Evanescent

Chapter 10

Thanks for the reviews again. And, um, this is going to sound kind of stupid, but someone reviewed Always and Forever and said that they hadn't read it yet and asked me to e-mail them, but that was the day that ff.net erased all of the reviews from that day so I don't know who it was. So I'm hoping that you're reading this…and if you are, tell me and I'll e-mail you cuz I feel horrible, lol. Oh, and has anyone's grandmother ever used the phrase "screwing every guy in sight" in front of them before? Yeah, I definitely died laughing when mine did, lol. This is also the same grandma I got hooked on Friends, hehe ;)

Yeah, um, sorry to continue the long AN, but-but I just found out that my aunt, my favorite aunt is probably moving t-to Lon-London *sobs* Do you have any idea how far away that is from me? *sobs* And, yes, I am just that selfish. I hate when people move…I hated when my friend who lived across the street moved 10 minutes away…but London…that's…in a wh-whole other c-country… *trails off crying*

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming

Or the moment of truth in your lies

When everything feels like the movies

And you bleed just to know you're alive

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's made to be broken

I just want you to know who I am

(Iris, Goo Goo Dolls)

I hate shrinks. Just…hate them. The whole concept of them. I mean, someone being paid to listen to your problems. Of course they're going to act like they care. Hell, for a couple hundred bucks an hour, I'd act like I gave a shit, too. And of course they're not actually going to cure you right away. The sooner they cure you, the sooner you stop coming, the more money they lose.

And they just sit there, pretending to care, writing about you. And you don't know what they're writing, but it's about you. Or it'd be assumed that it's about you anyway. Why doesn't that creep more people than just me out?

Someone please explain to me why some people swear by these people.

Seriously, how much can a person being paid to care really care?

~*~

"So, Chandler, tell me about yourself," he sat in the chair, legs crossed, notebook in lap, expensive pen in hand, glasses on the tip of his nose.

God, he even looks like a shrink Chandler thought as he fought himself not to laugh, shifting his concentration instead to the horrid-yellow flower covered wallpaper behind his head, hoping that it still looked like he was looking at him.

"Um, well, I'm a data processor, I-"

"And do you define yourself by your job?" he cut him off.

"Well, no…" Chandler looked at him uncertainly, finally making eye contact.

"Well then skip that part. Tell me about yourself," he repeated, emphasizing the last sentence.

Chandler sat for a few seconds, trying to decide what he could say that would please him. "Um, I'm 28, I hate my job, I'm an only child, my mother writes erotic novels, my father headlines for a gay burlesque show in Vegas and I'm pretty sure that any other questions you have about my life can probably be answered by knowing that," he finally said, causing him to laugh.

"Fair enough," he smiled, and Chandler decided that this unbearable little man looked much more bearable when he was smiling. "So are you close to them?"

"My parents? No," he immediately replied.

"Is that a recent happening, or…"

Chandler shook his head. "No, I, um, I haven't really spoken to my father in years and my mom," he laughed shaking his head. "You heard what I said earlier, right? My mom would make a much better friend than a mother…"

The doctor nodded, writing something down. Chandler stared at the cardboard back, wishing that he were Peter Parker so that he could see through it and read what was being written about him. He paused for a second; Peter Parker was Superman, right? And he was the one who could see through walls and stuff, right? Or-

Chandler looked up, suddenly realizing that he'd been asked another question. "I'm sorry, what?" he finally said, not having heard a word of what was just asked.

"Has there been any recent change in your life?" he repeated slowly, and Chandler hated that he'd asked it as if directing it toward a child.

"Um, I guess I broke up with my girlfriend…"

"And how did that end?" he asked without looking up as he continued to make note of what was said on his yellow legal pad.

"I was too immature to trust her so she cheated on me," he replied quietly and quickly. The doctor nodded, noticing that he'd blamed himself and taking note of it. "She's not why, though."

"Excuse me?" he looked up from his writing.

"She's not why. It's not because of her, if that's what you were writing," he motioned to his pad of paper.

"I never said she was," he looked up for another couple of seconds before once again writing.

"Look, is this psych consul or whatever she called it just to see if I'm crazy or something? Because I'm really pretty sure that I'm not crazy…"

"I'd really have to say that most legally insane people believe that they are sane," he peered at him over his glasses as he continued to write. "Though, I'm pretty sure that you are not crazy," he offered a small smiled as he stood up, walking over to Chandler's bed, handing him a card. "I'm going to recommend you for psychotherapy, which is basically what we've been doing. Talking," he paused as Chandler looked down at the card in his hand, unsure. "You don't like 'shrinks,' do you?" he finally asked, making air quotes around the word shrinks.

"No! It's not that, it's just…" Chandler trailed. "Well, no, nothing personal, but not so much…" he finally admitted.

"We're really not that bad," he smiled once again, handing him another piece of paper. "That's a prescription for an antidepressant. We'll probably need to play around with different medications until we get it right. Which is another reason that I'll be expecting to hear from you," he tapped his card. "You don't call within a week and schedule an appointment, I'll track you down. Don't think I won't, I've done it before," he looked him in the eye before turning to go.

"Um, doctor…" Chandler trailed off, suddenly realizing that he hadn't been paying attention when he'd introduced himself.

"Nelson," he smiled, pausing in the doorway as he turned back to face him, giving him time to say what he needed to say.

"I didn't do it right," he finally said, almost not even whispering, sounding like a small child confessing to breaking something that they weren't supposed to be plying with in the first place.

"Do what right?" he asked, looking at him curiously as he walked back into the room.

"You're supposed to cut down, not across…" he trailed off, still quietly.

"And who told you that?" he asked, wondering if he'd known before or just realized it.

"Some kid in high school," he shrugged, and Dr. Nelson smiled at that.

That was what he'd been waiting for him to say. As indirect as it was, it was the one thing he'd been waiting to be told, the one thing that most suicide attempts would admit to afterward.

He didn't really want to die.

Tbc…

Please review…thanks bunches :)