Gone (Ianthony)

Three Months, One Week, Three Days, and Fifteen Hours Before

Ian:

"We're gonna do something a little different today, if that's alright."

I stared at the green carpet of Dr. Hammond's office. It was an odd color for a therapists' office; dark green like moss. Most offices I'd been to were drenched in bright, shocking colors to, I don't know, put a more cheerful mood on the whole situation. But I liked the moss color. Because having to go to a therapist three times a week wasn't something to be happy about, and celebrating with bright pastel colors was really the stupidest thing to me. Everything about Dr. Hammond's office was mature; he skipped the boring "how are you?" talk and just got to the important things. Maybe I finally graduated from little therapists. They realized what a mess I really was and finally moved me up to the grown-up offices.

"Yeah, okay," I answered, sitting back in my chair.

Dr. Hammond was by far the oldest therapist I'd had yet. I would say, forty-five, maybe. He had shimmery olive skin and was totally bald, which I figured he had to be bald on purpose, because forty-five year old guys weren't supposed to lose all their hair already.

"I want you to tell me what your dream life would be. If you could be anyone, live anywhere, do anything, what would it be?"

I stared out the window behind him. Out of the five months of constant therapy and six different doctors, I'd never been asked this. And that was saying a lot, because the last lady I had, Dr. Fabing, this really short woman with a really long forehead and hooked nose, asked some pretty weird questions. "What'd you have for dinner last night, Ian?" "Have you ever had any dreams where someone is trying to kill you?" "Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?" 

But, despite the odd question, my answer took absolutely no thought. It was something I thought about quite a bit, actually; wait, did normal people do that? I tried to think back to when I was normal, before that one night five months ago. Did I ever keep myself up at night imagining a better life, or is that something only us "mentally unstable" people did? I really couldn't remember. It was hard to remember when I was living a great life, even though it was only five months ago.

"Ian?"

"I would live on a cottage on the coast of Lake Michigan," I answered, finally meeting Dr. Hammond's eyes through his thick-rimmed bifocals. "It would be right on the waterfront, but far enough away that a single sidewalk could line the space between the beach and my backyard where people could ride bikes and walk their dogs. I would live with Anthony, and we would be married, and we would have a golden retreiever named Sadie. I would work at home, as an author, and Anthony would work as a chef at the restaurant down the street. We would have a porch overlooking the lake where we would drink tea in the morning and after he got home, I'd make dinner and we'd eat it on the beach and he'd tell me about his day and we'd watch the sun go down with Sadie by our feet. We'd live in a small town, where only our neighbors and the workers at the deli down the street knew our names. We'd be anonymous. We'd be happy. We'd be free."

I shrugged, watching as Dr. Hammond's large hand scribbled onto his yellow-paged notebook. He nodded before looking back up at me.

"Let's talk about Anthony for a minute."

"We always talk about Anthony."

Dr. Hammond smiled. "He seems to have a very strong influence in your life, and I think it's important that we discuss how he can help you."

"He's the one that makes me come here in the first place. Isn't that enough help?"

He avoided the question.

"So, he's your best friend, right?"

"Yeah."

"And, in your fantasy... you're married to him?"

"Yeah."

"Does he know how you feel about him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he doesn't feel the same."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do."

Dr. Hammond sighed and took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Great, it was only my fourth appointment with him, and I already annoyed him. Looks like it's time to find antother new therapist.

"And you live with Anthony, correct?"

"Yeah. Probably not for long, though. I can tell he's sick of me. He's done so much to help me and has done nothing but support me, but there's only so much he can do to deal with a fuck-up like me. I can tell he's ready to move on and let me rot in a mental hospital."

"When... it happened... was he there?"

I flinched. I was glad he just called The Situation "It." Every time he began to mention what actually happened, the event that put me where I am today, I stopped him halfway through and begged him to call it anything else. I was glad he was finally catching on.

"No."

"But he does know what you happened, correct?"

"Yeah, he was the first person I told. And the only."

"So you trust him a lot?"

"Of course."

Dr. Hammond was silent for a moment as he scribbled more on his notepad. I wondered if he was really making notes to help me get over whatever was going on in my head or if he was doodling in the margians like I did in school or if he was caluclating how much I would pay him for listening to my problems.

"What happened after you told him?"

I sighed, not wanting to remember The Situation. All these therapists made me talk about it and I don't think they realized that if they just let me get over it, I could forget and get back to normal a lot sooner.

"Well, I got home, and he saw me crying and asked what was wrong and I told him, and he froze and I could tell he really had no idea what to do so he just hugged me and told me it was going to be okay but we both knew it wouldn't."

Dr. Hammond didn't say anything for a while. Therapists weren't supposed to be speechless too often, but one of my very few talents was being able to silence people who had countless degrees in talking. So far, every therapist I've told about The Situation has just sat there staring at me for a good thirty seconds before asking me if I was serious.

"Well, I'm very sorry to say it, Ian, but it looks like we've run five minutes over again." 

He shook his head at his watch, and I smiled. Going home was the best part of these sessions.

"Now, I know you don't want to, but on Wednesday, we need to discuss it. 'The Situation,' you call it, right?"

I nodded, but scowled internally. Maybe I would say I was sick on Wednesday so I could push it back until Friday.

|||

When I got home, Anthony instantly poked his head out from behind the kitchen counter and greeted me. He had been so friendly since The Situation, and as great as it was, I hated being treated like such a little kid. 

"Hey, tacos will be done in ten-"

"I'm not hungry," I interrupted, throwing my keys on the table and going to my room for the night. I spent a lot of time in my room.

"When was the last time you ate?" Anthony asked seriously, his eyebrows rasied and mouth in a straight line.

"This morning."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"Don't lie to me."

I sighed. "Fine. One taco."

I would scarf down one taco and try my best not to lose it later. Eating wasn't something I'd been good at lately.

I hadn't really been good at anything lately.

Besides making physciatrists speechless. And Halo. No matter what happened in life, I would always be great at Halo.