Kendall woke up the next morning alone in the hotel bed, muttering a simply phrase into the air, "It wasn't real; all a sick dream; you aren't gay." Yet Kendall knew this was a lie; he could see the two shiny cum spots on the tip of the sheets. But while he lay in bed alone thinking, he had one feeling. Guilt, because one thought wouldn't leave his mind; a pair of innocent, crazy, chocolate brown eyes against pale skin.
Logan was back in the doctor's office from before, but the situation was different this time. A guard stood by the door with the needle while Logan sat in a wheel-chair, his hands hand-cuffed to the metallic chair as well as his feet. He truly didn't mind the doctor, but it seemed like the other personalities did.
"So good to see you again Mr. Mitchell," said the smiling doctor who was going through his notes thoroughly.
"You too, doctor," Logan said, smiling back before the voice erupted, "What do you want outta this pussy boy, doc. Treatin him like a girl aint helpin no one. Rough em up, slapping across the face ounce." "Shut the Fuck up," he howled at the voice, "I threatened to kill you once, I'm not afraid to try I again." He looked back to the man, "I'm sorry doctor, continue," the brunette said with a kind smile again, seeming to forget his actions, just moments before.
"Logan, I'm not sure how to approach this correctly without setting you off, so allow me to be frank, I believe you may have some type of schizophrenia. I need you to tell me about what goes on in your head so I can diagnose it. If it is what I believe it is, it is curable, but to help rid you of the voice, I need to find out your deepest, darkest secret." The doctor was careful, not looking up but rather, at his notes again.
"What if I don't want to get rid of the voices," Logan shouted, chuckling at something the kinder voice had said to him in secret. This doctor was so dumb.
"Okay, we don't have to get rid of them, but I'd like to help you control them so they listen to you and obey," then Logan's eyes drew wide. That was exactly what he wanted; to rule the thoughts in his head and give them orders, not the other way around like it was at times.
"Alright, I can deal with that," Logan started to scan his brain for things that the doctor didn't know, "You know that I'm gay, but specifically, I'm the passive partner in the relationship."
"How did you come by that knowledge," the doctor said, keeping his buried in his writing.
"You just know what you enjoy and I like to be the one controlled; I don't know specifically when it occurred to me, but I've always kind of known. I've been extremely effeminate my whole life, so it was just a matter of time that that dawned on me." He flashed a grin before continuing in deep thought, "I've never liked my body or who I was; I've always thought I was a scrawny, little good for nothing runt. But, you can jump up all the times you want or stand on the tips of your toes; doesn't mean you're going to get any taller."
"Do you have trust issues?"
"Trust, what trust," Logan commented, thinking the question quite stupid, "my parents pawned me off to a baby-sitter my whole life and my baby-sitter would just leave when she wanted. I learned that no one cared about me by the age of ten. But to be honest Doctor, I believe that is a quite illogical question. Trust does not exist because everyone makes the conscience decision to serve themselves and themselves alone, which forces me to question your motives."
"I'm paid to help you, that's how I take care of myself, by helping you. If I succeed, I get recognition."
The doctor seemed to finally get Logan's point of view and so he began to open up more and more, "I realize that in society, my purpose is to serve, but, what's my purpose if I can't contribute vanity wise. I'm ugly. I don't have any reason to exist besides my advanced knowledge of what life really is, which is that it is a giant illusion. We all live in a dream of who we think we are in our own right. We've stereotyped ourselves into living dolls that can barely make interactions but those of the sexual nature and even that is losing its inner relevance. Soon the end will be near and we will all just disappear, as useless as we were before, but I'll be left alone here to wonder the barren earth and realize that all along, I was alone."
"Maybe that time will give you time to master you concept of what life really is and then you can join the masses. But, I have a question that could solve your puzzle. Did you ever dress or act eccentric to get attention as a child up until now." Logan thought the question was rather misplaced, but he didn't mind answering; he could finally see that the doctor understood him.
"Always doctor, it was my only point of relevance as a child before I realized my true destiny in the world. I adored it. I'd wear costumes or masks or wear out dated things that never matched or hurt. I'd choose a different accent each day and take-up new hobbies. It was all to educate the lower beings around me, so thank god for it. It was essential to the development of the society of this town. Hopefully other places have a chance to actually compete, but I doubt it. It was no easy task."
"You're right Logan," the doctor said, eyes dedicatedly glued to his notepad, "curing you will be no easy task at all, but you've given me the key to your problems. I'm going to take the voices away from you and bring you back to health. You're incoherent babble is truly disturbing, but you can be helped, I have true faith."
Logan snarled at the old man who tricked him into divulging his own inner genius, "Old fool, you've doomed us all and now the world cannot move ahead correctly. When future generations cry for a leader, they will be able to blame you for losing their only source of hope. Don't Crucify the Savior. Don't Crucify the Savior." Logan continued to shout this slogan as the needle hit the sore part of his arm and he slipped into dreaded sleep.
The doctor was slightly impressed, he'd kept the taunting voices quiet for his whole rant, but the rant itself was to disturbing for the doctor to be able to think about it fully.
After coming back from L.A. a week later, he'd made a few important decisions; that sex with that hooker didn't make him gay, just horny and curious. And he wanted to see the crazy boy from camp again, not for the kiss or the breathlessness his face gave him, but for closure. To ensure that he was being properly cared for. He had to find that boy, it was necessity to survival as to not be killed by guilt, and so after a long time of scheming, he'd finally found a way to find the boy. All it would take would be a little god play and ego with his father.
"Dad," Kendall knocked on the empty, office door frame to the church's main office were his dad sat in study, "After what happened at the camp this year, I had a revelation from God."
"What would that be Kendall," his dad said smiling and pointing to the chair across from him.
"I believe God has chosen our family and church to minister to the mentally ill; their being tempted by the devil to a life of sin, we must help bring Christ back into their lives. We could make a difference." Kendall took the seat cautiously, making sure the cross on his neck was placed right where his father could see it perfectly.
"I don't have the time to take on that task son; you know we have so many programs here that need attention. God will have to choose a different parish to carry out this mission because we simply don't have the time or the resources."
"Actually dad," Kendall said slowly, "I was told to do it; he said it's time for me to take up my mantle and post as your son, the Pastor's child. I'll find a group of kids to go with, but I felt it necessary to get consent from you to go in the church's name, plus I'd need a little church money for expenses."
The pastor smiled at his son kindly, "I'm so proud of you Kendall; you're really growing into your position as a man of God. Okay, I'll have Deborah at the front desk to print you some flyers and have a little cash for when you go to the mental houses. Your mom would be so proud if she saw you now." Kendall smiled back to his dad before walking out and grabbing his hand. The reason he went through all that trouble was just to have an excuse to be gone for hours on end; days at a time (And, a little cash to boot wasn't bad, but it was never the main intention.) His father would have never just accepted the 'I'm with friends,' excuse and Kendall realized that, but if he thought it was divine intervention, he'd be doing flips off the wall to say yes. Kendall had been lying to get what he wanted since he was a little kid; this was no different and he knew it. He also knew it was forbidden if anyone found out, even if he wasn't gay.
Kendall had never taken an active interest in the church and for the pastor it was finally Kendall's time to fulfill his destiny as a disciple to the Messiah. And it made him so proud to see his son administering to the truly sick, but at the moment, he had to work on getting church events ready.
It had been a month since that session with the therapist that upset him so much; he didn't like being played with like a toy and the man had done just that. He had used his own logic against him to come to the final outcome and that upset Logan the most. But now, as he thought back on it, he realized that the man was simply trying to help a mental patient that was on the verge of losing himself forever. The service he'd done for Logan would stay in his heart forever because it saved him from himself.
Logan had a personality disorder called Schizotypal. A lot like schizophrenia, it was an illness that affected almost every part of the character, and as he looked back, he was amazed how much it affected his life. He knew that he had an Aunt who killed herself who was possibly mentally ill, but never in a million years had he seen this coming for himself. He just always simply thought himself to be a misfit, weird, not crazy. But anyone with any experience in health of sanity would have seen this from miles away; he displayed most of the classic symptoms. He hated his body and had strange beliefs that didn't always fit together into one. He was aloof to his own treatment at home because he believed it to be necessary. He did his best to be interesting to get attention and it never worked; and sometimes he believed he could see himself from a different view point and see how pathetic his attempts were. This was a case that should have been found and closed years before. But it wasn't, and so that's how Logan Mitchell ended up in a mental institution. And to think, his father was a doctor.
Honestly, he had been doing better, especially because the medicine he had to take kept him on balance again and it gave him a clarity that he had never truly realized before. The medicine helped him to fight the voices and some of the thoughts, but what the medicine couldn't do, the doctor always seemed to be able too. The voices were gone now and he knew they were still there, somewhere in his head, but they no longer spoke, just existed with him. The doctor had told him that they would never truly go away, but with medicine, therapy, and social training, they would be mute for the rest of his life. That one day, he could go back into normal society and live like everyone else, just a little more caring and a little more cautious.
He had advanced so fast that he was able to move him into a small group home in a strange little block on the outskirts of the town. About ten houses stood behind a large gated community that was just a little into the edge of the woods that lied beyond them. It was a neighborhood tailored for mental patients who were almost finished with recovery, but still weren't ready to assimilate into regular society and Logan was situated in the house for Schizophrenic/Schizoid/Schizotypal patients who were coming together to learn to cope and live with other people together. A bunch of anti-social people in a big house, forced to lean on each other to survive and leave. It didn't seem like Logan's dream idea, but he'd do anything to be able to be back in society and live his dreams. He just wanted to be a doctor, nothing more, and now he wanted to be doctor who helped the mentally ill. This was a cause that needed more attention than it was getting and Logan planned to do his best to save every person who had an unstable sanity, even if it killed him. But lately, other thoughts had started to pervade his mind. Like dirty blonde hair, or a muscular set of arms, or eyebrows that stuck out clearly to make someone distinguishable. And the thing that stuck to him the most was a pair of emerald green eyes staring into his own.
Author's Note: So writing Logan's little rant was so hard for me and then as soon as I finished it and was working on revision, it totally freaked me out. Tell me what you think in the reviews; freaky or nonsense. Anyway, I was reading the reviews (I've been really depressed lately, so when you guys comment it makes me feel so much better) and I feel like I have to address a few aspects of the story. For starters, if the underlining is super distracting, sorry, but the narrative is a mix of 1st and 3rd person and so, it's easier for me to separate the thoughts like that (wait for chapter five, it's jumpier than a straight guy at a gay club). And another one asked about positions in the, um, relationship intimately. Kendall's the top (I thought I wrote him that way in the sex scene, but the scene is a little ambiguous) and Logan's the bottom *spoiler*, but after the encounter with the prostitute, no more sexy. I feel like Logan's too vulnerable for that right now. And sadly, this will be my last day of daily posting, but good news is, I'll try at least every other day (slowing down big time huh) so I'll probably have chapter 4 up Tuesday. This story isn't as long as LiM and I want it to last, so, sorry. Also, the big moments were they meet up again is coming soon. Luv Ya. XoXo