Passions

(Tuesday Morning, July 30th)

"What's prompted you to change your mind?" Dr. Roberts questions.

"Prince Chad's interview raised some concerns," Belle answers. "The police pointed out that Ben's health is more important than keeping his condition out of the news."

"Well, I'm glad you've reconsidered," he evenly expresses, "but there are some issues we'll have to address first."

"Issues?" Ben inquires.

"You've been taking cold medicine for years." He explains, "It's completely possible your body may have become dependent on it."

"But he won't need it if he has something else," Belle bypasses.

Ben's mouth cracks open, "That's not what he's saying." before he shakes his head. "But there's nothing addictive in cold medicine."

"Some do, actually," the grey-haired doctor informs, "but even if you've never taken those ones, anything can become addictive when taken too long. The body becomes dependent on the effects it has on it and the brain, and any emotional or psychological ties to it may make it very hard to quit."

"But he'll still be able to get a prescription?" she makes sure.

"We'll have to start at a lower dose," he answers, "but yes. I can get him one."

"Thank God," she breathes in relief.

Ben gives her a look, "Would you stop that? It's freaking me out."

"Someone mentioning God makes you nervous?" the doctor asks.

"No," Ben dismisses. "Hearing an atheist who's learned alternative language for common sayings thanking a God for a doctor's work is what freaks me out."

She folds her hands, "The police want to take you from us." and Ben frowns at her. "If I don't find you treatment for your physical and psychological issues by next week, they're going to charge both me and your father with negligence of a child and possibly abuse."

"But you didn't really do anything," Ben quietly defends.

"Precisely the point, isn't it?" she says. "I've done nothing but hide your conditions and needs from government documentation and other adults. I might as well be one of those religious extremists that keep their children homeschooled to brainwash them into odd beliefs."

"You didn't keep me from learning science," he counters.

"I've kept you from recognizing unhealthy relationships," she asserts with shining eyes, before she turns back to the doctor. "Can we get his prescription today?"

"You should be able to," he nods. "The prescription name is paracetamol." He eyes between them, "I'm going to start you out at a thousand milligram dose, which you can take twice a day with meals: breakfast and dinner."

"Does it have to be taken with meals?" he questions.

"Ben," Belle sighs.

"It's highly recommended," he answers. "One of the symptoms include stomach pain, along with nausea, loss of appetite, dark urine, clay colored stools, or yellowing of the skin or eyes. By taking it with a meal, if you experience any of these symptoms, you won't assume it's just because you took it without anything. If you experience these symptoms, I need you to take them serious enough to tell me."

Ben wets his lips, "I already experience half of those, just from the way I eat."

"He has a hard time with food," Belle frowns.

"I only eat once or twice a day," Ben corrects. "If I eat, I eat a lot, but I can go a long time without having anything."

"When you weighed in today, you were underweight," Dr. Roberts mentions, and Ben eyes away. "How has your eating been lately?"

"I'm nowhere near a hundred pounds," Ben ponders.

"For your height," he explains, "you should weigh no less than a hundred and twenty-five pounds. You're at a hundred and eighteen, which is fairly close to a hundred, if you ask me."

"You can see the spaces between his ribs," Belle divulges.

When the doctor looks at him, Ben excuses, "It's just because I lost muscle, and I bet if I still had that muscle, I'd way more too."

"If all you need to do is learn what nutrition you would need to keep muscle," he offers, "then I can point you to the nutritionists we have here."

"No," Ben shakes his head. "I'm not doing that."

"At least one of them should know what's needed for a carnivore," he reassures.

"I'm tired," Ben holds up a hand, "and I have to wake up for work in like five hours."

"You can meet them another day," he reasons, and Ben places a hand to his head.

"Could you just give me the information?" she asks.

He nods, "I can do that."

"Great," Ben's eyes widen. "Now, may I get my prescription, so I can leave?"

"I'm going to start you at a thousand milligrams twice a day," he continues. "When you're able to fully quit the cold medicine, we can discuss increasing it to three doses a day, if needed. Do not take any more than four doses a day or you risk an overdose."

"That it?" Ben hurries.

"One of the side effects is a fever," he looks from Ben to Belle. "If the medication fails to lower his temperature—or even seems to make it worse—he needs to stop taking it immediately and meet with me."

"You only have to worry about your fever twice a day, now," Ben's mother mentions. "You must be so relieved."

"If it works," Ben eyes out the tinted window. "If he's lowered the amount of doses because of the cold medicine, then that means I might have been taking it already."

"But this is more controlled," she reminds him, "and you won't have to worry about the side effects from overdosing on the cold medicine."

Ben frowns at her, "Why didn't you get me a prescription before, if you knew the risks of overdosing?"

"You've always had to take twice the amount of medicine for it to work," she simply answers. "I suppose I figured your body would just be able to better handle it." Ben looks away again, and she comments, "I'm going to make appointments for you on your next days off for a nutritionist, psychiatrist, and that dentist we were looking into."

"I'd rather not see a nutritionist," Ben tiredly replies.

"If you refuse, I'm going to have to tell the psychiatrist about it," she threatens.

"Mother," he faces her. "If I order a pizza after work, will you let this go?"

"I'll let it go when I see you taking your prescription with meals," she insists.

Ben nods, "Okay."

She takes a moment, "Do you need a donor?"

His eyes widen, "I'm not drinking from you."

"I just know you haven't lately," she starts, "and if you need one, we can try to find someone for you."

Ben glances down, "There's this guy I've been trying to proposition. He was really nice, and he smells like cookie dough, and I really want him." She keeps silent, and he sighs, shaking his head, "Say something."

She takes a breath, "What's his name?"

"Tyler," he partly smiles. "He gave me my last pizza."

"Ben." She hesitates, "Are you sure he wasn't just being nice, because you were a customer and the ruler of the country?"

"He didn't seem to mind," Ben's smile slips.

"Ben." She takes his hands, "Having passions is perfectly normal, but you need to think of the consequences. What if he considers it sexual? After Chad… you may get in trouble."

"But I want him," Ben relays.

"Just because you want something," Belle sadly expresses, "doesn't mean you should. It may not be good for you."

Ben pulls away from her, "Tyler's mine. I'm making him mine."

"And if he doesn't want to be yours?"

"He will." Ben pouts, "I want him, so he has to."

She takes a moment, "You don't want me anymore?"

"You're not mine," Ben points out. "You're Dad's. You belong to Father."

"I'm in charge of my own body," Belle dismisses. "If I want to donate to you, your father has no say in the matter."

Ben looks away from her, "I can't."

"Why ever not?"

"What if I hurt you?" he whispers.

"Then you hurt me," she accepts. "You're the most important thing in my life, Ben. I went through so much pain to have you, and I'm not going to risk losing you, just because I'm afraid of you hurting me to fulfill your needs."

"If I hurt you badly," Ben's eyes widen, "and I were left alone with Father, he would kill me. What you did would be for nothing."

"What if I told you I've told him," she supplies, "and he'd agreed that you need me?"

He takes a minute, "Father changes his mind after the fact. He would hurt me."

"Ben?" she maneuvers to see him. "Has something happened?"

He blankly looks at her, "What do you mean?"

"You're so afraid he'll hurt you," she concerns. "Why?"

Ben glances down, "Father is an angry, impulsive man." before he meets her brown eyes. "And I'm a young adult crushing on his wife, living in his home. Of course, I'm scared."

"You're his son, Ben," she reminds him. "He's not going to hurt you."

"Yeah, well," he eyes down, "it's never stopped him before."

"Ben," she starts again.

He faces her, "I want to plan a council meeting on one of my days off. I need to tell them about my hyperthermia."

She opens her mouth, before she lets the breath go, "If that's what you want."

"So, let me know when the therapy appointment is," he pinpoints, "and I'd like you to put off the dentist, until other things settle a little."

"What about the nutritionist?" she questions.

"I thought you said you'd let that go if I ate," Ben counters.

Belle nods, "I did say that, didn't I?" before she breathes. "Are you still thinking about asking Tyler?"

"I wouldn't be able to ask right away," Ben answers, "but I'd like to get there."

She nods, "Well, just be careful, and let me know how it goes."

Ben partially smiles, "I will."