Animus Anonymous
A/N: So everything I have of this story will be uploaded today, because I need it off my computer for personal reasons. It's not beta'd and really rough, so just keep that in mind as you read.
Chapter Two
Shaun had been lightly dozing in his chair, his mouth wide enough open for a fly to buzz around comfortably. However, the buzz most likely would have woken him up, made him close his mouth, and then swallow the fly, which would lead to extreme trouble for someone as anal as Shaun. Tetanus shots, creams, gels, sprays; if it cleansed, Shaun would be all over it.
Fortunately, a fly didn't meet its untimely demise in Shaun's mouth. He merely woke up because sleeping in his office was something that just didn't go over well with him. He liked to keep his public life and private life extremely separated. For someone as analytical as Shaun, turning off was no small feat, but he managed to forget about all the horror stories he encountered, all the tears, all the cracked wills. When he went through his apartment doors, he shed those experiences like a golden retriever sheds all over the living room carpet: One of the many reasons Shaun would never get a dog.
However, time at home and time at the office was becoming increasingly unbalanced at a rapidly growing rate. It seemed like an influx of new patients had been arriving lately, and paperwork on his Leaning Tower of Pisa was extremely close to toppling; Shaun couldn't even have the fan on anymore.
He knew that he could just clean the damn office, but that required time, which, at present, he did not possess. And, if he ever did get a few minutes to himself, he spent the majority of that time trying to clear his head for the next problem or task that would inevitably pop up once he thought he was home free. Tylenol, Advil, and coffee were fast becoming his closest friends, keeping him awake and functioning when nothing else would. They were reliable, too.
Well, what are you doing right now? Shaun asked himself, looking blearily around the darkened office.
Making sure Desmond doesn't die while he sleeps on my couch. That would be even more paperwork, and I don't think my paper tower can handle another sheet, let alone all the notes for a "stroked out on the therapist's couch" death.
Shaun rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. He could still keep an eye on Desmond while tidying up.
Shaun walked over to his desk, ready to turn the lamp on its lowest setting, when he heard a groan from the couch. He glanced over to see Desmond rubbing his eyes, looking as groggy as a bear after hibernation.
Aw well, Shaun thought, I'll do it some other time.
Desmond was blinking rapidly now, trying to figure out his surroundings.
"What time is it?" he mumbled, the words coming out like mush.
"Around two AM," Shaun informed him, returning to his chair, which was at the end of the couch where Desmond's head lay. "How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted." Desmond responded, and struggled to sit up.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" Shaun exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down, so as not to grate Desmond in his just-waking up stage.
"Sitting up?" Desmond said in confusion. But then Shaun noticed Desmond's arms start to quiver, and he put both his hands on Desmond's shoulders, gently guiding him back down onto the couch.
"You're weak." Shaun explained, trying not to sound too condescending. "You shouldn't sit up."
Even in the gloom, Shaun could see that Desmond didn't like being ordered around. For a moment, he thought Desmond would protest, but then, with a sigh, he settled into the couch. But didn't sleep. He kept his dark eyes open, and he stared at Shaun for a good few minutes before saying anything.
"Do you do this often?" He asked, and it was obvious as to what he meant. Did Shaun often let patients stay overnight?
Shaun scratched the back of his neck, not wanting to make Desmond feel awkward or ashamed about anything.
"Not really," He admitted.
"So why are you doing it then?" Desmond had very intense eyes, and Shaun couldn't even imagine how much more probing they could be when they weren't half shaded with exhaustion and shadows.
Shaun didn't even have to think to answer that question. By now, the answer was so natural, it came to his lips almost before Desmond's question registered with him.
"Because it's what I do." Shaun shrugged. He didn't mean to sound like some modest hero. It was what he truly felt. His job was to help people like Desmond, and he would do it to the best of his abilities, because Shaun Hastings never did things half way.
Desmond was quiet for a moment before he changed the subject.
"How bad am I?" Shaun could hear the worry in Desmond's voice, could hear the fear and apprehension.
Shaun chose his next words carefully. He'd heard this question before.
"We haven't really spoken about that yet, and I don't have much of a back story, so I can't say anything for sure. But, if you have to know… It's most likely pretty bad." Shaun had heard ignorant people question why addicts would ever ask a question like, "How bad am I?" When they could just look at themselves and see. Shaun hated when people asked that. Sometimes, you just needed to hear it from someone else, from a third, unbiased party. Sometimes it took that confirmation to really get people on the road to recovery. They needed to know that they couldn't hide it from the world. Even someone who wasn't a professionally trained to see the signs like Shaun, would notice something different about Desmond when they passed him in the street. They would see the longing in his eyes, the emptiness in his face. The skeletons in his closet weren't passive; they were constantly scratching their fingers against the door, pounding their fists against the wall, clacking their decaying teeth together, all begging for Desmond to go back to where he was safe, where he could be happy- no matter how empty that happiness had become.
Desmond closed his eyes briefly, putting the heels of his hands to his eyes. Thinking you were insane was much different than having it -almost- confirmed by someone else.
"Life is shit," he mumbled, almost inaudible.
Shaun grimaced. Not the positive opening line he had hoped for, but the negative line he had been expecting. Usually, if he had a patient that opened up with a positive line, they weren't going to be long term. Shaun couldn't help but think that Desmond would be anything but short term.
"Why do you think so?" Shaun asked, keeping his voice perfectly balanced. Enough sympathy, but not too much to make Desmond think he couldn't confide in him. It was a tone Shaun had perfected over the years- he certainly hadn't been good at it at first. Being gentle hadn't -and still wasn't- exactly his forte.
"We live, we die. We eat, we shit. We fall in love, we fall out of love. How is it not shit?" Desmond gave a bitter but tired laugh. There was no humour in it. "Everything falls apart in the end, no matter what those love-struck idiots say about being together forever. It's all just a big god damn waiting room, and when it's your turn, there isn't a freakin' reassuring doctor waiting for you to take your blood pressure. Nope. There's no doctor when it's your turn. When it's time to go, you gotta go. All that shit you never did. All those people you never hugged. All those opportunities you never took. It's all gone. Gone into some timeless void, some black hole where should-haves and could-haves are around every corner. Where forgotten memories and unrequited loves go." Desmond took a deep, shuddering breath.
"And let me tell you," He advised, turning the intensity in his eyes up a notch, though they were still clouded with exhaustion. "That place has about five times the population of Hell; a thousand times the population of Heaven."
Shaun never let his calm façade slip, but Desmond's speech had unnerved him immensely. They were nothing but demented ramblings, for sure- Desmond had only been half conscious when speaking. He was asleep again, his arms his pillow.
But it took time to work up such a cynical view of the world. Desmond hadn't lived long enough to be so jaded, so full of hopelessness. He was a kid in his twenties, for God's sake. He was supposed to be partying and hooking up with girls at his age; not be so defeated, not be so haggard.
Though Shaun couldn't quite blame the kid, considering that he agreed with every single word Desmond had spoken.