Viva La Vida

Part 18

"So," Zayn says, maneuvering his wheelchair until he's sitting across from the therapist with the desk in between them, "your name is Dr. Pepper. Did you think that out before you went to medical school?"

"I did, actually," the therapist says. He's much younger than Zayn had expected—although Zayn hadn't been aware he'd really been expecting anything at all. "I figured I shouldn't let it dictate my career choice. And at the very least it's made a few clients of mine laugh, which is always something. But I'd honestly rather you call me Ned, Sir Malik."

"Ned it is," Zayn says with a shrug. "But you have to call me Zayn, then, yeah? If you call me Sir Malik, I probably won't even respond half the bloody time. Dunno how I ended up with a title, really."

"Probably the same reason while you're in here," Ned says, leaning back in his chair and surveying Zayn with an unreadable expression.

"There it is. I was wondering when you'd jump on that."

"I'd actually rather not talk about that, as you put, today. I doubt you've told anyone much about what happened to you, and I certainly don't want you to feel like you're obliged to tell a stranger. How about we just get to know each other?"

"Whatever makes you happy."

"Excellent." Ned shuffles some papers pointlessly on his desk and then looks up. "Could you describe yourself with one word?"

Zayn stares at him for a moment, reviewing every word he can possibly think of in his head. Resilient sounds cliché, damaged sounds melodramatic, and frightened sounds like he's looking for attention, even though all three adjectives are applicable.

"If you can't think of anything, that's fine," Ned says mildly after a long silence. When Zayn just shakes his head mutely, he asks, "Would you like to hear mine?"

"Sure."

"I was going to choose grateful, because I meet with men like you every day and help them live more fulfilling lives, and I can't ask for more than that."

There's a longer silence than had stretched out between them before, and then Zayn says flatly, "Either that's a party line, or you're blander than I'd thought."

Ned laughs. "You're right, that's bullshit. I'd like to think I'm adventurous, honestly. I try to live life to its fullest, and I try to practice unconventional methods in my job. So that would probably be my word." He shuffles his papers again. "Come up with anything yet?"

Zayn thinks for another moment. "Disconnected," he says finally. "I feel like I'm sitting outside of my body a lot. I—yeah."

"I know we said we wouldn't talk about what happened, but would you describe yourself that way if this conversation had happened, say, two years ago?"

"No."

"What would be your word then?"

"Determined," Zayn says, very softly. "Driven. Present. Hungry—not for food, I mean, but for something better in life. Something more."

"Given your circumstances, those are all excellent words." Ned pauses, thinking a moment. "I suppose, then, the question is whether those things have been taken away from you. And whether or not you will be able to take them back. Or perhaps the question is something different entirely."