"Th..the therapist. I'll see her if that's what you want." Danny had said.
How much he regretted those words the moment he uttered them. There was only one reason which had compelled him to agree to Steve's suggestion. Steve. Steve was the reason. As his eyes rested on his friend who was sleeping soundly on the chair next to him, the peaceful rhythm of Steve's breathing soothing his aching soul, he just knew that it was the least he could do. Taking a moment to analyse his friend's face, he hadn't dared to really look at Steve's face in a while now, he could see that his friend's jawline was slightly more distinct and there were a few additional lines on his roughly stubbled face. Things had taken a toll on his partner as well. And he knew, he was the main contributor of it. It didn't take a genius to tell that Steve was worried about him. As much as Steve had told him he deserved the care and worry, and as much as he tried to ignore the voices in his head and tell himself he deserved them too, he just couldn't do this to his friend.
It was more than enough that he had caused grievous hurt to his best friend. He had done enough. Right now, he did not get to worry Steve about his condition, no matter how much Steve said that he deserved it. He did not get to be the reason his partner woke up in the middle of the night with worry. Neither could he be the reason for that fatigue drawn out on Steve's face. The whole situation was just profoundly ridiculous to him. After all he'd done, it should be him who's worrying about his friend not the other way around. He was aware that there was nothing he could do to change the past, to change whatever he'd done to his friend. The only thing he could do now, was to cease to be a burden to his partner. And in order to do that, he had to be okay. Or at the very least, pretend that he was.
Which was why he had uttered those words. Agreeing to something he wasn't sure he could commit to. He absolutely hated the idea of seeing a therapist. He didn't need to talk to anyone. There was nothing to talk about. Everything was as clear as day, he had shot his friend. That was it. There was no way he could get past that. It would forever be there, something he could never erase. He didn't want to talk about it because it wouldn't change a thing. Nothing could change that. Talking to a therapist definitely wouldn't do a thing. He hated the idea of exposing himself to a stranger who would maraud his head in search for something to fix. There was nothing to fix. This was something he just had to get through on his own. But for Steve, he had agreed. And that look of divine relief on Steve's face made it maybe worth the try. Just maybe..
...
The soft and steady pitter patter of rain on the window pane was literally the only thing keeping him together. The room was cold, yet he could feel the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. It didn't make sense. His fingernails dug deeper into his palm, it should probably hurt but he didn't feel a thing. Maybe because he couldn't focus on anything besides the pulsating throb in his head. He swallowed, breathing in and out slowly through his mouth because he didn't seem to be getting enough air.
He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder before a face came into view in front of him. He tried to compose himself. This was not good. The last thing he needed was to show the therapist he was struggling. Her lips were moving but he couldn't hear it beyond the voices in his head. A glass of water was handed to him, he wasn't sure he could trust himself to hold it so he shook his head. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the noise.
"Mr Williams? Danny.." The voice was slightly distorted but he was aware now that she'd been calling his name. "Danny, are you with me?"
He blinked, unknowingly, a tear flowed down his left cheek. Of course he was. What kind of a question was that? He'd been sitting here against his wishes for the past.. How long has it been? He looked up at the clock displayed on one of the walls. 40 minutes. That's right, he had been stuck in this room with no escape for 40 minutes now.
"Yeah.." The voice didn't seem like his. "I'm alright." He said again, attempting a little more conviction.
He needed to get out of here. It was strange, the room was spacious but somehow he felt like he was a rat trapped in a tiny closet with no way out. No offense to the therapist, a petite middle-aged lady by the name of Ara. She seemed like a genuinely nice person but Danny just wanted to get away from her the moment he entered the room. He had a few more minutes left with her but he was sure he couldn't handle it. He stood up, ignoring the fact that the ground swayed beneath him, "Need.. the washroom." He said, heading out before she could even respond.
Out of the room, he finally felt like he could breathe again. He headed for the washroom, needing to get away. He locked himself in it, still breathing harshly. He leaned against the wall, controlling his breathing and squeezing his eyes to relief the pain. He wasn't sure what was hurting, but he was in pain, that much he knew. He felt his chest constrict and he bent towards the sink, dry-heaving into it as he held onto it for support. Blood stained the pristine white basin from where his fingernails ravaged his palm. He looked at his face in the mirror, not exactly the image he wanted to show the therapist. He was supposed to convince her he was fine so that she could in turn assure Steve. He turned the tap on and splashed some water on his face, combing his hair and beard. Taking another slow breath to compose himself, he got out of the washroom and headed back into the room.
"Sorry about that." He said, his voice still sounded foreign to himself.
Dr Ara nodded with a comforting smile. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah." Danny said, unconsciously biting his lip. "I'm okay."
...
Danny managed to get as far as the parking lot before his phone rang. He didn't have to look at the caller ID to know it was Steve calling. Danny had two conditions for agreeing to see the therapist. First was that Steve had to return to his job instead of babysitting him the whole time and second was that Danny would go to see the therapist on his own. He really did not want Steve putting his life on hold because of him. And was he glad Steve hadn't come with him. But of course, Steve couldn't just leave him alone. He knew exactly how long the session was and what time Danny would be done with it.
"Steve." He answered.
"Hey, buddy. You done?" Steve asked.
"Yeah," Danny breathed. "Yeah. I'm heading home now." Danny said.
Steve could tell his friend sounded a little off. "You alright, Danny?"
"Yeah."
"Uhh.. okay.. I'll be done soon. See you at home?" Steve said, definitely not convinced by his friend's obvious lie. He had half a mind to ask Danny about his session but the prying eyes of his team mates stopped him. Besides, he was sure that Danny would just wave off his concern over the phone.
"Take your time. I'm okay." Danny said.
Somehow, despite having asked Steve to take his time, he was already waiting for Danny at home when Danny reached. One look at Danny, and Steve knew the session had taken a lot out of his friend. Danny straightened himself when he saw Steve, attempting to again assure Steve that he was indeed okay.
"Hey, what took you so long?" Steve asked. "Got me worried for a second."
"Uhh. Traffic wasn't great." Danny said.
"You alright?" Steve asked. "Umm.. that your meds?" He pointed to the bag that Danny was carrying.
"Hmm."
"H..How was it? You wanna talk?" Steve asked.
The last thing Danny wanted to do right at that moment was talk. He had done enough talking for the day. Stepping into the therapist's office had been just as he had imagined. Besides feeling claustrophobic, he had been unable to speak initially. Words just wouldn't carve out of his mouth. His brain was muted as he treaded carefully. He couldn't be careless, he had to ensure he said the right things. But somehow, he had tripped. As the session went on, he had unwittingly poured out to the therapist what happened. How he ended up the way he did. He had been forced to relive his actions and he was left hapless while the therapist picked at his raw wounds. And that had drained anything good out of him, leaving him zoned out. He genuinely did not want to talk about anything right now.
"Steve, I'm a little tired." He said. "I'll head upstairs. I'm fine. Don't worry."
Steve frowned. Sighing, he nodded his head. "Okay, buddy. If you need anything, just let me know." Steve said.
Danny nodded and trudged up the stairs. He didn't find it in him to take a shower or change out of his clothes, instead straight away crashing onto his bed as the throbbing ache in his head pulled him into a deep slumber.
...
If he already hated the idea of therapy before, after that first session with the therapist, Danny hated it even more. He did not want to go for another. He did not want to be left feeling exposed the way he did again. Anxiety attacking him mid-session as the memories resurfaced and overwhelmed him. He did not want to be subject to it all again. Yet, he knew he hadn't a choice. He had to keep going. For the sake of his friend. He told himself it would get easier. After all, talking about the incident had to be the hardest part. Or so he thought. But how wrong he was. As it turned out, that was the easy part. Every single time he met her, he felt like he was being wrung out like a wet towel. He was left feeling deflated, inexplicably drained.
He had no idea how she did it but the therapist managed to find out exactly what his vulnerabilities were. She had a way to get him to reveal his inner most thoughts. Thoughts he wasn't aware he had himself. He had been forced to work through his worries, his insecurities, his guilt. Towards his daughter and towards Steve. And that was one of the most difficult thing he had to do. He still questioned what he'd done to deserve a friend like Steve. Steve's steadfast loyalty towards him was something he still failed to fully comprehend. Why did Steve still willingly accept him in his life? How did Steve still trust him after everything? He could hardly trust himself.
He couldn't help the questions that surfaced in his mind. Was this what therapy was supposed to be like? He thought it was supposed to make him feel better. Well, slowly it did. A little. The therapist helped him rationalise his thoughts. And although each session made him feel emotionally spent, he noticed that as time passed, gradually, the tirade of self-abuse in his head was becoming more suppressed. Be it the medication he was on or the therapy sessions itself, something was helping.
Yet, at times, he found himself wishing for the voices to haunt him. It was strange, he had begged for the pain to stop, for the voices in his mind to die down. But when he was beginning to feel more himself again, when the pain was no longer unbearable, he found himself searching for it. He did not think he should be totally unaccountable for everything that's happened. Some form of suffering was the only justified passage for him, right? Which was why each time he managed to break through the surface, he succumbed, allowing himself to be submerged once again in his sea of guilt. And those were the bad days, days when he did not want to get out of bed. Days when he felt he deserved nothing. Days when he really wanted to be alone, to be invisible and hidden from everyone. But on those days, Steve would never leave his side. On those days, his anchor was always there to keep him from drifting away. To remind him of his worth. And for that, he was eternally grateful.
...
A/N: Hi everyone, first of all, thanks again for your continued support on this story! I'm so glad to be so near the end but at the same time, it keeps getting harder to write. This chapter was really really giving me a hard time, I wrote it a few times but just kept not getting the feel I wanted to convey. Finally, I came up with these, which was close to how I wanted it to be. Not sure how you guys would find it but I hope you guys liked it. Thank you for reading and see you in the next chapter! Also, do drop a review if you can :)