Meeting the Demigods

65 Sick P3

I was having an unusually calm day, there aren't many appointments booked, and my last patient should be arriving any minute. You see, I'm a psychologist, I have been for about three years now. Surprisingly though, I haven't been assigned to any extreme cases yet. Most of my patients only deal with small issues that I can fix with only a few sessions. However nothing would be able to prepare me for what was about to happen.

Snapped out of my daydream by furious yelling and cursing, I listen intently to what this person is saying, and I can make out a few words.

"-already said- don't need a fucking therapist- this is stupid why can't you understand that-"

Well, my next client does not seem happy to be here, in fact he was probably forced into it by his family. I don't know what he looks like, but I was told that his name is Octavian, he's my age: 23, and that he apparently is delusional, like extremely delusional. I talked to his mother over the phone when she booked his appointment, and apparently she had to bribe him to see me, and that even though he won't admit that anything it wrong with him, she thinks he's beginning to lose his head. In all honesty, I can't stand dealing with people who won't admit that something is wrong, they are just way more trouble than anyone should have to deal with. But, I am getting paid well, so I have no choice but to try and help him.

I hear someone stop outside my door and stand there, unmoving. I find myself wondering if they are admiring my new sign, a handsome gold one with "R. Dare" engraved into it. The door suddenly opens, and who could only be Octavian cautiously peers inside. His hair is a pale, bleach blond and his eyes are a blue which are also an incredibly light shade. He is fairly lean, though he is also very lanky and somewhat awkward looking. His face seems to be locked into this permanent frown. Yet despite all this, I have to admit he is quite attractive.

"You know you can come in, right?" I say nonchalantly and he hesitantly enters, closing the door behind him and sitting down in the chair across from me. He sits there with his arms crossed over his chest, his whole body tense and I can immediately tell that he is not only unhappy to be here, he's nervous too. I quickly read through my notebook, where I have what his mother told me written down in my messy hand-writing.

"So, I hear that you've been having strange dreams and... visions?" I try and he is quick to cut me off.

"I'm not crazy!" He exclaims angrily. And something is sparked within me, memories of me painting in my room, my father coming in, telling me to stop trying to seek attention. Of other girls at school, who I had thought were my friends, telling me that it's just my weird imagination, that I'm too superstitious. Of me, laying in my bed at night, tossing and turning, before deciding not to sleep at all.

"Is that what people tell you?" I find myself saying softly, and for some reason, when I look at him, I feel warmth and relief. Octavian doesn't say anything, only looks down at his shoes with an upset expression.

"I'll tell you something that I haven't told anyone in a long time. I know how you feel. I used to get all of these disturbing dreams at night as a teenager, and when I tried to tell my friends and family, they never made an effort to comfort me as I thought they would have. For I long period of time, I just tried not to sleep at all." I explain, and he raises his head to look up at me.

"But you're better now?" He asks curiously and I nod, thankful that he is at least trying to talk to me.

"How?" He continues and for a moment I swear I can see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. And to my delight, he even stops frowning. He doesn't smile, and his expression is quite plain, but at least he doesn't look so upset anymore. I then realize that he asked me a question, and I still haven't answered. My cheeks turn the same shade of red as my hair and I hope desperately that he isn't paying attention. I hate looking unprofessional in front of my clients, it makes me feel weak and stupid.

"I just learned to live with it. I remember one morning waking up after a night full of weird visions and thinking; so what if I'm not normal? I'll sleep when I can, deal with these stupid dreams, and continue living my life as best I can. And eventually, the more I didn't care about them, the quicker they went away. You can't let them get to you, that's the trick." I tell him and I find him looking at me with, amazingly, a small, cute smile on his face. I can't help but to smile back. He's only been here for about ten minutes now, but I don't see the point in keeping him any longer, there's really nothing left to say.

 "Here is my cell number if you want to book another appointment, just in case." I say, handing him a slip of paper, but I'm more than surprised by his response.

"And what if I want to see you again, but not in an appointment?" He says boldly and it takes me a moment to process what he just said. Is he... asking me out?

"Then I'd say yes." I answer, a happy grin spreading across my face.

His mom looks surprised when we open the door, like she's confused.

"So what's wrong with him?" She rushes to ask, a concerned yet disapproving look on her face. It sort of disgusts me to see. I was wrong to judge Octavian based off of what his mother told me, she reminds me a lot of my father. I actually begin to feel furious at this woman for making someone feel so horrible about themselves. She tried to make him think that there was something wrong with him. She almost successfully convinced her own child that he was insane. It's sick. But I take a deep breath, and force myself not to explode.

"There isn't anything wrong with Octavian. He's perfectly normal." I say calmly, but my eyes says otherwise.

She purses her lips, as if she is displeased with what I am saying, as if she wanted there to be something wrong with him. She then turns around and leaves without another word, but Octavian stays with me for another minute.

"Thanks for standing up for me." He says and without really thinking, I grab both of his hands in my own, and rub them soothingly.

"It's the least I could do. Call me, okay?" I say and he smiles somewhat cheekily, responding with "Will do!" Before running after his mother. I can't wipe the smile off of my face for the rest of the day. My flatmate notices, and she tries to ask me about it, but I don't give in to her pestering and attempts to force information out of me. I'm the therapist after all, asking questions is my  job!