Chapter 27 - Rehabilitation

"I'll back to take you home at four. It will fine Percy, I promise." Soothed Jim.

"Do you have to go?" I asked, really not wanting to be alone.

"Just for a bit, you'll hardly have time to miss me. Be good, love you." Said Jim, kissing my forehead before he left.

"Love you too, stay safe." I responded, he nodded with a brief smile.

I wish Jim could stay with me, but I had to attend therapy alone. I really hated therapists, they over analysed things that didn't need to be analysed. I didn't like anyone messing with my head, ironic that I would voluntarily take drugs, but that was a conscious decision on my part, not inflicted upon me through someone else's speculations.

I thought about the family I had around me, they we all so loving and understanding. So forgiving, I'm sure they were, are, angry with me, I didn't blame them and would take any punishment from them. I felt dreadful for letting them down.

"Percy, are you listening to me?" Asked the therapist more forcefully.

"Yes, sorry, I keep getting lost in my thoughts." I answered. I wanted to get through this a quickly as possible. This session was to assure 'them' I wasn't a suicide risk so that I could go home. I never wanted to kill myself, I never had. I had felt desperate, but not for death, just for a little rest-bite.

"Does this happen a lot? Drifting into your own reality?" The woman asked. I looked at the therapist. Mid forties, divorced, twice, no three times. Chain smoker and addicted to caffeine. Sleeping with her PA, but won't admit she's gay, explains the divorces. Excited about having me as a patient, I have 'history'. Dull.

"On occasion, but not often. I sometimes need time to process everything I'm seeing."

"Has this always been a problem, do you find emotions hard to read?"

"No and no. I just see more than most people and I need to understand and catalogue it all."

"Alright, we'll come back to this later in the session. Now, we should discuss your reasons for attempting to take your life."

"I didn't try to kill myself. I was spiked."

"We'll this is the second severe overdose you've had in eight years and with your recent miscarriage, it is understandable. You feel guilty, this is normal, but taking your life isn't the only way." Probed the woman. I looked at her, slightly dumbfounded.

"I can assure you, I am not and never have been suicidal. You're right I do feel guilty for letting my family down and the emptiness of losing my baby will never leave me."

"If you're not suicidal, then why did you take such a potent cocktail of drugs?"

"There were a number of factors, my husband had been away on business for much longer than either of had anticipated, we weren't able to speak often, I was lonely, and we parted on bad terms. Losing the baby was devastating, and part of the reason my husband and I parted badly. My parents died just over a month ago and other minor things that just added to the stress."

"That is a lot for a person to cope with, even in a lifetime let alone in the period of two months."

"I know, hence why I wanted a break. I know it's not a sensible or healthy answer to my problems."

"You don't want to be here do you Percy?"

"No, not really."

"Why is that?"

"I don't like strangers dissecting my thoughts."

"Do you struggle to trust people?"

"If betrayed I never forgive them, but no I'm usually a good judge of character."

The dreams were the worst. The darkness lurking inside my mind that threatened to drag me under every time I closed my eyes. The problem with win as high as I was, is, I can't really remember anything. It was all a haze, relief from reality until something different took hold. I wish I knew how the heroin had got into my system. I remember two syringes, both with 7% solution liquid cocaine, it was two, when I wanted to forget, block it all out. Two, always two, six hours apart. That would usually let everything drift to a point I stopped worrying or caring, my brain cleared and I could refocus on life. I will admit it's not a healthy existence, but it was just the way my life was.

When the bullying became too much, I dabbled with various things, they didn't do much and I never felt an addiction, which is odd because apparently I had the characteristics of an obsessive and addictive personality. Alcohol just gave me blinding headaches, so the appeal of drinking myself into oblivion on a regular basis was unappealing. Also seeing what it had done to Harry was enough to put me off.

When I was kidnapped, physically I healed quickly, the trauma of the event left deep psychological scars. I was having nightmares that would keep me awake for days. I stopped eating, food just sat in my stomach like a lead weight, making me feel nauseated. The guilt was crippling. Jim took a bullet for me, he nearly died to save my life. We had already started to fall for each other, but they way he looked at me when he found me conformed how I felt for him, watching his body go limp shattered my world. I knew in that moment I would never be happy with anyone else. Ever since I've had bad abandonment issues, when Jim was away I would stay with Mycroft or maybe go home and see Mum and Dad. Combining recurring nightmares, guilt, falling in love, and a fear of being alone and guns, it's not a far leap to understand how I ended up taking drugs. At first no-one noticed, which made me want to flaunt it, catch their attentions, but one day I got it wrong, I overdosed.

In the last couple of weeks, I had had a lot of time to think about my life and the events leading me to this moment. Recently, life had exploded into a giant mass of bad luck.

I kept dreaming I was still pregnant; it was heart breaking to wake up and know it wasn't true. Before I had become pregnant children didn't bother me, I didn't think I could have them anyway, but it didn't really bother me. When I fell pregnant, it was like a switch flipped, I was scared but excited, I wanted to raise our baby and be the quirky mum that did art projects and cool parties. Our lives weren't really compatible with children, but I'm sure we'd have managed. Jim would be a brilliant Dad. It wasn't meant to be. I had to accept that. I was finding that even though I dreamed about the baby I had lost, I had lost the urge to want a child, I had fallen back into not being bothered, I couldn't decide if this worried me or not.

"Let's talk about your relationship with your husband."

"What about it?" I asked, I didn't want to discuss my personal life anymore. I just wanted to go home.

"How long have you been married?"

"Two months."

"So not long. How long were you together before you got married?"

"Nearly eight years."

"How stable is your relationship?"

"It has it's ups and downs like every relationship. Early on it was a bit volatile, but I was very young."

"How young?"

"We met when I was eighteen, I had just started Art College."

"So your husband is older than you, by how much?"

"He'll be thirty in a couple of weeks."

"Did you feel forced into marriage?"

"That is such a stupid question, of course not."

"Do your family accept your relationship and marriage?"

"My were very loving, but as soon as I left school, I moved away from home, they went away travelling a lot, we kept in contact, but they never met my husband."

"Is this lack of a close relationship because you were adopted, and my notes tell me have recently found your biological family, how did they react to your relationship?"

"No, I was offered an opportunity to live in London and my parents knew I would be well looked after. There was some initial opposition, but after some time it was accepted and they want me to be happy. We all bonded quickly, and I had actually known, the eldest of my two older brothers since I was little and he is also my Godfather." This woman asked such ridiculous questions.

In that moment I really missed Sherlock. He would know the sarcastic and amusing thing to say and it would make me laugh and we would mock the psychiatrist for being an idiot. We hadn't spoken much since he'd visited me. I owed him so much.

Just like Mycroft, he'd saved me so many times. Jim, he'd got me through so many things, he'd always been the to hold my hand and I his.

I remember the day he sat me down and told me what he did for a living, he was so serious, almost scared. I sat there and let him explain. He finished a looked between the door, and me waiting for me to run away, but I just sat there smiling. I knew what he did I'd worked it out. I told him as much. I explained that growing up with Mycroft and doing various little jobs for him had made certain life styles more obvious. When he asked 'So you're okay with this, you're not going to run away?' And I answered, 'Of course not, I love you too much to leave.' That was the first time I told Jim I loved him, he told me he loved me in return.

It would be a lie to say we never argued, it would be a really bad lie, in fact we argued quite a lot, sometimes they were huge rows, mostly they were little things. A couple of times the arguments were so big we split up. We always ended up back together, we were stronger together, we could take on the world together and we would win.

"You mentioned that if someone betrayed your trust you'd never forgive them, would like to expand on that?"

"I am very protective of the family I have left and my loved ones. I don't like being lied to or deceived, it's hard to do, when done and I subsequently find out, I am not forgiving."

"Yes, you mentioned before that you see more than most people. What do you mean?"

"If I walk past a person I can tell you all about them, I can see the connections and markers that identify them and their habits."

"So you guess?"

"No I observe."

"So I can understand, can you 'observe' me?"

"I can yes, it doesn't mean I will. People get offended when I tell them things they don't want me know."

"In the name of science then? An experiment?"

"You won't like the results, but if you insist." I paused and looked over her once again. By doing this, I knew I would be seeing a new therapist come Monday. I may as well make it good.

"Mid forties, although you tell anyone you meet its thirty-eight. You are divorced, twice, no three times, the lighter patch of skin on your left ring finger, it shows prolonged wearing of a ring, but different sizes, shapes and metals, although all wedding bands. Chain smoker and addicted to caffeine, it's the twitch in your fingers for a cigarette and your knee for the caffeine. Sleeping with your PA, it's risky, but illicit and secret, it gives you a thrill, she loves you, but you won't admit your gay, and it does explains the divorces. You're excited about having me as a patient, I have 'history', and it gives you a challenge, a puzzle to decode. It's dull and you use generic analysis to define a complex character, but whatever makes you happy." I finished half-heartedly. I could see the anger in her face. Of course she was angry and I was bored and tired.

"Very astute Percy. Does it make you feel superior being able to find everyone's secrets out?" Her tone was superior, a defence mechanism against my revealing her private life. Boring.

"Not really, it's depressing. I know seven people who it doesn't bother, one I'm married to, two I'm related to, and the other four are very close family friends."

"Did this talent get you bullied?" She asked.

"Yes, mercilessly for years."

"How did that make you feel?"

Again, I just stared at the women she was insufferable. How did ten years of being bullied make me feel? I wonder? I just ignored her; luckily at that precise moment the buzzer went off announcing my session was over. I got up without a word and made my way back to my room.

The sterility of hospital was creepy, all white walls and easy clean surfaces, good for fighting infection and germs, but not good for comfort or rest. I looked at the clock, time felt as though it was slowing down, I had half an hour before Jim would be here, the doctors had been and confirmed I wasn't a suicide risk, but that issues of concern had been raised and so I would have to attend further therapy as part of my rehab program once a week.

As I was signing my discharge papers I received a note telling me that my therapist would be changing on Monday due my pervious therapist's work commitments. How predictable. I sat back on my bed and thought about the previous six idiots that had tried to dissect my psyche, all to fail and be confused. I refused to take any medication they offered; it didn't work and made me feel odd.

I think something that always confused each therapist is when my drug habit was brought up he or she asked if I was addicted to anything else. I would explain to them that I wasn't addicted, not in the literal sense of the word. If I relapsed, I suffered for a day with cravings but after a decent night's sleep they would pass and I wouldn't be tempted at all. I'd been to enough high society parties where drugs were passed round like sweets and I had no flicker of temptation. It was about control and relief. Like taking a painkiller, I chose to seek the relief when and, as I needed it. I think the only person who would truly understand this was Sherlock.

I looked at the clock, it was five minutes past four and Jim wasn't here. I started to get uneasy. I had no missed calls or messages. Okay, keep calm Percy, its alright, he might have been waylaid, its not a problem, your safe here.