midnight man (joshler)

chapter twenty five/overanalyzing b!tch

my only excuse for updating less & less often lately is my lowkey(it's highkey)obsession with pokémon go. i'm one of those people. i'm sorry.

ALSO remember chapter three? out of body pronouns? pay attention to that.

chapter twenty five/overanalyzing b!tch

three weeks prior.

"joshua."
my mother's voice is annoying. i've never heard it quite like this before. it pesters my eardrums, seeping into my brain and poking, prodding, nudging, nagging; it irritates me to no end.

she's suggesting therapy. claims i'm not the same josh. says i need to go and fix myself. all utter bullshit.

is it though?

"josh, let us know you're at least paying some attention," my father insists.

i turn slowly, settling my blank stare upon my mom. i know it scares her. i watch jordan shift uncomfortably from the corner of my eye. i can't bring myself to feel apologetic.

"i heard you," my voice holds no emotion.

"what do you say, josh? go to therapy, make your mom happy?" my dad tries to smile jokingly.

my cold stare makes his smile disappear.

"why can't i be happy?" i snap.

"because you're clearly fucking crazy!" jordan bursts, jumping up. "you haven't been the same josh dun in months and i'm not going to call you my brother because... i don't even know who you are anymore."

i know my stare has faltered. it's not as full of venom. it's full of hurt. i look away.

"what jordan is trying to say," my mom clears her throat, forcing a tight lipped smile on her face. "is, we love you josh. we want you to be happy and i'll be damned if this what you think is happy. please go. we just want our son back."

i sigh, taking in the sight of my family. they seem genuine. i grit my teeth together as i grind out a resounding, "fine."

||

her office is spacious.

it's modernly decorated, coated from wall to wall in all-white everything. my eyes flick toward the shiny gold name tag sitting on her desk, reading 'doctor jones'. i fight the urge to dig my fingernails into the fancy leather recliner i sit in, waiting for her arrival.

shouldn't therapists be on time to their own job? what if i were massively obsessive compulsive, and the very fact that she was late threw me completely off? i'd need even more therapy after that. i set my mind on hating this woman, slouching with my arms crossed across my chest.

i don't look up when she walks in. i don't want her mistaking my immediate glance as friendly. i will not be friendly to this woman.

"sorry i'm late josh," she says, and this makes me look up.

she sounds young, and upon further inspection of her face, i've decided she is. she must be in her mid-twenties - early thirties at most. her silky brown hair is pulled half up-half down, and her green eyes look too nice to be suitable for a therapy session. or maybe that's the point. either way, it throws me off.