Chapter Text
ASH
NUMB LITTLE BUG • em beihold
ash never enjoyed speaking out about his feelings, in fact it was quite the opposite. he enjoyed bottling everything up until it became too late to speak out. he usually used methods such as writing in a journal or making jokes about his wellbeing. but here he was, sat in the waiting room of a therapist’s office. he hadn’t chosen to come here but he had been ordered by his doctors - it was either attending therapy sessions or going into a unit. and reluctantly he had decided to go with therapy. attending didn’t mean that he would have to speak out, he would just have to show up. therapy was the more appealing choice because of this.
he had already been set homework, he was to write a page essay about himself - he was told to be completely honest and what had he done so far? nothing. he sat against the back of the uncomfortable sofa chair, a book in hand whilst doodling in the corners. the waiting room was too quiet, in times like this he would put in his earphones and listen to music. but he had been specifically instructed that phones were to be kept turned off - he supposed it was to hinder the urges to call for someone to pick him up. maybe a good friend, or a random taxi. the taxi would be his best bet, i mean what type of taxi driver is going to deny them getting paid just because some guy who looks like shit wants to go home.
the white walls of the waiting room were filled with everything other than inspiration, or motivation at that. from corner to corner there were posters filled with the contact details to a series of health professionals. ash found them to be quite belittling. in all honesty, ash had been staring towards the brown, well used door that situated on the side of the room, he hoped that what was behind that door, would be anything but the suffocating reminders that he needed help.
suddenly the door flew open, and for a moment ash lets himself imagine that it was his telekinesis powers that had done so - but sure enough a young woman (around the same age as ash) with long purple hair scurries from within. they have tears pouring down their face from their eyes, their makeup making them look washed out. jeez talk about unstable.
ash takes a moment to look back at his paper, all he has written is his name, his writing scratching into the paper uncomfortably. ash james walker. theres something about sharing the same name as his father that brings out some uncomfortable memories. the doodles around the page seem to tell his entire life story. one shows a young boy sat apart from a large group of children, the boy is wearing a dress and shows pure distress - this was exactly how his life had been up until this point. he was a young trans boy. and having two dads made him the laughing stock, or was it that his mother didn’t want him from the second that he had been brought into the world to the extent of her running the first chance she got. maybe it was driven by jealousy that despite his family being… different, they were still the most functional he’d ever seen.
another doodle is just a series of lines dripping with some form of liquid, it would have been easier to tell that this was a reference to his previous self harm if there was colour. but here we are, with only a blue pen that he was able to… “borrow” from the front desk. they wouldn’t be missing it. ash was four years clean, but that didn’t mean that the urges had left completely, there were days where he felt so helpless that he almost gave in - maybe he would feel something if he did it.
in the bottom corner there was a doodle of a drum kit, an expensive one at that. it had been a birthday gift from his dads, the only birthday gift that he received that year. he promised to play it every day, and he did just that. it wasn’t until ash’s ex-partner from a few years ago destroyed it out of frustration towards ash did he ever stop playing. the memories were too painful to repair the kit, but too special to just get rid of it. ash had split so many tears over the drum kit, he originally thought that the tears were for the relationship that ended that day - yet he didn’t miss that partner, nor did he regret breaking up with him.
ash ran his hand through his hair, probably throwing the split dye into an uneven mess, but at this point he didn’t care - all he wanted was to get this session over with so that he could go home. he was pulled from his thoughts when the brown door opened once again, this time in a calm manner, and out came a man dressed in a suit. his hair was perfectly in place, his stubble taken care of - and his voice. it sounded like silk. and how would ash know this? because the words that came out of his mouth was a quick ‘ash walker?’
great. just great. it was ash’s turn to get up from his place and walk towards the man. but his feet seemed glued to the floor, his body refused to move. was he scared? what was there to be scared of? move body move! finally it listened, and ash flew up to his feet, feeling the blood drain from his face. he trudged over to the man, who smiled. ‘i’m glad you could make it, ash. i wasn’t sure that you would show up.’ he chuckled, well at least he can laugh.
all ash could do was awkwardly smile and nod a little, the universal language that everyone seemed to understand. the man stepped aside, allowing ash to walk into the room. he was eager to look around, so didn’t hesitate to step inside. in the centre of the room was a single desk with two chairs, there were a few notebooks scattered around the place, a pencil holder beside a frame which had a photo of the man and… a woman. he could only assume this woman to be his sister, or close relation as such. they had the same dimples, same eyes and definitely the same nose. she had more plump lips where his were pressed into a line, ash looked up - and saw the same expression on the man’s face. he supposed that this was his resting face - not quite happy but also not quite raging bitch face.
the walls were covered by large bookshelves, each filled to the brim with different books - though they all sat in perfect order. ash couldn’t quite figure out what the system was, but he was eager to mimic it in his own room. it flowed much better than his current system of that’ll do.
the man ushered ash to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk, he sat down compliantly, still in awe of the space. ‘okay ash, where shall we begin?’