What Twisted Webs We Weave

Hey Doctor I'm Certifiable

(Patrick's POV)

I feel my therapist gets some kind of personal satisfaction from my tears. Over the months that I've been seeing him, I feel he's gotten a good idea of what makes me crack. He knows that just the mention of Pete's name could send me into an hour long sobbing session at times. Yet, every time I see him, he does it. I know today will be no different.

He'll ask about my day; I'll give a generic answer. He'll ask if I've been eating regularly; I'll lie and say yes. He'll ask if I've gone out; I'll honestly tell him no. He'll ask if I've been self harming; I'll swear that I haven't been. Even if I have. And then he'll bring up Pete. He'll tell me that Pete would want me to have happy days. Pete would want me to eat something. Pete would want me to go out and have fun. Pete would hate that I hurt myself. And then he'd wait for the tears that always followed the words.

But today wasn't going to be so predictable. Yes, he'd be asking the same questions. And I will give him the same generic answers. The difference will be the tears. I wasn't crying today. Because little did he know, I no longer had a reason to cry. Pete wasn't dead. He was back and he was beautiful and he was better. At least I thought he was better. He looked better.

I walked into my therapist's office and took a seat on the chair across from his. We'd long since established that I wasn't going to lay down on that dreadful couch and whine about the troubles of my childhood. He and I both knew why I was here. It was either this three days a week or an asylum. And I wasn't too thrilled at the idea of the latter.

"Good morning, Patrick." His low, soothing voice called out. It reminded me of Morgan Freeman's if I'm being completely honest.

"Good morning."

"How has your day been so far?"

"Pretty good."

"Oh? Would you like to talk about it?"

"Irrelevant things."

"Okay." He backed off the subject gently. "Have you been eating? You seemed to have lost more weight."

"Three square meals a day." I lied. I don't think I've eaten since Sunday. What was today? "Sometimes I'll even add in a little snack if I'm feeling naughty."

"Have you gone out yet? With the guys or on a date?"

"No. No time."

"What have you been so busy with?"

"Work."

His gray eyebrows rose. "You're working again?"

"Not yet. I've just been trying to get back into the swing of things. Brendon is helping."

"That's great." He wrote something down in his notebook. "We haven't discussed this at all."

"It's time for me to move on. Let my old wounds heal themselves with time." I quoted his words from months before.

He smiled his recognition. But then his face was serious again. "Since we're speaking of old wounds in the figurative sense, shall we speak of them more literally?"

"I haven't been cutting. I swear."

"May I check?"

I lifted the sleeves of my black cardigan. Revealing my pale, clear arms. He frowned and motioned towards my stomach. Of course he knew I wasn't dumb enough to cut where everyone could see. My stomach was the canvas of my dangerous art.

"Don't trust me, doctor?"

"Patrick." He sighed gently. "What do you think Pete would say if he knew you'd picked up such a destructive habit?" He crossed one leg over the other. Sitting back and waiting for a breakdown that wasn't going to fucking happen.

"I don't know." I copied his stance. Crossing my legs in the exact manner. Sitting back and staring him directly in the eyes. "I'll ask him when I see him."

His eyes widened in concerned surprise. "You don't believe in the afterlife. To you, death means the end. There is no other side where you'll see lost love ones."

I almost laughed. He thought I meant I was going to kill myself to be with Pete. "I know what I believe. I'm not talking about death, doc."

A different look of worry took over his face. "H-Have you been seeing Pete, Patrick?"

"I've seen him." I nodded.

He exhaled sadly. Writing something else down in his book. "How long has this been happening? How often does he come to you? What does he say to you?"

"I've seen him once. Last week. It was in the courtroom during my sentencing. Pete came in and dropped the charges."

"He what?"

I stood up. "He dropped all charges. I'm a completely free man now. Which means I don't have to be here anymore."

"Patrick." He stood up too.

"Call my lawyer if you don't believe me."

And with those final words, I left that dreaded place. It felt so good to finally be able to do that. I couldn't stop smiling as I got into my car and drove back home. I was suddenly in a better mood. Maybe I would even call my friend's over today.