6 months ago...

April

Timmy's head hurt. Timmy's head did a lot of hurting these days. Deep, complicated hurting that forced him into thinking ever deeper, more complicated thoughts.

"I hate him...and then I don't. It's as though I want to stab him, and then rush to cauterize the wound. To shove him from a cliff and then rush to the bottom to catch him. As if we were in a burning building and perhaps...perhaps we'd set the thing on fire in the first place and now we're both flailing madly with mere glasses of water, trying like mad men to put the damned thing out."

His therapist Linda showed no signs of judgement; she never did. If anything, she held Timmy in rather high regard, finding his revelations admirable, if not a touch rudimentary. He had a marvelous way with words, sometimes, a real grasp on the situation beyond anything she could provide him. He knew exactly what was happening...even if he didn't want to face the core of it.

"It sounds like you've given some thought to what we talked about last week. After...the incident. With his new girlfriend who seemed an awful lot like you, and the, uh...mistaken identity..."

"He wouldn't discuss it," replied Timmy flatly. And then he abruptly dropped the issue.

They went on to discuss the weather, and Timmy's family back home, and anything he could conceive of for the rest of the hour...

Anything aside from Russell.

"I've quit Russell."

Linda attempted to refrain from revealing a touch of shock. Perhaps it wasn't so much the statement itself, but the manner in which he'd said it. He had sat down, and without so much as a greeting, without any kind of warning, he had thrust the news upon her in bold, self-assured words. Not 'I've quit my job,' that would have been an entirely different matter...no. 'I've quit Russell.'

"What happened?" she queried gently. No notepad, no analyzing before the facts. She felt compelled to add, I'm sorry, for something in his face seemed to require such a response, but no.

"You won't believe it." Timmy took to speaking faster and faster as he attempted to explain the situation. "He...had a tracking chip implanted in me. In my arm, under the guise of a mandatory flu shot. He'd been literally tracking my every move, obsessively, possessively, as if he owns me...of course he claims he has a reasonable explanation, as if there could ever be such a thing, I mean, my god, the man is actually certifiably insane, he's out of his ever loving mind, why in the bloody hell would he-!"

"Timmy! Timmy, breathe...center..."

Positively flustered, breathing rapid and out of pace, Timmy held himself quite small, eyes closing down in an attempt to contain himself.

"What was his 'reasonable explanation'? I mean, of course, that's completely out of line, nobody should ever do that to anyone, but what..." She watched as Timmy's eyes opened slowly, finding her face as she spoke. "What did he say?"

"It's asinine." Timmy scoffed several times in punctuation of this claim. "He said something about not being able to find me one day and being scared." He took to murmuring words; he didn't really want to say them out loud. He'd repeated them in his head a few too many times, already. "He said he doesn't know what he'd do without me. Genuinely, as if...as if I were more than some errand boy, some dog to lick upon his heels whenever he whistles." He leaned towards Linda, speaking more slowly now in an attempt to retain his composure: "But he doesn't mean it. He only said it to keep me from quitting."

"Why do you think he did it, then?"

"Chipped me? Because he's a megalomaniac, because he thinks I'm a possession, o-or a pet who he can keep on a leash, I don't...I don't know."

"Any chance he's telling the truth?"

Timmy took a very deep breath, attempting to breathe some clarity in through his lungs, into his brain.

"No. I don't believe he means a word of it."

A lie.

And he knew it.

"My new job is wonderful," Timmy said with a broad smile. "My boss treats me stupendously well, never an insult or a racially insensitive remark to be heard. My salary is considerably improved, I'm actually earning a living wage. And here's the cincher...I get to go home at the end of the work day. No accompanying anyone to bars for nightly 'booty patrol,' no trips to local theaters of ill repute for double showings of films of a particular ilk..." He sighed out. "In 3D."

"But are you happy, Timmy?"

Timmy's smile sank slowly down, his eyes meeting Linda's. He knew what she was asking. She knew that he understood the question, but he seemed highly reluctant to answer.

"Timmy...do you miss Russ-"

Timmy cleared his throat. "My new job is wonderful."

They'd been talking about something entirely unrelated, somehow having avoided the topic completely; when all at once Timmy's mind wandered. "I believe he has my cardigan."

"Your cardigan?"

"I believe it's in the office. That is...my old office, his...his office. We spoke, he said he hasn't seen it."

"Oh...Russ-"

"Knowing him, he's probably doing unsavory things with it." A statement full of snark, laced in irritation...but carefully manipulated, and both of the room's occupants knew it.

Timmy and Linda took to their usual stare down, the one that often followed when Timmy made some declaration worthy of further reflection. She knew Timmy would offer a follow-up statement if she'd give him enough time.

His expression was hard to place. Utter disgust, reluctance to accept this proposition? Far from.

Something else. A strange sort of intrigue.

"Do...do you think he would be..." He cleared his throat. "Never...never mind."

May

Timmy had been sitting in Linda's office for a solid five minutes, not talking.

He had called yesterday, seeking to cancel their meeting; she had somehow persuaded him to come in. He'd missed his last session. He sounded like he needed to talk more than ever.

Something was clearly wrong.

And now he wasn't talking.

"Timmy...? Whenever you're ready."

"Don't, uhm..." He groaned out very weakly, his voice barely audible in the still of the room. "Don't be alarmed."

This seemed a rather odd statement. "You sound like it's the end of the world."

"It may be. I've yet to decide."

"What happened, Timmy?"

"This is going to...I'm afraid I don't know where to begin."

"Well," she began slowly, "the last time we talked, you said work was still going good. Your new boss was treating you well, you finally had time to yourself, that you were-"

"You asked once if I missed him." Timmy's voice caught a bit. Just a bit, as if he might get emotional. He choked this emotion back, whatever the emotion might have been, steadying himself.

"What did we decide?" Linda asked, leaning forward a little, arms resting gently on her legs. A friendly position, eager to listen.

Timmy fidgeted lightly, avoiding the answer, but his voice grew a little more assured, a little more comfortable. "Something strange has happened. I...we...may I stand?"

"Yes, of course."

And so Timmy stood, taking to nervous pacing as he spoke. This was the only way he could do this, his head spinning with a dizzying sort of heat; he'd never get the words out otherwise. He spoke quickly in an attempt to release the story all at once.

"Okay, so you're aware of the tracking chip that led to the ultimate demise of our working relationship."

"Right."

"Yes, well, it would seem that Russell, in his natural stupidity has chosen to destroy my livelihood once and for all and failed to submit simple documentation, leading to the termination of my work visa."

"Oh...oh, no." Linda was genuinely concerned with this statement. "Are you in some kind of trouble, Timmy, are you facing deportation?"

He spoke his next words in a surprisingly neutral manner, not skipping a beat as he carried on pacing at a steady rate in front of the woman: "I was indeed in fear of deportation, but it should be fine now, as I've married Russell. So you see, now that all that's been settled, I-"

"HOLD UP!" Linda stood now, and forgoing all professionalism, snatched Timmy by either arm, looking her client square in the eyes. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't ordinarily do this, but you're going to have to repeat that last part, Timmy, because I really don't think I heard you correctly..."

Timmy cleared his throat, glancing awkwardly towards his feet. "Yes. Yes, you heard correctly."

"You married him? Russell? Your boss, Russell?"

"The very same, I'm afraid so, yes."

"You're serious, Timmy? We went from 'I hate him' to 'I have repressed feelings for the guy' to 'surprise, Linda, we're married'?!"

Timmy looked back up at last, eyes huge, and Linda slowly released his arms, smiling apologetically.

She spoke softly to herself: "Get a grip, Linda." Returning to Timmy, "That was out of line, I'm sorry."

"No," said Timmy. "Uhm...not...not at all. I realize this is something of a shock, and I...well, there's more." He received no reply; his therapist simply waited for him to continue, sensing that he would.

He did, though hesitantly. It seemed he'd reached the part of the discussion he feared the most, his cadence turning soft, voice quite unsure of itself. "You see, I...agreed to marry him. To avoid deportation. I didn't...I didn't agree to all the rest. It just...sort of...happened."

"Define...the rest, Timmy. Can you...do you need to sit back down, are you okay?" She needed to sit down, and so she did. The shock of his statement was wearing off; she watched as he sat as well, nervously, muscles tensing, fingers gripping the arms of the chair as he sank slowly back down. "Whenever you're ready, we got through the worst of it."

"Not...not really. I haven't even told you about..." Timmy placed his head in his hands. And very softly, he asked the pertinent question: "You really think I've been repressing this?"

She regretted her outburst a moment ago. It was a blatant lack of proper conduct; it was not her place to arrive at such conclusions for him. But now that he was asking...

"Timmy, I shouldn't have said that, it wasn't right. It's not my place to decide. I mean, I can make observations in this room, I can pull from what you say, but I can't-"

"I kissed him." Practically a whisper of a confession, lost in trepidation, head still planted firmly in his hands.

Linda took a deep breath. "Oh. Well, then...then, there's a very strong possibility-"

"On the mouth," came a pitiful whine. "Tongue, the whole nine yards."

"Wow...okay, well, I-"

"We had sex!" A bit louder now, spitting out the words, needing desperately to release them.

"Ah." Yeah, that'd do it.

There followed a very strange mixture of guttural relief within Timmy at having set the secret free, and a churning confusion. One thing was clear. He pulled his face from his hands and looked straight into the face of the woman sitting across from him.

"I...I-I told him I love him."

An understanding nod. "That's some heavy stuff."

"Shouldn't I have? Well, he...he kept saying it, you know, I thought it only fair." Timmy flinched at the absurdity of his own words, forcing himself to control his shaking.

"If you were ready, Timmy-"

"I don't know what I was! Insane. Perhaps I've gone insane, is that possible? No, of course you can't provide such a diagnosis, I suppose I ought to save that for the psychiatrist. So sorry, I tend to...I ramble, it's a nervous tic, of course you know this. You know a great many things, perhaps too many things. I suppose then that shutting up is in due order, I'll just...I'm going to shut up now."

It took Linda's brain a moment to catch up to everything Timmy had just said. After the initial shock of these revelations, relief may have been an understatement. Years...years of yo-yoing. Years of endless talk of this man, of spewing hatred followed by pleasant chatter of how they'd spent their days together, for better or for worse. Something had desperately needed to give. Something had just given.

But Timmy looked unquestionably frightened. Sick to his stomach.

Transitions are often tumultuous.

"So...so, Timmy...how are you handling all of this?"

"My...brain hurts. I've devoted so much time to...to not doing these things I suddenly find myself doing, I mean...the last two weeks have been...he's been suddenly..." Timmy collapsed against his knees and groaned out heavily in confusion, voice muffled. "This is all so indescribably weird."

"Well, love is weird."

Timmy picked himself up slowly. How these words had been precisely the ones he'd needed to hear in this moment, he wasn't sure, but her face was so accepting. He'd needed that. Acceptance in the madness.

"He's very weird," said Timmy. He leaned back slowly in place against his chair, head falling to the side, and ran a hand against his hair. He swallowed hard. "And I'm afraid I'm stuck with him."

"Are you okay with that, Timmy? Being stuck with Russell?"

"I don't know." But when Timmy finally found the will to look back upon his therapist, there came upon his face a look of profound reflection; he was practically in shock with himself, with the gentle smile that graced his face now, the muscles of his body relaxing for once in the still quiet of the room. She took note of the change immediately.

"You've kinda been stuck with him for awhile, huh?" she said.

"Yes," said Timmy very softly. "I suppose I have."

August (three months later)

Linda opened the door of her office just a touch, peering into her waiting room. Quiet, empty save for two figures seated nervously upon the sofa there. The men hadn't noticed her, and she wasn't quick to call them in...perhaps she considered herself a bit of a spy, but she was intrigued, finally putting a face to the name she'd scrawled so many times in her notes these last few years.

The famous Russell Dunbar. Somewhat older than Timmy, dressed a touch more casually in loose denim and some sort of screen printed t-shirt...kind of a small guy, but certainly not unassuming. He seemed to take up more space in personality than physicality, shaking nervously and murmuring incoherent nonsense to ease his discomfort.

She watched now as Russell stood, brushing down his clothes; he turned to Timmy with a fidget and a shake. "How do I look?"

"What?"

He sat back down and began speaking perhaps just a touch too quickly. "Never mind, I look great, of course I look great. Yeah, come on, turn you on, don't I?" He rose his brow in a decidedly voracious manner with a purse of his lips, to which Timmy supplied a disgusted snarl. Russell shrank back.

"Now, we'll have none of that today, will we? Best behavior. It's not often I'm willing to show you off. This was her idea, not mine. She thought it would be good for us to-"

"Yeah, got it." But Timmy wasn't backing down, his eyes intensely scolding. Russell sighed out heavily. "Okay, whatever, mom, I'll be good." Unwavering; man, he was scary. "Promise!"

Timmy nodded, satisfied, looking to his own lap, face softening. It was really just his own nerves setting in, and Russell knew it. A soft hand fell against the back of Timmy's neck.

"Hey..."

Timmy looked back to Russell's face and found a rush of lips meeting his, there just a moment, and Russell pulled back in a smile most affectionate. "You worry too much."

"I really..." Timmy's face turned down, hint of a smile breaking through, as though quite bashful. Ah, that drove Russell crazy; maybe Timmy knew it. "I really wish you wouldn't do that, Russell."

Russell took a quick look around an empty waiting room. "Pft, who's watching?"

From Linda's doorway, she took a small step back, feeling very much a spy in the house of Timmy. A moment later she would walk out, greet the men in the lobby, and bring them into her office to witness them bicker, put up walls, perhaps break a few. But she'd just caught her first glimpse into a piece of a life she'd only chanced to hear about until now, this singular man who had so greatly shaped reality for her client, and suddenly, things were beginning to make sense.

So this is where the story ended.

And this is where it all began.