Oh, Calamity (Jalex)

Give Me Therapy

I'm sitting in the waiting room outside the therapist's office with Jack, who's sitting beside me and squeezing my sweaty, shaking hand. He knew I was nervous about starting therapy again so he rang up and booked the appointment for me and offered to drive me to the first session, which I'm really grateful for.

"Alexander Gaskarth?"

I jump as my name is called and stand up quickly. Jack gives me a reassuring smile. "I'll wait here, okay? You'll be fine." I nod and wipe my hands on my jeans as I enter the office. 

The office is definitely not what I was expecting. The walls are painted black, and most of the furniture is dark red.

"Welcome, Alexander. I'm Dr Way. Please, take a seat." Dr Way is not what I was expecting either. He's wearing all black and has longish, bright red hair. I think he's wearing eyeliner.

"Uh, I prefer Alex," I say, awkwardly settling myself down on a red leather couch opposite Dr Way's matching armchair.

"Okay then, Alex. How are you today?"

"I'm okay."

"So how's your day been? What've you been up to?"

"Well it's only 11 o' clock, so not much."

Dr Way chuckles. "Late sleeper too, huh? I hate mornings; I don't know why I keep making these early appointments when I still keep insisting on staying up all night." I smile weakly.

"So," he continues. "What do you do most days during normal hours?"

"Well, that kind of depends on when I'm home. I'm kind of in a band and we tour a lot. When I'm touring I'm usually drinking all night and then sleeping until we play at night, and then repeating. When I'm at home I do try and spend time with family and old friends and I go out and party a bit, but mostly I just end up... sitting in my house."

Dr Way nodded and scribbled something on his clipboard. "I used to be in a band too, you might have heard a few of our songs. Tell me about your band though."

"Well, we're a four-piece pop punk band called All Time Low. We're kind of popular, I guess, and we just got back from touring the UK to have a break here at home. I'm the lead singer and also the rhythm guitarist, and my friend Jack out there in the waiting room is lead guitar."

"I think you sound kind of familiar to me. But tell me about your relationship with Jack and the rest of the band. What's that like?"

I hesitated. "Um... good."

"You sound unsure."

"It's just... I'm kind of, um... bisexual. And Jack's my best friend in the world, but I'm a bit confused about my feelings towards him right now."

"Ah, I see. So when Jack called me, he said that you have a history of panic attacks that started after your brother died. Is that correct?"

"Well, half-brother. But yes."

"And they've started coming back?"

"A little bit."

"Okay. Do you think that your feelings for Jack might be triggering them, if it's something that might be upsetting you and making you anxious?"

From there I just launched into the whole story from when my brother died to my last experience with therapy to when I had an attack on stage to my realising I had a crush on Jack to where we are now. Dr Way was a good listener, he just nodded along with my story and occasionally made a note on his clipboard. I felt better once I'd finished; like I'd unloaded a huge weight off my chest.

"Have you tried telling Jack about the way you feel?" he asks. I shake my head vigorously. 

"He wouldn't be interested in me in that way, I'm pretty sure he's straight." 

Suddenly, I hear a loud ringing noise from Dr Way's desk on the other end of the room, scaring me out of my wits.

"Whoops, time's up," he says. "Would you like to make another appointment before you go?"

"Um... yeah, okay."

I meet Jack out in the waiting room a few minutes later with a smile on my face.

"Hey, Jacky," I grin at him as I saunter over.

"You look happy. I'm guessing it went well?" he responds as he stands up and stretches, smiling at me.

"Yep. I'm going back next week." I don't particularly care to elaborate and Jack doesn't ask, but I can tell he's pleased.

We drive back to my place listening to Blink-182 and chatting about shit like our next party, tour and album.

"So, when are we gonna start working on a new album? It's probably about time we released a new one," Jack asks.

"I dunno, maybe next time we take a break."

"Got any lyrics yet?"

"A few."

"Can I hear them?"

"Not yet."

"Well, fuck you too."

I laugh. "Why don't you try and sing something then?"

"Okay." He clears his throat dramatically. "So, this one is called 'Last Night With Your Mum.'"

"Okay, okay, stop. You don't have to sing anymore." He pouts at me so I shoved his face away with my hand, laughing.

"Hey, Alex, get me another beer."

We're sprawled out over my lounge room, drinking and watching football on the TV.

"Get it yourself, dip shit." At that, Jack throws a cushion at me and I almost spill my beer over my expensive suede lounge.

"Oh, you're in for it now, asshole." I say. I set my beer down on the coffee table and peg a cushion at Jack before leaping on him and pinning him to the couch with him struggling underneath me.

"Get off me, you fat fuck!" he wheezes, tears of laughter in his eyes.

"Never!"

He manages to bring his leg up somehow and knee me in the balls, making me fall off the couch and dragging me with him. Jack lands on top of me and we both struggle to disentangle our limbs and get ourselves up off the floor, swearing and throwing random punches as we do so.

A few minutes later we're both lying next to each other on the floor, panting and red-faced.

"You're such a dickhead," says Jack, turning his head towards me so our faces are just centimetres apart.

"So are you," I say. "Hey, Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you do if I told you I loved you?"

Title cred: "Therapy" - All Time Low