therapy // oc story

1

Trigger warnings: strong language, homophobic slurs, and mental illnesses stated. could be triggering to some. you've been warned.

The day was agonizingly long.

Alexander did not want to go to the support group. He'd rather be at home, by himself, eating, probably. He did not want to be in a group of emotionally distraught teenagers, while he was basically an adult and nothing has exactly happened to him. He was only here because his dad thought that he "needed to get out more," and the only reason he even went to a therapist was because of his "uncivilized life decisions." He did not want to, he didn't want to.

He just didn't want to go.

Cole didn't either. Absolutely not. No way. Talking to people? Out of the question. Never again would he speak to anyone. The events of his past had traumatized him for, well, as long as they were still around. He knew they were still out there. He hadn't told anyone. Not even his therapist.

Honestly, all he had done was...stop talking. It was sudden; at first, they thought he was just messing around. They thought that he was just joking. That is was just a phase, and that he'd grow out of it and, you know--get over it. But that wasn't the case, and that would never be the case. He had been attacked, he had been degraded, he had been what the counselors would have considered bullying. But to Cole, it was more than that. It was all that he had thought about himself but yelled and screamed at his face. If he thought about it for long enough, he could remember who did it. He would even be able to remember exactly what they said.

"You like boys, don't you?"

                                    "That's gay!"

                                                                                         "Ew, you fucking slut!"

                                                              "You're disgusting!"

              "Cunt!"

                                                                                      "Fag!"

He remembered it all quite clearly. It was haunting. Harrowing. That's why he did not want to go to therapy, and especially not the support group. It'd just remind him of his past and what they did to him. He really, really did not want to be reminded of that stuff. Not today. Not once a week for months. Not in front of others. He just hoped that someone there would be able to use sign language, maybe communicate with somebody. But, as always, his hopes were kept low, and he expected the worst.

He just didn't want to go.

But as Cole arrived at the building where the support group was meant to be held, he actually smiled as he saw a group of three teenagers--one speaking, one signing, and one translating. He smiled in relief; he might actually make friends here. Once again, however, he kept his hopes low.

They got even lower when another boy arrived.

He looked as if he was in his thirties, with tattoos and piercings everywhere. They littered his body. Colby stared at him as he sat down. The boy, if you didn't know already, was obviously Alexander, and other than his obvious bad-boy looks, he had that stereotypical bad-boy attitude.

A bunch of other teenagers walked in and eventually sat down. Then, the support group leader walked in. He looked to be in his early thirties, maybe a bit older, but Colby couldn't tell. The leader smiled cheerfully and then started speaking.