Regiphobia

The Honest

The clock ticked as seconds slipped by, with Goda staring at a small manila folder he'd pulled out of his desk. There was nothing on the front or back that would indicate what was inside, but he knew it like the back of his hand at this point. How many nights he'd sat alone, staring at the contents and rereading them as if it would change what was printed inside.

He was debating in his head. Debating between two truths. The first was that Juan deserved to know everything. The second was that Gabe would kill him if he let anyone else know. It wasn't everything that Gabe had put him through, no. He could never share that with Juan.

In this manila folder was the diagnosis of every mental disorder he had, according to his old psychiatrist that he wasn't allowed to see anymore. From anxiety to PTSD to some sort of psychotic depression, it named and outlined everything.

He just had to decide if he could give it to Juan to read. The only people that knew everything in depth were Gabe and his old psychiatrist. But he wanted to be more honest with Juan, just like he said he would be. He said he just needed time, and he'd taken that time, and now he wanted to do this. He had to do it. He took a deep breath and tucked the folder into his suit jacket, which hid it oddly well. He wrote up a note for Juan and left the room.

He made his way down to the mailroom, dropped off the note, and headed up to his study to wait out the clock. At the time he'd written on the note, he walked to the storage room, finding a corner and waiting. His heart was pounding in his chest. He took a seat, pulling out the file and setting it beside him. He shifted in his seat, messed with his suit jacket, moved the file, fixed his collar and sleeves, did anything to keep himself from having to sit still in the uncomfortable silence of solitude. Seconds ticked into minutes, and he started to get worried that Juan wouldn't come.

Around fifteen minutes after the scheduled time, Juan rushed in, leaning against a shelf for a second as if he'd sprinted there. He walked over to Goda and plopped himself down, breathing a bit hard. "Sorry for being late- I lost track of time," he apologized quickly, "My bad."

"It's alright," Goda assured, "It wasn't t-too long, anyway."

"Alright then. What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Um..." Goda picked up the file, "I j-just... I thought you should know something, and I decided now was as good as any time."

Juan blinked, tone getting a little more serious as he asked, "Really? What is it?"

Goda handed over the file. He flipped it open, reading through bits and pieces. He didn't understand a lot of the words and phrases, but he did understand the general gist of each page.

"What is this...?" he asked, looking back to Goda.

"It's all the mental stuff they d-diagnosed me with," he said, "back when I had a psych-chiatrist."

Juan looked over some of the pages again. A lot of this stuff made almost too much sense, and he felt a little bad for not seeing it sooner. "Well, I guess we're PTSD buddies, then!" he said, handing Goda back the folder and putting an arm around him.

When Goda saw him not reacting negatively, he leaned against him, relaxing into his side and resting his head gently on Juan's shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment, the anxiety of the day having taken a toll on him. Juan lightly kissed the top of his head, holding him close.

"I'm glad you told me, Goda," Juan said, running a hand through his strawberry hair, "It really does mean a lot that you'd trust me with this."

"Of c-course I do," Goda responded in a mumble, cuddling a little closer. He and Juan just sat against each other, mumbling words to each other as time ticked by. After a while, they said their goodbyes and Goda left first. Juan stayed where he was for a while, thinking over what he read. There had been far too many things in there, but it had also said he wasn't taking medication or going to a therapist at all anymore. Not for the psychotic-whatever it was explained his hallucinations. Not for the depression that seemed to be really hurting him. Not for the anxiety that plagued his every waking moment or the nightmares that plagued the rest of them. Not for PTSD or anorexia. It made worry fill his mind.

Why wasn't he getting any help? Juan didn't know what to do. He didn't want to make any harsh assumptions, but there was only one person alive he could think of that could stop Goda, unless he was doing this to himself.

But why would Gabe hurt his fiancé in that way? The words he'd overheard from what felt like half a year at this point entered his mind.

"Speak when you're spoken to!" he shouted. Juan had only heard it through the wall, but it was unmistakable what he said. He looked to José with a worried, questioning gaze. José didn't look back.

Those words had stuck with him over the last month. Why would Gabe ever say something like that to Goda, the meekest and easily scared person Juan had ever met? He furrowed his brow. It kept nagging at him, the feeling that those words hadn't just been in a one-off fit of rage. The feeling that something was very, very wrong. The feeling that Goda wasn't safe, even if he couldn't prove it.

Juan just sighed and shook his head. He was probably just being paranoid. He stood up, stretching before leaving the room. He just decided to ignore it for now, and bring it up with Goda later. He walked down to the first floor, passing a few other guards that he waved to with a smile.

He ended up in his room, waiting for his break to be over since he wasn't in the mood to do anything that day. José was in there, seemingly prepping for duty.

"Heya, hermangran!" Juan said with a big grin as he flopped onto his bed.

José just lifted a hand to acknowledge him. He then started talking, "What're you doing next?"

"I'm on the front gate," he said, voice somewhat monotone.

"That's always the most boring," Juan said, "Hmm- Have you still been talking to Queen Arial?"

José nodded. He'd called her a couple of times since that first one, mostly just chatting idly while she had a bit of a break. He'd let her rant- or, well, whatever the sign language equivalent of that was- about her work and her family, and she'd ask him about his job, his life, his brother, his likes and dislikes. José never thought he'd speak so casually with royalty, but he had been for weeks now.

"What's she like?"

"She's nice, but she worries a lot," Jose said, "To be fair, she has a lot to worry about."

"Well duh, she's a queen," Juan nodded.

"She has more to worry about than just a kingdom," José said. She'd told him some things that made him feel an odd pity for her. Things like that her brother had run off before he became king and left her sister to take over, though she abdicated the throne. Things like that her mother had been sick for a long time before she passed away, and it took a toll on Arial and the rest of her family. Things like, despite being the Prince Consort at the time, her father spent many of the years after Arial was born out of the castle and helping the military, leaving her to be raised by the castle staff and her busy mother.

"What do you mean?" Juan looked over to him with slightly confused eyes.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything," he said. Juan was a bit concerned but decided to brush it off until José decided to talk about it. He was getting good at being patient. "I've got to head out. Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises!" Juan joked. José rolled his eyes and left the room, heading out towards the front gate.