Saving Alan Chapter 4
Trigger warning: Descriptions of abuse by a teacher/authority figure, intricate descriptions of self-harm, suicidal ideation
Fermat felt like pulling out his hair! It was several weeks into the new semester and he felt like his best friend was pulling away from him. They shared a dorm room for Pete's sake, one would think that they'd see more of each other, but Alan was so darn busy all the time, when he was around he was always studying. And whenever Alan had a rare spare moment, he wanted to spend it sleeping. He was snappy one moment and apologetic the next, self-degrading all the time, hard to talk to, he'd been skipping meals and had pulled away from their entire group of friends. He was still kind and friendly to all of them, especially Fermat, but he was just so distant all the time.
The worst part was the crying. Fermat didn't know what to do about that. It only happened in the middle of the night when Alan thought Fermat was asleep. Fermat confronted him on it only once and Alan had claimed allergies. The finality in his tone brokered no argument.
Over the course of the next few weeks the Tracy men became more worried about Alan. Scott and Virgil had even made it to the mainland to pop in on some surprise visits.
During those surprise visits they discovered that it was possible Alan truly WAS too busy to video chat with them. Scott had visited afterschool one Friday afternoon on the way to see his girlfriend and found that Alan was in the middle of track practice! He didn't even know Alan was interested in track. Alan ended up only having a few minutes after practice to talk with Scott before he had to leave for his date.
Scott's heart wrenched inside of him when he saw the kid up close. Alan's face was gaunt, his cheek bones had taken on a slightly sunken look, his cheeks and lips were pale, and he sported large dark rings under his eyes. Everything about this was wrong. It was so easy to hide over video call, a few tricks of the lighting, a filtered video, the imperfect quality that video presented…but still, Scott couldn't believe that this had gone unnoticed.
There was no "Hello," no "Hey, how are ya'?" Just a stunned silence from Scott while Alan fidgeted nervously beneath his gaze.
"Sprout," he asked nearly breathlessly, "have you even been sleeping at all?" His voice was laced with desperation and betrayed any pretense of a calm façade that he might have been aiming for.
"Yeah, and I'm fine. There's no need to worry," Alan had said it so sincerely and tenderly that Scott wanted to believe it, but another glance at his kid brother's face immediately dispelled that notion. But he let it go. There were only a couple weeks left. Scott would be reporting this immediately to their father. Perhaps their dad could have a word with the school nurse or the school guidance counselors.
"Alan, look at me." And Alan did, it was rare for his brothers to call him anything but Sprout, let alone by his actual name. "I know you're lying. I can't help you if you don't let me in. Please give me something to go off of and maybe I can do something about it. Give me anything, but I know for a fact that you're not okay." Alan's eyes were filled with a storm, so many emotions that Scott couldn't pick out just one, and each emotion was so intense that it threatened to overtake him at any moment. Scott held his brother's tumultuous stare with unwavering strength. And just when he thought Alan was about to break and expel all the weight he'd been carrying, Alan broke the connection and looked away, the storm in his eyes replaced with a firm resolve.
Scott was reluctant to let it drop; Alan had been SO CLOSE to admitting something…everything, perhaps, he could have practically reached out and grabbed the words as they hung in the air. It was a long and pregnant hush that fell between them, but eventually Scott silently and graciously agreed to leave the topic alone.
"I didn't know you were on the track team," came Scott's awkward and feeble attempt at salvaging their time together.
Alan jumped on the blatant and uncomfortable change of subject like a lion pouncing on its prey. He talked about how he really enjoyed track, how it gave him a chance to clear his head and just run. It didn't take long for Scott to weasel out a few extra details, he especially wanted to know if Alan was involved in any other activities. Alan confessed to being in the chorus and in the robotics club, but begged Scott not to tell their dad. This had Scott's attention. He wondered why on Earth Alan wouldn't want their dad to know, he'd be so excited. But Alan was adamant. After some fishing on Scott's part Alan finally admitted uncomfortably that it was so that their dad wouldn't feel disappointed if Alan didn't succeed at any of these activities. Another part of Alan didn't want himself to feel disappointed if their father couldn't make it to any of his competitions, meets, or concerts, but he didn't admit that to Scott. It was hard enough admitting the first part. Scott had tried in vain to explain to Alan that their dad would be proud no matter what, but Alan begged for him not to say a word.
Their time ended shortly after that; Alan had to get changed and get to study group and Scott had to leave for his date.
Scott kept his word and did not tell their father about Alan's extra activities. But he DID do a lot of updating. He told his father and brothers about how sickly Alan had looked. While he revealed his observations, his dad took on a worn and gaunt look himself. Scott didn't have to ask his father to get in contact with the school, he was on his way to make the call practically before Scott finished talking.
And Scott did tell his other brothers about all of Alan's extra activities, he figured (and they all agreed) that Alan could do with some fans in the crowds, and it would also give each of the brothers excuses to go and visit him. Virgil, being the most artistic and musical of the family, desperately wanted to make it to a choir concert. So he lined up his time off with Alan's choral schedule.
Though Virgil's visit came only a few days before spring break, he had come to watch the spring choir performance. As the choir had taken the stage that night, Alan was stunned to see Virgil's face stand out amongst the audience. Alan had a small solo in the middle of one of the songs. He'd been practicing it and felt confident in it. But looking at his musical brother in the crowd, Alan felt pressured like never before to perform at his very best. So of course, it was that very night when his cursed pubescent voice chose to crack piteously on his final note. The choir sang on, the audience applauded politely, and Alan wished the risers where he stood would swallow him alive. Why did it have to be in front of Virgil?
But Virgil's mind was on other matters. He thought Alan sang beautifully (well, until that last note, but that happens-moments like that are what shape a musician and help them to strive for the future). The performance would have fueled his soul had he not been so worried about his brother. But as it were, the singing took backstage to Alan's frail body frame. A musician, Virgil might be, but he was also a doctor and the family medic. As the two brothers embraced each other after the show, Virgil nearly wept at the feeling of bones underneath Alan's clothing. The conversation that followed was every bit as concerned, as pleading, as desperate, as stilted, and as awkward as the conversation between Alan and Scott just a few weeks before.
Jeff couldn't wait for spring break, he wanted his son home, and that was all there was to it. He'd heard from all of his sons as they reported to him after each video call, He'd heard a report from Scott and from Virgil, he'd video called Alan himself. And every single day he felt more and more desperate for his child. He wanted to know that his boy was safe and under his own watchful eye. Jeff was feeling ill all the time thinking about his youngest. He had tried calling Alan over the past several weeks, but their conversations always seemed stilted and emotionless. Either that or Alan failed to answer at all. It was the same report he'd gotten from each of his other 4 sons. What had started as an irritating warning feeling in the back of his mind was now a five alarm fire blazing out of control before his eyes.
Jeff had seen depression in teenagers before. Though Alan had been quite young and had difficulty fully understanding the situation, his other sons had lost their mother as older children and teenagers. And while Scott and Gordon had struggled and experienced a period of deep grieving, Virgil, and to a lesser extent John had each battled with some pretty advanced anxiety and depression. Jeff knew about the havoc psychological or mood disorders like anxiety and depression could throw a person threw. He knew these things stemmed from all sorts of reasons, perhaps situational, perhaps they were genetic, perhaps a person was just going through a hard time. He couldn't help but land on the genetic aspect, he had watched two sons struggle through periods of depression and anxiety, perhaps Alan was genetically disposed to it. Then there was the fact that the whole world seemed to have high expectations for the entire Tracy family, and that their own personalities caused them to be overachievers with unbreakable drives for success, well it was a recipe for psychological disaster!
Jeff had been wracking his brain for weeks while he and his team of sons/detectives had been trying to ascertain what event could have set Alan into such a funk. But the truth is that depression and anxiety are often chemical imbalances. Add the chaos of a teenagers ever-fluctuating hormones, and there didn't need to be any event. His own mind could just be rising up against him. In some ways Jeff felt like that was worse than a triggering event. Because one could target an event, they could talk about it and get him counsel. But stabilizing hormones seemed so impossible. Of course it happens all the time, psychiatrists know their craft, but Jeff would take rocket science over brain chemistry any day!
Whatever the cause, Jeff wasn't going to watch his son suffering. He had been researching pediatric psychologists and psychiatrists and had spoken to a few. Of course, there wasn't a lot to go off of without Alan being forthcoming about what he was experiencing. Alan was probably going to hate this, but in the long run it was healthiest to get him in to see a professional. He would give it a day or two of spring break, give himself time to talk it out with Alan, ask him what he thought of seeing a counselor. But at the end of the day, Jeff's mind was pretty much made up. It scared him to see his son pulling farther away and collapsing in on himself.
It was late Wednesday afternoon, the day after his choir concert, and Alan sat miserably in the library as he tried to cram for his midterm exams. He only had to make it through two more days (and about 5 more exams), and then he could be home for spring break. Unfortunately, the harder Alan tried to study, the more distracted he got. Though the library was brightly lit and bustling with the voices of students excited for the coming vacation, Alan felt himself fully ensconced in darkness. It was swallowing him up and choking him, and Alan found it literally and figuratively hard to breath. He reached up to his collar and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons of his school uniform.
It did little good, he could feel his heart beating faster. That was nothing new, he found that he was terrified all the time, and of everything. His physics teacher has taken to physically injuring him on a regular basis. And what could he do about it? Not a thing. Alan didn't know what this was about, but it sure as Hell wasn't about a measly physics class. Dr. Smith had made explicit and frighteningly specific threats against Alan's family. Alan wasn't stupid, his family was surrounded by the media all the time. But these threats were not based off of generic information that could be gained from a little tabloid surfing. No, these were personal and very real.
After Scott had come to visit earlier in the semester, a fire seemed to have lit beneath Dr. Smith. A few things happened that week. First, Dr. Smith held Alan after class. He had shown Alan a picture of Scott sitting with his girlfriend. They were so happy and carefree, they had no idea that there was a madman taking their photo. Scott had been wearing the same outfit that he had been wearing on the day he had come to visit Alan. Dr. Smith wasted no time in describing exactly how he would have his associates torture and murder Alan's family should word ever get out regarding what Dr. Smith had been doing to Alan. To emphasize his point he pulled a small pistol out of the drawer of his desk and held it against Alan's neck. He tormented the boy by promising that though the bullet was meant for Alan's family, not for Alan, he could change his plan if he felt like it. And then, though the man had shown no such inclinations before, the professor pinned his student against the wall and molested him, not even because he particularly wanted to, but simply because he knew that he could. And he was right. Alan was powerless to stop him.
Another thing that happened that week were summons from both the school guidance counselor and the school nurse. Alan had known that was going to happen. His dad had called after Scott returned to Tracy Island and apparently reported that Alan looked a bit peaky or something, because his dad had become worried and asked for him to be checked over. Somehow Dr. Smith must have had a twisted sort of sixth sense to have gotten to Alan with the threats on his family just before Alan was called to the nurse and counselor. The appointments passed rather unremarkably. Alan was given an inventory and assessment for depression and anxiety. Then the counselor held a conference between Alan and his dad (via video phone) about the possibility of seeing a therapist on a regular basis. Alan didn't care. Maybe if he had more fight left in him he'd wildly protest the idea, and maybe if he had more hope left in him he'd be relieved. But as things stood, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything. Further, it's not like he could tell his counselor about what was going on without putting his family in serious peril. His dad seemed relieved at how the conversation had gone. He would be taking Alan to see somebody over spring break.
On top of the unspeakable terror that infiltrated his entire being every single time he found himself in physics or even alone in a hallway, he found himself climbing a never ending mountain of schoolwork. He was barely keeping up with his responsibilities. He was determined to pull straight A's in his other classes, he was determined to be the very best at track, he was determined to prove he could shine in his robotics club and in choir. He was wearing himself thin, burning the candle at both ends. He was trying so hard to tread the water in the ocean that was life, but every day he felt the waters threatening to overtake him. And as determined as he was to achieve greatness in every way he could, he had very little desire to do anything at all. It was for his family that he wanted to prove himself. He wanted to live up to their achievements and their expectations of him. But he was so tired.
And he felt like such a burden to his family. Did he love them? Absolutely, they were, in many ways, his world. But he felt like they were constantly pulled down by him or inconvenienced by him. Even their calls and visits, he felt like they made out of a sense of obligation.
His body was left hurting each and every day. It was partially from his unsavory encounters with Dr. Smith, it was partially from track practice and weight training, it was partially from skipping so many meals and having such poor nutrition, and it was in yet another part due to his awful sleep habits. Though he despised the painful bruises and aches that wracked his body, most especially those which his teacher had graced him with, he also had begun to take solace in the pain.
He truly didn't understand, or even fully remember how he began cutting himself, he only knew that now he couldn't stand to live without the pain. He didn't even really know why he did it. Sometimes it was to feel control over his life, sometimes it was because he is SO CLOSE to just wanting to end it all, sometimes it was because the physical pain was all he has the capacity to feel anymore-his emotional pain long since having become to convoluted to understand or to fully feel anymore.
He was drowning, he only knew that he couldn't keep his head above the freezing cold of the dark waters that were constantly trying to consume him. All at the same time he wished that he would just get it over with and let the waters take him, while relentlessly hoping that anybody could still save him, that anybody still WANTED to save him.
Alan remembered just a little too late that he was still in the middle of the library. He couldn't reel himself back in, his thoughts had begun to spin too wildly out of control, everything was too overwhelming. His breath began to hitch, he could feel the panic settling over him and he knew he was about to cry right in the middle of the library. He couldn't shut his mind off it was screaming at him in a fit of frenzy. He became frantic, barely having the presence of mind to toss his belongings into his backpack and rush outside to the woods behind the school. This was his hideaway, and in the darkness of the spring evening, nobody would notice him nestled deep in the cover of the trees.
He grabbed the blade that he had stashed in his bag just for emergencies like this one, he let it carve through his skin over and over. Each time was a release of frustration, of fear, of anger, of crippling sadness, of life. Until he just stopped, the pain had finally caught his attention. He wasn't startled by it, nor was he deterred by it. Instead, the pain beckoned him to make one final cut; a long one. This one he watched in morbid fascination. The tears had all been cried out, and he could feel them raw on his face, his throat scratchy, his eyes bloodshot. He felt everything. He felt the blade swipe across his skin and watched the blood ease out of the wound, slowly at first, beading up at the site- He could just let himself bleed, who would truly care if he died, wouldn't everything be better for everybody? His family would be safe, his father wouldn't have to deal with such a burdensome son, he would never have to face Dr. Smith again, it would all be better. The blood was starting to move beyond beads and drips, it was now flowing faster and faster. But dying now would be giving up. He already felt like a failure, he couldn't stand the thought of his body being found like this, proving to the world that he was the failure they all figured him to be. So he fixated on a new pain, the tight wrapping of the bandages that pinched into his skin. He must be precise, clean it all up. No one must know. But oh God in Heaven, he just wanted to die.