Desperation (Anxceit)/(Prinxiety)

Part 3

Tw: angst, Swearing, mentions of suicidal thoughts

     Deceit trudged through the dimly lit hall in his small three-bedroom house. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his loose grey shorts, feeling empty. His outfit wasn't something that people would think he would wear. A loose shirt and shorts. That was how he liked to dress when he was at home. He always wore long sleeves and dress pants in public, one to keep prying eyes away from the scaled half of his body and two to stay warm. But he didn't have to do that in his home, where it was warm and there were no eyes other than his own. But even though he had the heater on and he lived in Florida, he still felt cold. Like something was missing. He knew what it was, so he didn't acknowledge it. It was better that way.

     The hall walls were white trimmed with black and decorated with empty picture frames of varying sizes. Before, there were pictures of him and his partner, but he had collected all of those and placed them in a box in the basement with many other boxes filled with other clutter from around the house. He knew he should probably organize the basement, but he told himself that he could do it tomorrow. Just like he said that yesterday, and the day before, and so many past days. The truth he didn't want to admit was that he didn't want to get into that stuff because he knew that he would have to go through the pictures he was avoiding at all cost. Those pictures would bring up memories that would be too much to bear.

     Deceit's eye caught the frame that once held one particular picture. He stared at it for a solid minute, memories assaulting him. His heart throbbed, pinching as it ached for times to return to how they were before. He slumped over and slid down the wall into a tight ball. Sobs wracked his form. He cried for an indeterminate amount of time until his tears ran dry and he could breathe smoothly again. He didn't feel any better.

     Deceit sniffled and wiped his face dry. He looked at his hands. They were stained red from hours of coughing up blood. Not consecutively, thankfully. But they still reminded him of his misfortunes and bad choices. It wasn't his fault he was born like this, and there was nothing he could do about it. At least, nothing that he was willing to do.

     Deceit took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He stood and made his way back to his room. He tried to ignore how empty and lifeless his room was without- pull yourself together, man! It's been five years, he told himself. Despite that fact, the wound left in the absence of his partner still throbbed achingly.

     He went to his closet and pulled out a black dress shirt and black dress pants. He stopped as his fingers brushed soft black fabric. A hoodie. Deceit's chest ached. It was just a hoodie. It shouldn't make him want to cry, yet his lungs were convulsing into sobs once more. Deceit managed to regain control and he quickly closed the closet door. That hoodie would stay in the closet for a very long time.

     Deceit got dressed and fixed his hair, then grabbed his signature hat and gloves. He put them on and headed out to his car. He paused, anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach, then took a deep breath and started it and drove off.

     As he arrived, he got out of the car and entered his destination building. It was a small place, shoved in between other buildings. It was made of reddish brown bricks and had a smudged glass door with cartoon stickers stuck to it. Deceit smiled fondly as he entered the building. On the inside were the white walls of the brightly lit waiting room, which were also adorned with colorful stickers and drawings and paintings of cartoon characters. Along the walls were comfortable couches and stuffed chairs. A TV was placed in a corner of the room opposite the reception desk so that whoever was working behind it could watch.

     Deceit approached the reception desk and greeted the friendly worker.

     "Hello, Patton." Patton looked up from where he was watching a show on the TV while nibbling a cookie. His face brightened into a blinding smile.

     "Hi! How have you been?" Deceit smiled back, chuckling.

     "Much better now that I'm here," he said. Patton nodded.

     "Are you coming for an appointment with Dr. Picani?" The bubbly man asked. Deceit nodded. "5:00?" He asked. Once again, Deceit nodded. "Okay, then. He'll be with you in a moment."

     "Thank you, Patton." Deceit sat in a comfy chair and waited. After about three minutes, Dr. Emile Picani entered the room. He was relatively short, a few inches shorter than Deceit. He wore a khaki colored cardigan with a pink tie and pants the same color as his cardigan. He had pink glasses, soft-looking brown hair and warm brown eyes. He was smiling kindly.

     "Alright, Deceit. Are you ready?" He asked. Deceit nodded and stood up. He followed the doctor down the familiar cream colored hall and into a small room. The walls in here were white with similar stickers to the ones in the waiting room scattered across them. There were two comfortable chairs facing each other and Deceit took one. Emile took the other one and pulled out his spiral notebook and a pen. He looked up at Deceit. "So. What happened last week?"

     "Well," Deceit sucked in a breath, "where to start?" Emile looked at him expectantly. "I had to defend a case yesterday."

     "Oh, and how did to go?" Emile asked. Deceit huffed out a laugh.

     "Terrible," he breathed, "guess who it was?" Emile raised an eyebrow, gently urging Deceit to continue. "Remus." Emile's mouth formed an o. Deceit laughed bitterly. "Thankfully I managed to pull some strings and get him off the hook. He's taking some sort of medication that hardly does anything, but he's fine otherwise. His brother's taking care of him, much to Roman's dismay. I think Remus finds it amusing." (A/n: this isn't how law stuff like this works, but I'm the author, so I can do whatever I want for plot reasons and I need Remus in this story.)

     "Well," Emile said, "you have to admit, it was some pretty great work on your part to get that far with those people."

     "I'm not done," Deceit sighed. He shifted in his seat. "I started coughing in the middle of my case." Emile blinked. "And I had coughed half an hour beforehand." Deceit's face grew serious. Emile gave him a sympathetic look. "It's getting worse." Emile sighed.

     "Have you talked to your doctor about this?" He asked. Deceit shrugged in defeat.

     "Why?" He asked. "There's nothing they can do." Emile gave him a look. Deceit knew what he was going to ask.

     "Have you considered reaching out to him?" Deceit knew who he was talking about. He shook his head stubbornly. They had been over this.

     "No, I can't do that to him." Emile sighed, but dropped the subject. They had been over this far too many times, and each time, Deceit had refused. His stubbornness was going to be the death of him. Literally.

     "Well, is there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Emile asked. Deceit thought a moment.

     "My emotions have been shit," he said.

     "Oh? What do you mean?" Emile asked, writing something down in his notebook.

     "I've been even more depressed lately," Deceit answered honestly. "I've broken down crying more times in the past week than I did in a year before." Emile paused his writing, a worried look on his face. Deceit sighed. "No, I'm not suicidal anymore. I haven't had it that bad in a long time." Emile nodded.

     "Just know, if you ever need help, anything at all, you can come to me. You're not alone." Deceit nodded at Emile's words, a half smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He wasn't alone.