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It wasn’t his idea. How could it be? He spent years running and trying to leave absolutely no trace of evidence to the fact that he existed. Of course that all changed when he signed with the foxes. Two years later and Neil still gets hit with the fact that yes, he’s a real person, he doesn’t have to change his name again, or his backstory.
He’s found out quite a bit about himself because of it though. He’s found that he, much to Andrews distaste, can be messy, leaving sweat soaked practice shirts along the floor. He’s found that he has more stuff than he knows what to do with. No longer will all his belongings fit inside a duffel bag. Upon first realizing that, Neil panicked, nearly threw out half of his belongings. It was the combined effort of Matt’s reassuring phone calls and Andrew’s apathetic stare and declaration that Neil was indeed an idiot. He didn’t throw anything away that day and when packing his belongings to move out for the summer, he had to used multiple bags to get everything out.
The problem was that Neil now feels uneasy, when he’s looking at the empty dorm room. Leaving for the summer is now something that Neil finds difficult, which is new, because he’s never had a problem leaving somewhere before. He supposes it makes sense, because he’d fought tooth and nail, he had nearly died to call Palmetto and the Foxes his home and family. He didn’t want to leave.
Ultimately, it was Bee’s idea for Neil to get a journal, to try and cope with these feelings, which have been keeping him up at night. She’d suggested it after he briefly mentioned the lack of sleep in one of his required sessions. He appreciated the suggestion, because she still didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t like being analyzed, he never would be.
Thus the journal came to be. It wasn’t very big, small, black and leatherbound, Neil didn’t want people to see it after all. He didn’t want to risk the chance of someone asking what he wrote about. He wasn’t going to tell them about what it feels like to have flesh burned off you, how dark and damp one of the most violent criminals on the east coast’s basement was. There was no way he was going to tell them that he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart pounding in his chest and unable to remember his own name. Neil wasn’t going to tell them the good things either, how he has days where he can look in the mirror and see his father’s eyes staring back at him and doesn’t vomit. He doesn’t talk about the progress he makes or the moments where he finds himself smiling just because. And no way in hell would he tell them about how at night, he crawls into bed, just millimeters away from Andrew and could fall asleep in minutes, listening to his steady breathing.
Neil had been hesitant, reluctant even, at first. He’d thought it was a stupid idea, but he was going to entertain Bee with saying he’d try. Afterall, Bee would never know about how often he finds himself at his desk, or in the locker room, hunched over his journal after everyone has left, writing away, putting down whatever comes to mind. She doesn’t know that Neil now has a favorite brand of pen because of this, that he uses to fill up the pages with words. She definitely doesn’t know when Andrew slips Neil a new, empty journal when his is filled. Or maybe she does. But she doesn’t mention it. What she does see, is the way Neil’s shoulders relax once in a while, where they were once tense all the time. She can see the corner of his notebook, sticking out of his gym bag and she can see the way Andrew tucks it out of view when he notices it.
Neil feels her eyes on him and he doesn’t shy away like he once did, instead meeting her gaze briefly to give a slight nod as Andrew gives her a brisk goodbye and listens to her rundown of expectations for the summer. It’s not long before the two of them are walking away from her, towards the Maserati. Once he’s behind the tinted windows, scarred fingers run across the bent pages of the small journal. Neil stares straight ahead as Andrew climbs in and the car roars to life beneath them.
Bee watches as the car speeds off and stays in the lot until she can’t see it anymore. She knows that she’s done her job and that she’s satisfied with the progress that’s been made this past year. There’s still more to come, the Foxes aren’t easy fixes, they take time and care to work with, but it’s worth it. For now though, she calls this a win, because she knows that Neil Josten will be coming back again next year and hopefully, with the help of the journals, will be willing to talk, just a little more.