Like Suicide, Only Softer

Part two

Wednesday. Therapy session number two. Brendon can't say he's very excited after last week. He walks into the office and takes a seat, fully intending to not give her any answers at all this time. She looks stressed, like she's had a long day.

"Hi, Brendon, how are you?" she asks tiredly.

"Fine," he says shortly.

"So," she says, going into therapist-mode. "I noticed you've been spending quite a lot of time with your roommate, Ryan?" she asks. He doesn't really see what this has to do with anything.

"Yeah, so? We're friends," he shrugs. She smiles that secretive smile that he hates.

"It's good to know you're both getting along so well," she nods, scribbling on that fucking clipboard. "I saw you at lunch today," she starts casually, and Brendon thinks, oh great, because he knows all too well that if she was watching him at lunch then she knows he ate nothing more than two bites of a sandwich.

"And?" he prompts, swallowing.

"You're not eating, Brendon."

"Yes, I am," he says too quickly. But he's not lying. He is eating, maybe not as much as they'd like, but it's a hell of a lot more than he used to. "I'm just - I don't get very hungry," he shrugs, slumping farther into his seat. She's looking at him doubtfully, clearly unconvinced.

"I think I'm going to have to have a nurse start monitoring your meals," she says, writing something down. Brendon sits up straight in his seat, gaping at her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he says disbelievingly. "That's ridiculous! I am eating, ask Ryan!"

"The mood swings, that's one thing right there that tells me I'm right," she raises an eyebrow.

"They aren't mood swings, they're just my reaction to you being a fucking moron!" Brendon snaps.

"Calm down," she says, gesturing for him to sit back. "Brendon, you have to understand that I only have your best interest in mind here." Brendon scoffs, rolling his eyes. Like he hasn't heard that before.

"You don't care about me, you're just doing your job," he says bitterly. Not that he gives a damn who does and doesn't care about him.

"That's not true," she says gently. "Brendon, I want to help you. I want you to overcome all the obstacles you've had to face. You had to grow up very fast, and you don't even know what it's like to have a normal life," she stresses, and honestly, she isn't doing a whole lot to make him feel better about himself.

"Look," he starts angrily. "I -"

"Dr. Clark," a nurse bursts into the room, breathing hard, obviously having just ran there. "It's Gerard again," she says. Dr. Clark sighs, rubbing her temples with her fingers as if she's dealt with this many times before.

"I'll be right back," she says to Brendon, getting up and following the nurse quickly out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Brendon twists back around in his seat and slumps down again. It's not that Dr. Clark is someone he doesn't like - it's mostly just doctors in general that he doesn't like, and she's always saying these things that make him feel miserable, even though he's sure she doesn't mean to. He doesn't exactly want to be reminded of his past, let alone tell her about it. It's not going to help him get over it. It's not. Brendon works differently, and he gets over things by forgetting about them, pushing them out of his mind. Nobody understands that.

After five or so minutes, Brendon starts getting bored, so he gets up and looks around. They are various framed documents hanging on the wall behind Dr. Clark's desk, nothing too interesting. He picks up a picture sitting on her desk and examines it to see an image of Dr. Clark and a little blonde girl who Brendon assumes is her daughter. He places it back on the desk with a bored sigh, darting his eyes around the room. They land on a big file cabinet beside the desk.