendency to fall asleep for extremely long periods of time. Instead of the recommended eight to nine hours, he could easily sleep for fifteen or more. Dr. Nathaniel immediately reassured Evan, explaining that this was nothing more than a natural defense mechanism. For him, sleeping a lot now meant minimizing his exposure to a restless, unpredictable world. 

"That's good," Nathaniel nodded approvingly.

"It's definitely not because of the head injury, is it? I mean, I could sleep my whole life away like this," Evan said tentatively. On the very first day of the examination, Dr. Collin had discovered a cyst in his head. The initial horror and the desire to break down crying were met by the woman with a cautious promise to thoroughly study the issue and resolve it. But it was impossible to stop thinking about it, for now.

"The trauma can undeniably affect your sleep, your behavior, and the emotions you experience. Your case isn't straightforward because you've been through so much."

"It's not cancer, is it?"

"Why do you think it's cancer?"

"Because my mom died of brain cancer. That disease is pretty hereditary, you know?"

"I see... Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe..." Evan thoughtfully combed the pile on the toy raccoon. "I already talked about it with Sylvia and Charlie. I think I just freaked everyone out with my hysterics."

It had been awful. In the evening, at dinner after the examination, they decided to talk. As soon as the strange growth in his head was brought up, Evan had a meltdown. In that moment, it definitively meant it was cancer, and his mother's fate had caught up with him. A frightened Sylvia spent two hours calming him, convincing him that the cyst was a consequence of a concussion and the doctors would fix it. Charlie, himself trembling with impotence, rocked him the entire time until Evan drifted into a fitful sleep.

"So, you're afraid that what happened to your mother will happen to you?"

"I am. Mom was an oncologist, and well... it totally didn't help her."