"I'll do you one better. How about I give you a home?"
Shawn remembered that day as clear as he remembered what he'd had for dinner a few hours ago. Jonathan had cared about him. When his dad had left, when the Matthews hadn't wanted him, when Shawn was all alone, Jonathan had been there. Been there with an offer of a home, an offer of a window to climb out of, an offer of a safe place while his family fell into shambles. Now he'd screwed it all up. He'd gotten picked up by the cops, brought to Jonathan's doorstep and Shawn had never seen his teacher, mentor, friend that angry in the few years he'd known the man. Shawn sat in the corner of the room Jonathan had been letting him use shaking with silenced sobs thinking of how Jonathan would probably want to yell at him some more, hurt him, and then kick him out. Oh well, wouldn't be the first or last time Shawn had to find a way to make a life for himself on the streets. So why did it hurt so bad this time?
"Shawn?" came a familiar voice from the other side of the door. "Shawn, come on! Can I please come in?" the man asked sounding frustrated. "Shawn, if you don't at least answer me, I'm just going to come in!" Jonathan said in the best teacher voice he could manage. "What the hell, he's probably already bolted out the window, who am I kidding?" Jonathan mumbled to himself as he pushed open the door. When he caught sight of the sobbing, hyperventilating kid folded in on himself in the darkest corner of his bedroom, Jonathan became worried for his kid. "Shawn, Shawn what's going on, talk to me," Jonathan demanded crouching in front of his kid and growing increasingly concerned with the lack of response he was getting. "Shawn, try to breathe. Take a deep breath in. Listen to my voice, Shawn. I know you hate to listen to me, but I really need you to right now, kiddo. Take a deep breath in, Shawn. Good, and then let out your breath slowly. That's better, now let's see if you can take just a slightly deeper breath, Shawn. And let the breath out a little bit slower. That's good Shawn, just keep listening to my voice and taking deep breaths. Deeper breath in, and exhale really slowly. You're doing great, Shawn. Keep breathing and listening to my voice. You're going to be okay, kiddo, just keep taking nice deep breaths and listening to my voice," Jonathan coached as he grasped the boy's hands. Jonathan gently pulled the boy's hands away from his hair and found they were now clinging to his own hands like some kind of lifeline. "I'm here with you, Shawn. It's Jonathan. I'm not going anywhere. Listen to my voice and keep taking deep breaths."
After almost 30 minutes of coaching, the kid had finally calmed down enough to be embarrassed by the reaction. Jonathan sat crisscross applesauce in front of his kid for this conversation. "Shawn, what happened?"
"What do you mean? The cop said everything you need to know. He caught me outside a building with some other kids. We had cans of spray paint," Shawn answered, his voice still quite shaky.
"That's not what I mean, Shawn. I mean what caused the panic attack? Why were you crying in your room alone? Why are you folded in the corner? Have you ever had a panic attack before? Why didn't you come to talk to me when you felt the panic attack starting? What happened, Shawn?" Jonathan asked gently.
"I-I thought-are you-are you mad at me?" Shawn asked.
"Shawn, let's talk about that in a little bit. Right now, I'm definitely a lot more concerned for your well-being. Have you ever had a panic attack before, Shawn?" Jonathan asked. When the boy nodded but offered no other response, Jonathan picked his next question, "How often do you have them?"
Shawn hiccupped, took a deep breath, and answered, "When-whenever there's a big fight with people who matter. So like...every 2/3 months, I guess."
"Okay, have you ever talked to a doctor about it or gotten help, Shawn?" Jonathan asked.
The boy actually laughed before cynically offering, "Hunter's don't need help."
"Shawn, everyone needs help sometimes. Is that why you didn't come to me when your panic attack first started?" Jonathan asked. When Shawn shook his head no, Jonathan couldn't keep a confused look off his face. "Okay, Shawn, what caused the panic attack?"
"Th-the fight," Shawn offered unhelpfully.
Jonathan sighed ever so slightly. "I understand that Shawn, but what were the thoughts going through your head after the fight that made your breathing first start to get fast. What were your thoughts when you started crying? Walk me through it, Shawn, please."
"I-I was walking back into my room when my breathing started getting...hard. I-I was thinking about the yelling. Then all of the sudden I was thinking about that day at the Matthews when no one wanted me. I had nowhere to go. I had no one who wanted me. Again. But then, you had offered me your place. You'd offer to be my adult. You offered me your friendship. Then-then I started thinking of all the times I've screwed up, and how I'd done it again! And then-then I was crying and in the corner. And I was thinking of all the times I'd screwed up and my-my dad had gotten mad. I-I was remembering all his yelling and screaming. A-and then I started thinking about how you would probably want to get s-some anger out. H-how you would need to yell some more. H-how you would need to h-hurt me. H-how I would need to make a living on the streets again. A-and then I started shaking and I felt like I was going to puke. I-I started thinking about how h-hard it is on the st-streets. I ha-hate all the people trying to m-molest me or worse. I-I hate all the people trying to sell me drugs or g-get me to sell drugs for them. I-I hate not knowing when my next shower or real meal will be. I-I hate being tired all the time because I-I have to be careful when and where I sleep. I-I hate the cold. I-It's so cold on the streets even this time of year. I first started hearing you wh-while I was remembering my friend Carl," Shawn admitted quietly.
"Oh, Shawn," Jonathan sighed, horrified that his kid had been neglected so badly. "Shawn, this isn't just my place anymore. This is your home, now and forever, you'll always have a home with me. Yes, you screwed up. Unfortunately, that's part of growing up. And yes, I'm upset. If I wasn't, I would be doing you an injustice as your adult. I'm upset because you almost broke the law, you almost disrespected someone's property that they work hard to maintain, and that is not okay. However, I am also a safe place for you. I know I yelled, and maybe that was unnecessary, but I don't need to do anymore yelling over this incident. There's definitely more of a lecture in your imminent future, but I'm not going to be yelling at you anymore for this. I'm not going to be hurting you. I would never hurt you, Shawn, and I really hope you believe me. You are not going to be living on the streets, Shawn. I promise you that as long as I have a say, you will never have to live on the streets again. I've got you, kid. Nothing is going to change that. No matter how many times you get arrested, steal my bike, whatever, I'll still love you and you'll still have a home with me. Nothing you do can make me not love you, please believe me," Jonathan pleaded.
Shawn sniffed and then whispered, "Promise?"
"I promise, but now we've got some hard things to talk about. What do you say we go to the living room and I'll make hot chocolate before we continue this discussion?" Jonathan asked trying in vain to lighten the mood slightly.