Back for another. I like this one significantly more and I hope you do too.
I wanted to point out last time that I am not a therapist (duh!) so take anything stated here with a grain of salt, please.
As always thank you to Idcam, Morrowsong, and BanannaSammich for the reviews. Thanks for your continued support and most of all your patience.
Wringing out his long mane, Kevin stepped out of the shower. He had just finished his last rehab and workout session for the day. He took a quick shower and he was about to grab dinner soon.
He wasn't the greatest cook even at the best of times, so he would probably be eating out. Again. There was a diner about a block away that was decent enough. It wasn't like he was eating McDonald's every day. And it was quiet – at the time he usually frequented it anyway. No annoying chatter or too many fans approaching him for an autograph. Or worse, making a fucking joke out of his injury.
Kevin had had dozens of injuries prior to this one, but this seemed to be the hardest to work through. Not only physically, but mentally.
Kevin released a heavy sigh. He wouldn't say he was depressed, but he had his good days and his bad days. Today was a not-so-good day. Now he almost understood the mental state that Scott would go through day in and day out. Of course, nothing he had going on was to the extent of Scott's issues but they felt damn near close.
He knew his biggest hang-up was the nearly constant worry he felt over Heather's well-being. Not being able to contact her and not hearing any news about her current condition was driving him to the brink of insanity.
It was now early September, which meant that he was about two months out from his injury. Which meant he hadn't seen his Little One in nearly two months. He didn't need to tell anyone that he missed her something fierce. They heard about it basically every time they called - Shawn did anyway.
Speaking of Shawn, Kevin assumed he would probably be calling at any time now. He usually made a habit of calling around the same time every week, which Kevin was surprised about. Truth be told, Shawn wasn't the best at sticking to any sort of routine unless it benefited him personally.
Kevin quickly dressed and pulled his damp hair back into a ponytail. As if on cue the phone began to ring. It was on the stand in the living room. Kevin slowly made his way there stopping at the fridge first to snag a beer.
Kevin finally reached the phone after fifteen rings. Shawn knew he was only getting around at a snail's pace (that's to say, even slower than normal) so he would wait for it the answering machine to kick in, or sometimes Kevin would reach it in time.
"Sammy's Morgue. You stab 'em. We slab 'em," Kevin answered trying to sound upbeat as he settled himself onto the couch.
"I'm sure there are a few guys who want to stab me right now," Shawn's deep voice drawled in an almost bravadoes manner.
"Who would that be?"
"Everyone."
Kevin rolled his eyes although the other man couldn't see him. "That's a lot more than a few. I think you need to go back to 1st grade," Kevin ribbed his friend as he cracked open his beer.
"My counting skills are just fine. Thanks, dick. I was rounding," Shawn replied feigning offense.
Kevin chuckled at that. "Anytime, buddy. So what's up?"
"Oh, you know. The usual shit. Vinnie Mac and his hair-brained ideas," Shawn replied nonchalantly.
"Tell me about it," Kevin sympathized.
"How's the old quad doing?" Shawn asked that the same way every week as if it were some sort of running joke.
"It's doing. I can finally fucking stand, so there is that," Kevin remarked, "God, that first month was fucking hell. Rehab today was so-so."
"That bad, eh?"
"No, I just... I don't know. I was just fucking out of it today." Kevin knew why he was out of it of course. It was because he knew Shawn would be calling today and he had another opportunity to ask about Heather.
"Don't worry. Paul said he had those days. We all do when we're rehabbing really. You don't see the progress you're hoping to that week or it just feels extra hard for some reason and you wonder if it's all worth it. I get it man."
Kevin thought on Shawn's words. He knew there were people who thought he should just retire. Fuck them. He wasn't ready to retire. Besides he felt as if he had no choice, as though returning to the ring was somehow contingent upon his reuniting with Heather.
Of course, he didn't see how that could be. She was no longer under contract with WWE and Mark had been placed on Smackdown. He felt as though his chances of reaching her were slim to none. A situation which truth be told, made him thoroughly depressed and angry.
He had even taken the long shot of asking Scott whether he still had some way to get in contact with Reves. However, it was to no avail. After a month of failed attempts to reach her, Scott had finally deleted and thrown away her number.
The two men went on shooting the shit like that for a while longer, talking about a plethora of different topics. More on Kevin's rehabilitation, what was going on backstage at WWE and plans for upcoming storylines, and a little bit of football now that the playoffs were coming around.
Yet, they both knew this time was coming before too long and it was like they were both trying to avoid it for their own individual reasons. Shawn wouldn't bring it up, of course. But he knew Kevin would always ask. That left Shawn questioning why he would even bother to call.
Heather.
"My answer is the same, man. I haven't heard anything. I'm not the most popular guy even now, remember?" Shawn told him.
Kevin tried, "But Glenn-"
"Glenn's staying out of it," Shawn cut him off with a barely hidden air of annoyance.
Kevin released an audible growl. He could feel his rage about to boil over. "Ask Amy. Ask the Hardys. Somebody knows something, goddamn it!" the irate behemoth roared at his friend over the phone.
"Woah, woah, woah! You seriously need to take a chill pill, Big Daddy. Are you hearing yourself right now?" Shawn's response conveyed his surprise at the other man's sudden outburst.
Kevin gave another puff of agitation but attempted to curb his indignation. He just wanted a simple fucking answer to a simple fucking question and he couldn't get it. "I can't fucking chill, Shawn! So Mark kicked my ass? What the fuck ever. But you saw the way he manhandled her for absolutely no fucking reason. She didn't deserve any of that bullshit!"
"You're right, man. She didn't deserve all that crap, but what are you going to do? It's beyond your control. I know you know that," Shawn tried to reason with him.
" Look, I-" Kevin was about to spit an angry retort, but he suddenly felt his wrath dissipate with Shawn's words.
"I just…" Kevin's tone was uncharacteristically withered and disconsolate, "I need to make sure she's okay."
Shawn's heart went out to his friend at that moment. He had never heard the other man sound so dejected and utterly broken. Kevin was the one who was always pulling everyone else's heads out of their asses. He was all about pulling up your bootstraps and getting shit done. Not wallowing in self-pity and despair.
Shawn let out a long-winded exhalation. "Look, Big Kev..." he paused trying to choose his words carefully but there was really no other way to say it. Kevin didn't mince words, so there was no better approach than the blunt truth. "I hate to say it like this, man, but you gotta let this go. There is nothing more you can do. All you're doing is driving yourself out of your mind. And you know as well as I do that you're not helping her at all."
Stunned by his friend's words Kevin opened his mouth to protest but Shawn continued. "She's a sweet kid. She really is, but I don't think this is good for either of you. I know I'm usually not the one with the most sage advice," Shawn let out a brief chuckle hoping to lighten the mood, "but I do know a thing or two about relationships I have no business being in-"
"She's nothing fucking like Tammy!" Kevin bellowed in reference to Shawn's not-so-secret former flame. He was pissed all over again that Shawn would even think to compare his Little One to that skank.
"I know. I know. I wasn't saying that," Shawn said attempting to soothe the giant's ire.
"I just...if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't think this is good for either of you. She is young after all. I don't think I even would have knowingly played around with something like that back in the day. And that's saying something!"
What was it saying? The born-again Christian was telling him what a reprobate he was for feelings he couldn't control. Feelings he couldn't tamp down no matter how hard he had tried. He didn't need anyone to tell him what he shouldn't be doing. That was something he was all too aware of. He needed a way to ensure that his Little One was doing okay and going to be alright.
After a moment, the guilt settled into the pit of Kevin's stomach for his spiteful thoughts about his dear friend. He knew Shawn wasn't trying to be preachy or hypocritical with his words or use his religion to rebuke him. Shawn was simply worried about him and his current state of mind. Well, he would be doing a hell of a lot better if he could get some news on his girl, he knew that.
Thinking over Shawn's speech, he felt as though they had entered another episode of the Twilight Zone, with Shawn once again trying to be the voice of reason. Kevin hoped he wasn't getting used to it, because even these days, Shawn had about as much reason as a Dr. Seuss book.
Kevin shook his head. He knew none of this was Shawn's fault. Or Scott's. Or even Kid's. He couldn't help falling for the girl the way he did. This was all his own doing. He knew that. Now he was looking for a way to repair the situation in the least damaging way possible.
Kevin had been silent for several minutes and it was only when he exhaled sharply that Shawn even knew he was still there. Breaking through the silence, Shawn started again, "Okay, man. I am definitely not comparing her to Tammy here, but after a while, even I had to come to the realization that things just weren't going to work and that I needed to move on."
"With all due respect, brother, you know I love you. But that was you and Tammy. That ain't got shit to do with me. Or her," Kevin said in a placid tone. "Lest you forget, I practically handed your wife off to you," Kevin reminded him.
"Yeah, I know. Which is why I know you know better than this," Shawn rejoined. "I'm looking out for you, as well as her. I've learned a lot over the past couple of years and you are one of the few guys who has stuck with me despite all my bullshit. I'm trying to return the favor, but I suppose we will have to agree to disagree for right now."
"I guess. Because I'm not going to relent," Kevin stated bluntly. "She needs someone in her corner. It's the same that I would do for any of you guys. You know that."
Shawn wondered what happened to just making sure she was alright. Shawn lamented and shook his head. He hoped the other man would come to his senses sooner rather than later. That was one thing about the Kliq, they were a group of dudes with massive egos. And when one of them got a certain way of thinking in their head, anyone, even one of their own would be hard-pressed to get them to change their mind. Shawn prayed that Kevin would come to this realization on his own. He had to take into consideration that if Shawn of all people was saying it was a bad idea, well it must be, right?
The men said their goodbyes and Kevin dropped the phone on the couch beside him. He slumped back and dragged his hands over his face. As if he didn't know that this was wrong. As if he didn't know that he shouldn't have feelings for her that were beyond the pale. But he had made her a promise that night and not even an hour later, he had broken it. It was to no fault of his own really, but broken nonetheless. He was determined to remedy that come hell or high water.
He just knew getting better meant getting back to her. So that is where he needed to put his focus for now. If he didn't he would never be able to make things right again.
Mark's eyes scanned the office while avoiding the five pairs that belonged to his wife and four children. He let out an impatient groan. Where the hell was that shrink so they could get this shit over with? Hopefully, Sara would see what a waste of time this was and they wouldn't have to come back.
Mark stole a glance at his sons and they seem to be wearing the same impatient expression. He didn't blame them, but Sara insisted on forcing every member of the family into this circus.
Talking about your feelings and all that, crying your eyes out inside some dimly lit office on a big plush couch. That was a woman's game. Dudes didn't need someone else to tell them how they should feel.
"Dad, do we really have to be here?" Marcus complained.
"Yeah, this is a waste of time," Steven concurred.
Sara narrowed her eyes at them before Mark could speak. "Are you not a part of this family?"
"But Heather's the crazy one," Steven continued to argue.
"I am not!" Heather shot back surprising everyone in the room including herself, "And if I am, it is the result of bullies like you and the company you keep from school."
"Yeah, you are," Marcus sided with his twin. "And Reves is psycho too."
Reves began to react, "Fu-"
"Shut up! All of ya," Mark roared over them.
It was then that there was a quick knock on the door and it cautiously swung open. A man stepped in wearing an expression that seemed to be only semi-perturbed at having overheard the family arguing before the first session even began.
"Hello, Calaway family," he greeted them with a smile that may have bordered on apprehension had he not seen much worse from other families already. Still, he was certain he had his work cut out for him. (Or rather, they had their work cut out for them.) "I'm Dr. Linder, but you can just call me Sam if you like," he said as he took a seat in the lone chair across from the family.
Heather felt the heat rising up in her cheeks. It was obvious that he had heard her family arguing like a bunch of uncouth barbarians and she was mortified by the thought.
She took him in for a moment before swiftly averting her eyes. He had light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Like the doctor she had seen when she had first awoken from her coma, he was handsome - but not as handsome as Kevin. She didn't know if any male could ever be in her eyes.
In the next instant, she was scolding herself for her shallow thoughts however objective they may be.
"So, what brings you all to counseling?" Dr. Linder, or rather Sam asked.
Mark released an audible grumble at the question and openly rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ. Here we go."
The other man's eyes fixed on Mark. "Or, hold the question for a minute, and let's clear the air really quick," he said as his eyes flickered to the twin boys and back. "I know there are a lot of preconceived notions about counseling and therapy, especially by men. Thinking it's all a woman's thing to just cry and victimize themselves. Especially in the case of marriage counseling." He paused to glance at Sara a moment then turned his attention back to Mark. "Men often assume their wives drag them to counseling just to hear how awful the husbands are and that they should treat their wives better."
Mark narrowed his eyes at the other man as though he were being accused of something.
"Well, that's not the case here," the other man assured him. "The goal of counseling – whether in an individual or family setting – is to provide everyone the tools they need to resolve conflict and communicate effectively in a healthier manner. I can't wave a magic wand and fix things - contrary to popular misconception. I'm here as a mediator to help guide you all, really. You'll get out of these sessions exactly what you put into them. That being said," Sam looked down at his clipboard, "Mark, I'd like to help out you and your family. But in order to do that you have to be willing to do the work and meet me halfway. And more importantly, meet your family halfway."
"Well, that was a disaster," Heather said to Reves in her tiny voice as they walked towards the family truck.
"Disaster is an understatement. Try literal shitshow," Reves replied.
Heather wished the session had gone better, but in her heart of hearts, she knew they had done irrevocable damage to each other. It didn't matter that their father was trying to be better. Speaking to them in a softer tone only after receiving a warning glare from their mother. That is if they were present for him to speak to at all. Usually, they avoided him like the plague.
Heather loathed the few times he was tasked with bringing her to her individual sessions. On the drive there, he would speak awkwardly to her about moments from her childhood. Things that he either misremembered or was trying to paint in a much more jovial light. The memories didn't evoke any sort of nostalgia or warmth as he probably felt they should have. Instead, they only served to increase her disdain for the man he had become. Heather had thought about telling him so, but as she didn't have the strength to address him, she hoped her silence would speak for itself.
"May I ask what your first name is? If it's not too forward of me that is," Heather swiftly supplemented her initial query.
The other woman paused and looked up from the notepad that she was scrolling a few notes on before their session began.
"It's Rachel," Dr. Delinsky replied. She was a little taken back by the girl's inquiry, not because she thought it too forward or rude, but because it was the first time in all their weeks together that Heather had shown any type of initiative to begin the conversation.
"I only enquire this because Dr. Linder granted permission to address him by his first name, Sam. Is that not a tad," Heather paused searching for the correct term. Finding no other suitable one, she continued, "Unprofessional?"
Heather gingerly pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. A soft pink suffused the girl's cheeks and she glanced at the woman sheepishly.
Dr. Delinsky gave her an almost smile. "Just like every client has different needs, every therapist has a little bit different style to accommodate those needs. Sam is very good at what he does and he wants to build a level of trust and rapport with his patients. Myself personally, I tend to be a little bit more on the professional side until we have established a better relationship. Does that make sense? Is that alright?"
"I see. Yes, that is perfectly fine," Heather nodded her understanding.
"Great. With that being said, is there anything you would like to discuss today?"
It took a little bit more probing on Dr. Delinsky's part but they discussed her parents a little more, along with her siblings, and touched briefly on her troubles at school and her first suicide attempt.
"So that's what you would say was the main catalyst for your second attempt? Fear of letting your loved ones down?" Dr. Delinsky asked her sometime into their conversation.
"Yes," Heather replied.
"Anyone in particular you were most concerned about harming?"
"Simply my family. And Jeremiah," Heather uttered, feeling uncertain whether that was the response she was aiming for.
It wasn't.
"Firstly, Heather, I would never wish to force you to speak on a subject that you are uncomfortable with," a pained expression momentarily overtook Dr. Delinsky's appearance as she spoke. "Still that being said, I think there is an aspect here we are not addressing and I feel it may be a major factor in the healing process for you. This isn't something that is going to be fixed overnight and like I said, you don't have to talk right now. But I think it will be good to know that it is out there so you can face it when you are ready."
Heather blanched and swallowed hard, refusing to meet the therapist's gaze. She wasn't particularly keen on the direction that the other woman seemed to be taking the discussion, but she couldn't determine why exactly. "I am not certain that I know of what it is you speak," Heather's response was meek as she endeavored to appear blasé. In truth, she exhibited little more than a half-hearted performance of concealing her dread.
Dr. Delinsky seemed to be weighing her words, until she finally spoke in a calculating manner, "I'm speaking of your alleged involvement with this older man. Is that something you're up to discussing at this time?"
Heather felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. The world slowly fell out from underneath her while her already pallid complexion became even more ashen. Her lungs felt too constricted to even draw a breath. "H-how did you-" Heather had started to speak before she could contemplate her words, "There is n-no…y-you must be mistaken," her voice quavered as she made a poor attempt to convince the woman of her fallacy.
"Your parents put it in your paperwork," the therapist told her plainly.
Exhaling sharply Heather's expression twisted with indignation as she felt the fury rising inside her. Her parents were in no way justified in imparting that intelligence to her therapist. Nor was Dr. Delinsky justified to wield it against her. Heather felt the sting of betrayal as any confidence that she had built with the woman over the past few weeks had vanished in an instant.
"No, I'm not going to talk about it! I already know the dreadful things you are going to say."
"It's alright. You don't have to talk about it," the older woman tried to assure her, "Just know that whatever he did, it's not your fau-"
"You don't – they had no right!" Heather practically shrieked as her tiny body vibrated with rage. She was so incensed, that tears flooded her eyes, the only means of releasing the bitterness from her body.
The girl in front of the therapist was openly crying now, her tiny frame trembling with sobs. Her heart went out to the girl. Remaining professional, Dr. Delinsky tried to walk her through calming down. "What are you feeling right now, Heather?" she asked in a placid tone, also trying to understand the girl's headspace.
Feeling, feeling, feeling. If someone had asked her that a long time ago she wouldn't be here. At least one person did and they ripped him away. It took close to a minute for Heather to be able to regulate herself enough to speak. She was still crying so hard her words came out between gasps for air. "I'm. P-pissed. Off."
"Who is it that you are angry at?"
"Everyone," the word came out with a growl as Heather clenched her tiny fists in her lap.
"It's all right that you're angry. Everything you are feeling right now is perfectly normal considering what you've been through. I'm so sorry that had happened to yo-"
"No," eyes flashing, Heather interrupted her in a rigid tone.
"No?" Dr. Delinsky repeated.
"Do not sit in front of me and paint him as some sort of degenerate deviant when you don't even know him in the slightest," Heather's words were like venom.
The therapist was perplexed as was evident by her expression. Was she defending this man? She shouldn't be surprised by any of this. It was common for victims to form a sort of attachment to their abuser and even defend them at times. She supposed what caught her off guard was Heather's outburst, but even that was a natural reaction to trauma.
"I may not have met him, but I assure you, I know men like him quite well."
The woman's response caused Heather's stomach to spiral into tight knots.
"Not all of the time," Heather countered, sending a glower in the woman's direction.
"Almost every time, dear."
Heather felt incensed. She didn't care for the doctor's patronizing tone. Not to mention the use of a term of endearment such as that was wholly unprofessional.
"Look, Heather," Dr. Delinsky started and then expelled a sigh, as though it were a burden to have to explain this to her. "Men like that will say a lot of nice and pretty things to get what they want from you," she said bluntly. "I'm sure he told you all sorts of things like how beautiful and intelligent and mature you are-"
"No, I don't recall him ever accusing me of being mature," Heather cut her off in a flat tone as if that were to bring an end to the entire discussion. Heather knew she had, as the phrase goes - stuck her foot in her mouth, but for some cause unbeknownst to her, could no longer restrain herself. It was an ignorant and puerile statement, she knew. But she simply wanted the woman to stop speaking at that moment.
"So are you saying he liked you because of your immaturity?" Dr. Delinsky gave her a challenging look, as though she were a nun, catching her young student in an act of sin rather than a therapist.
Checkmate.
"No! It is that…th-that…" Heather's adamancy faltered at that moment. Her stomach tangled into an even greater mass as dark tendrils of doubt began to coil around her thoughts.
Eyes darting around the immaculate office, Heather felt overly anxious as though she were a captive animal being cornered and prodded at. Feeling as though she were going to run out of her own skin, the girl bolted from the sofa and sprinted towards the door.
Mark looked up from the motorcycle magazine he was browsing to see Heather rushing from the therapist's office towards the exit. "What the hell, girl!? What's going on?" Mark asked as she was making her flighty escape.
Dr. Delinsky was standing in the doorway to her office looking quite perturbed.
"Doc, what the hell was that about?" Mark pressed the woman for an answer.
"I'm sorry. It's my fault, I'm afraid. I prematurely brought up a subject that is still an obvious sore spot for her," she told him in a despondent manner. "We can try again next week. The session was almost through anyway," the therapist forced a smile at him.
Mark didn't ask what that subject was that had her so riled. He had it on good authority that he already knew. Still, what could the woman have said to make her react in that manner?
When Mark got out to the parking lot, Heather was waiting near the truck, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He said nothing to her as he unlocked the truck, but dealt her an expression that was hard as steel, warning her that whatever her issue was she better find a way to fix herself rather swiftly.
Had this been a year prior, Heather would have imploded at his silent threat and been fervently contrite for her ill and unbecoming behavior. As it were, she merely returned his glower; her countenance painted with an air of defiance. Heather climbed into the truck and sat glaring down at her lap, arms folded across her chest.
Mark got in and turned on the ignition. He watched her for a moment before pulling out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road Mark addressed her, "You shouldn't have run out on the lady like that. What had you so rile that you had to fly out of that office like a bat outta Hell anyway?" His voice was fairly calm. He was trying to approach this in an affable manner.
Heather said nothing. She didn't even glance in his direction to acknowledge him.
After a minute he asked her, "So, you're not going to talk?" There was a slight edge to his voice but he was trying to keep his cool. "You certainly had enough to say to that wackadoodle last week."
"I think he was a very lovely man," Heather commented, assuming that would piss him off; wanting him to feel as affronted as she did. And she knew she was correct when she heard her father growl low in his throat, like an irritated bear.
"Are you shittin'-" Mark started in his usual roaring voice, but cut himself off. "Fine then," he groused, giving up on the conversation before he truly lost his temper.
"Yes, fine. Very well," Heather returned. "I do not wish to conversate with someone who is going to reveal all of my personal affairs without my consent," Heather added, noticing that her father grimaced at the word affairs for some reason. That is not the context that she was using but if it made him feel some measure of remorse for any of his heinous actions, so be it. "I wished to be left in peace by all of you. Yet, it is apparent you are hellbent on torturing me," the girl was practically screaming at the older man, and by the way he was white-knuckling the steering wheel, she was half stunned that he didn't reach across the cab and strike her in the face the same way he had her sister that fateful night.
Mark didn't know how to respond. He opened his mouth but felt that if he said anything, anything at all he was going to fly into a tirade and tear her a new one. She was furious. That's what that damn shrink said and that she should be allowed to express her anger like anybody else. Hell no, Mark didn't think she should be allowed to express her anger by yelling and disrespecting him. Yet if he were honest, his own methods thus far hadn't done shit, leaving him at a loss. So, one of the few times in his life, he snapped his mouth shut, opting for silence.
Nothing more was said for the rest of the drive home.
Once they arrived home, Heather bound out of the truck, into the house, and bolted straight for her room before her meddlesome mother could ask how everything went. Heather flung herself onto her bed. Diving face-first into the mound of plush toys and pillows, another deluge of tears released themselves like a tidal wave.
As violent sobs wracked her petite body, Heather pressed her face deeper into the pillow. She knew she was behaving like a petulant child, throwing a colossal tantrum, but she didn't care at that moment. In her mind, she had been betrayed all over again. She was livid at the therapist for bringing up something that she had yet to even allude to. More so she was fuming at her parents for informing the woman about what she deemed her own private matter.
Had they not inflicted enough torment and damage towards her? Heather had struggled day in and day out for the past couple of months to hold herself together during her waking hours. She wanted everyone to believe she was reasonably managing even when she didn't believe it herself. She would walk about in a stupor of feigned joy and when they asked her how she was, she would insist that she was just fine. It was what they wished to hear after all. However, when night fell, she would retire to her room and she could finally allow the levee to burst as she maintained a nightly ritual of crying herself to sleep.
Of course, this would be the moment that Reves would rear her head as she popped into Heather's room.
"So," she started to say but paused. "What's got you blubbering now?" Reves questioned in an impatient tone.
"Get out!" Heather snarled as she flung a pillow at the older girl.
Reves caught it before it crashed onto Heather's dresser and knocked over her bric-a-brac of little trinkets. "Um, excuse me," Reves started in an unusually calm if not edgy manner, "what the hell?"
"They told that dullard of a therapist. They told her everything. With no regard for me whatsoever!" Heather spewed bitterly, ignoring the fact that she had just commanded her sister to leave a moment ago.
"Wait. What?" Reves sat down on the bed whether her sister liked it or not. "Told who, what?" she asked in utter confusion.
"Mom and Dad told Dr. Delinsky about Kevin. Well, not in name, I don't think," Heather started to explain through her tears.
Reves suppressed an eye roll. Truth be told, she was so sick of hearing about Kevin fucking Nash. If she never heard that name again it would be all too soon.
"Regardless, they had no right to do so. I am certain that she has horrific assumptions about him that are just not true!" the younger girl cried.
"Don't worry, I'm sure Nash's day-to-day life hinges on what some random therapist in Texas thinks of him. Especially if he is just some no-name son of a bitch to her." That was probably the nicest thing Reves could say at that moment because she felt her irritation bubbling over.
However, Heather didn't see it that way. "You shouldn't talk like that about him when he isn't even here to defend himself," Heather returned in her heated, impish voice.
"Oh my God. You act like he's dead. Give it a rest."
The retort left Reves's mouth before she could stop herself and her sister stared at her as though she had been slapped. Reves felt the remorse wash over her instantly. That was probably not the thing to say to her recovering sister, but damn if she wasn't so irritating with her constant whining over Nash.
The blonde's visage softened along with her voice. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. What I meant was, if Nash really cares the way he says he does –" Reves saw the fires blazing in the younger girl's eyes although she hadn't even finished her statement. "Damn, calm down, will you? What I meant was, do you think he would want you moping around all day, and crying over him like some lovesick puppy?"
"I do not mope about all day," Heather protested. She knew that statement was false, but she wanted to argue Reves's words for some undefined justification.
"Yes, you do," Reves countered. "And it sucks to see you like this. There's not much to be done right now, so you being all depressed like this is pretty pointless."
Pointless. Her emotions were pointless. Alright, Heather understood that. The bewildering aspect was when she went to therapy and they told her that her feelings were valid and that there was a purpose for this emotional turmoil she was enduring.
Then she would come home and she was pointless. Pointless because somehow she was too dramatic, too emotional, too shy, too sensitive, too smart, too uptight, too prudish. Too anything and everything except what was deemed acceptable to others. And even that changed amongst each individual.
That was her whole strife. There was one person who made her feel like she was enough. She didn't feel as though she had to put on some charade, even if in reality it was a farce. But they took him away. And they sneered while they wounded her, proclaiming him to be the monster.
Heather bolted up into a sitting position. "Would you mind just leaving me be?" Heather snapped.
"Would you mind not acting like a whiny cunt?" Reves probed. "Besides, what did I do?"
"If you truly cannot comprehend –" Folding her arms over her chest, Heather threw herself back on the bed and turned her frame to face away from her sister, "Oh, never mind!"
"Oh, come on. Now you really are acting like a brat," Reves tried to coax the girl out of her sour mood, ignoring the fact that she was indeed partially responsible.
"Wonderful! Now I thank you for leaving me to my infantile solitude," the younger girl retorted without glancing back at her sister.
Reves hmphed. "Fine. Whatever brat. Geez. Everything is the end of the world for you. Are you ever going to stop catastrophizing?" Reves asked as she stood up from the bed and walked out.
Heather released a snort. Had she not been so irate, she might have congratulated her sister on the use of such a word. As it were she didn't wish to interact with any other human being.
Heather yanked off her Converse and tossed them to the floor. She was mildly agitated with herself for wearing them on the duvet. She said a silent apology to her plushies as she scooted them onto the floor in a heap and burrowed underneath the comforter.
Cocooning herself inside the blankets Heather gave way to weeping once again. She felt absolutely wretched and wanted nothing more than for the world to fade away once and for all.
Heather spent another three days occupying her bed and would not be roused by anything. Reves tried to get her to hang out with friends. She had rejected Jeremiah calling on her at least twice. She would not eat any food that Sara made. Her mother would leave it in front of her bedroom door where it would sit for hours before she would finally come to take it away. Even Mark's mild threats could not goad her from her self-appointed prison.
On the fourth day when she was certain she had cried every tear she could ever cry three times over, Heather rose from her bed. She was faint from not eating again (and of course her father had already been hounding her in regards to her weight). Her head pounded profusely from the near-constant weeping. Her eyes and the surrounding flesh were tender from so many tears.
As Heather was passing her dresser, she noticed them, the iris flowers that had been withering in the vase for over three months now. The flowers drooped, their leaves and petals wilted and dry. Every drop of the water had long evaporated from the vase. Heather crinkled her nose when she recognized a green fungus had grown in the bottom of the glass.
A few of the petals had fallen and landed on the dresser. Heather gingerly collected them and placed them into the tiny plastic coffin along with the others. Each one was like a collection of memories that she would eventually need to lay to rest.
Picking up the vase, Heather took it into the bathroom. Heather took the dead and wilted bouquet from its home. Dead and wilted. Those words seemed to describe the entirety of her existence. With a bleeding heart, she deposited the flowers into the waste bin and turned away before she could contemplate her decision. Heather placed the vase on the bathroom counter and swiftly exited. She would bring it to the kitchen later to be cleaned. For now, she had an entreaty to pose.
Her eyes finding the clock, Heather realized it was later in the evening than she had anticipated. No matter. Her parents would likely be retired to their room watching television. If she was afforded the ability to speak with them in private without her siblings that would be ideal.
Heather made her way down the hall to their bedroom. An unusual ball of apprehension had settled into her stomach. Ever since her incident, she purposely avoided venturing here. It made her feel as though she had betrayed her parents, sneaking into their private quarters to procure the drugs she would use in her endeavor to end her life.
Hesitantly, Heather raised her hand and her knuckles gently tapped on the door. After a moment with no reply, she realized she could hear noise coming from inside the room and they must not have heard her. Heather attempted again with a little more force this time.
"What?" the unmistakably cantankerous voice of her father came from the other side as the sound of the television ceased.
"It's m-me," Heather muttered to the door.
"Well, come in. We can't hear ya out there," Mark groused.
Heather contemplated turning away. He sounded quite irked and without the fury to stoke her own fire, she felt her resolve weakening. Just as she was about to abandon her design, a voice in her head told her that she needed to see this through for her own sake and the sake of others.
Cautiously Heather pushed open the door and peered inside. Her parents were sitting in bed watching the television that was mounted to the opposite wall. Stepping fully into the room she softly closed the door behind her as her parents turned to look at her.
"Well hello," Sara had a strained smile on her face that said while she was happy to see her daughter, she was also concerned.
Heather was certain she probably looked a fright. She was still clad in the same attire from four days ago and she hadn't showered in that time either. Her hair felt tangled and greasy. She was positive that if her eyes were not red and puffy from crying then dark circles from exhaustion must rim her eyes. Thinking about it, she was almost ashamed to present herself like this. Yet she desperately needed to speak to them. She would have to remedy her state afterward.
"Hello," Heather finally murmured.
"Whada need?" Mark asked. His voice didn't carry its usual gruffness, but he had always been about getting to the point.
"Well," Heather started, attempting to sound braver than she felt, "I have been doing a great deal of contemplation, concerning a great many things..."
Mark tried to keep his features neutral. "And?" he urged her onward.
"And I...," Heather continued, sensing the strain on his patience, "I wish to return to school," Heather blurted out before she lost her courage. Heather instantly perceived her mother staring at her with brows raised in bewilderment.
Sara was flabbergasted, to say the least. Heather had always expressed how much she would hate to return to her old school and here she was asking to go back. Sara asked, "Sweetie, are you sure about this? I mean if it's what you want...but I wouldn't figure-"
"It is!" Heather spoke rapidly to assure her. Heather curbed her overzealous display. "What I mean to say is, it is my Senior year of school. Jeremiah will be there. Now that I am no longer traveling, I thought..." Heather felt her words fall away as she was losing resolve.
Stealing a glance at her father, his expression was unreadable. However, the words he spoke took her vaguely by astonishment. "You don't have to go back to that school. You can continue your homeschooling if you want. Or we can look into another school. I know how much you hate that place. Hell, ya whined about it enough," Mark quipped as he tried to sound lighthearted, but earned a hard look from his wife.
"I've told you," Heather reiterated, praying she sounded far more self-assured than she felt, "I wish to return to my former school. I should like to join Jeremiah for our final year. Also, while a trivial consolation, I admit, I am already familiar with the school. Whereas, I would not be if I were to attend an institution that is completely alien to me," the young girl offered her argument.
Brows knitting together again in concern, Sara turned towards her husband for his opinion on the matter.
The giant's shoulders sagged with the weight of indecision. That was a bizarre sight indeed. Mark was never one to be hesitant about a matter. After another moment of consideration, "Ahh, hell. Alright," Mark shrugged.
Zeal reemerging, Heather inquired, "You are acquiescing my request then? You mean that in earnest?"
"Yeah. Whatever the hell that means. Yes," Mark blew out, shaking his head in near disbelief.
"I – that is simply delightful! Thank you, Sir," Heather practically gushed at his sanction.
Sara had an apprehensive look in her eyes but plastered on a wide smile for her daughter's sake. "I'll call the school on Monday and we'll get you enrolled again. You know they already started a few weeks ago though."
Heather nodded. "Yes, I understand. It is of no consequence. I am confident I shall recuperate promptly," Heather conceded as she turned on her heels to exit the room.
As she did so, her father's commanding tone halted her in her tracks. "Now that you're up and about, you're going to eat something tonight. Your Ma made a big pot of chili yesterday. You need to go heat some up. Y'er starting to look like a damn corpse again."
Heather could scarcely suppress the grimace that washed over her features upon receiving his instructions. The borderline incessant discussion of her body was swiftly becoming intolerable to her.
"Yes, Sir," she mumbled and scurried from the room with little intention to follow up on his order.
I know it was a lot of talking still, but I am happier with this one. Will get back to more action/plot next chapter.