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There were many words people would associate with Palmetto State’s exy goalie, and monster was one of them, and perhaps out of all of them that was the worst to Andrew Minyard. Andrew knew he was crazy, and his attitude swung more than Kevins sexuality, but monster was one word he never wanted to associate himself with. When he thought of the word ‘Monster’ his brain conjured up wild and beyond images of people like Riko and most of the Ravens, Tilda, 70% of the foster families, Drake, and with mass amounts venom, Dr.Proust. He would never be like those people, the ones who lurked and preyed, watched from a distance before they struck like ferocious beasts that might claw into your mind and leave phantoms touches, touches that made your body feel like it was rotting and decomposing from the inside out, Andrew hasn’t felt the weight of his own heart in years, and maybe that's why the word always got to him, because monsters don’t have hearts, they don’t feel.
He could always feel the stares when he was out, it was hard not to. Andrew had been wrapped up in many scandals and mishaps, has said vulgar things and given the harsh reality of being an exy star on national television, he’s called out the foster system that is built on convoluted rules and lies, essentially Andrew has painted a target on his back, and given people many reasons to stare, but until recently he was able to shoulder it, ignore it and shove it away. Now his skin crawled when he left the games, the reporters and journalists that would crowd him made his lung constrict and his ribcage ache. The rapid fire and heated questions made him want to implode, but there was one question that sent him over, “How was your treatment with Proust?”
Unfortunately, that was how he managed to get himself into this situation, after winning a particularly hard game, he had once more been bombarded with questions about varying topics ranging from his in-game strategies to his dark childhood. Andrew had found himself drowning in a bottle of alcohol in the back of the stadium parking lot. If you were to ask him now he couldn’t tell you how much he drank, but it was enough that he was actually inebriated, so out of his mind he stumbled out of his car and back into the stadium, presumably to grab the other bottle in his locker, and after being drenched in the pouring-fucking-rain, he made his way there, trailing water and walking like he might pass out any second, he was so beyond his wits that he ran straight dab-smack into Coach Wymack, and that made his head turn, along with his thought which he thought he sent away with his beverages, it made his stomach flip and he held back a gag.
Coach Wymack did not expect that on his way out and he had half a mind to curse Andrew out, until he saw just how drunk he was, Andrew was so drunk he didn’t lean back when David put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, he didn’t give a snide remake, and that's how the coach knew that perhaps something was very wrong. All Andrew knew was that he woke up on the man’s bathroom floor with a blanket covering him. His throat hurt and from that he drew that he was hungover as fuck and had been throwing up all night. Andrew was too outwardly proud to get up and face his coach and instead pulled the blanket around himself tighter, his cheek flush against the cool tiles as he inspected the grout before zoning out.
He was vaguely aware of the blanket being taken away and he let out a groan. David Wymack sighed before he began, what Andrew assumed, would be a rant, “Get up. You have an appointment with Betsy in an hour.” His voice was gruff and raw as if he had been up all night.
Andrew though for a moment all curled up, he didn’t have an appointment, what had he told Wymack that he was going to be brought to Bee for. Suddenly Andrew feared the truth, David Wymack knew loads about Andrew knew the gruesome details of his childhood, but he has never spoken anything on Proust besides the obvious assault, David Wymack had no details not ideas of what went on at his time there, and Andrew wanted it to so desperately to be like that and stay like that. He didn’t want to give more reason to anyone to look like a monster. Andrew let his eyes adjust properly as he analyzed the ceiling in hopes to postpone this meeting with Bee. He breathed deeply a few times to help his headache and with a harsh exhale he grasped the corner of the sink and pulled up.
He looked like shit. His hair was a mess, an unpresentable tangled platinum mess. His eyes were tired and red, and his shirt had a spot of vomit on it. His head throbbed against his skull and his knees felt weak, weak, God he hated being weak. Andrew scanned the bathroom seeing a black shirt hanging on the back of the door intended for him. He peeled off the soiled one and turned on the shower. He locked the door and tested it multiple times before removing his jeans and socks, presumably Wymack had made him take off his shoes when they got here.
As Andrew stood under the hot steam he let his mind wander, he didn't even remember getting here, he stood in silence, listening and observing the pitter patter of the water droplets and how they bounced off of scarred skin. After a considerable time had passed, he got out, simply going through the motions until 20 minutes later when his coach was trying to shove food down his throat and help cure his hangover.
“Andrew, take a goddamn protein bar and Tylenol so we can go.” Rang the gruff voice from earlier, distantly he wondered why Abby wasn’t here bitching him out for his habits and trying to nurse him back to a decent state, but he remembered she was away.
Reluctantly he took a bite of the bar and took three tylenol and got in Wymacks car, his was still at the stadium, being abandoned in his drunken stupor, “Fuck off.” He replied, taking another bite and making a conscious decision to not put on his seatbelt.
It wasn’t until he stepped into the therapist office that he regretted his decisions, because there she was, with her goddamn warm smile and mug of cocoa. `She was writing something down and hadn’t noticed him yet. Behind her he saw the mug she bought for him to drink cocoa out of, it matched hers a fox, undoubtedly bought from the Palmetto state gift store, but she got it for him nonetheless. Andrew shut the door and sat down not saying a word, he did not want to be in a session right now, where Bee could pry into his rotting deteriorating brain, he wanted to be in a locked room curled up in bed with a fucking cat, was that too much to ask for?
Be looked up and gave a fond smile and a small greeting apologizing for not noticing him coming in, “Hello Andrew, i’m sorry I didn’t see you come in, I just finished a small doodle while I waited for you.” she said holding up a drawing of a baby duck and its mom on a sticky note.
Bee always let Andrew start first, take the sessions in the direction he wanted, and perhaps that's why he was attached, why he hasn't moved onto a new therapist, why he has stuck with Bee this entire time, because she seemed to be one of the few that never had that look in her eye, that just spoke monster. She was welcoming in a genuine way, with no ulterior motives. That was something that took him a long time to come to terms with.
For the first time since their first meeting, she took the lead, “Do you want cocoa?” She asked and got up when he nodded, but then she spoke again, “Coach Wymack informed me of your drinking last night, mind filling me in or no?” She asked, and it was truthful if he didn't want to, they could sit here, drink cocoa and draw or read, or stare at the ceiling like they have many times. Once Andrew took a sip out of the fox mug, he snatched a piece of printer paper and took a pen from the jar on her desk, mindlessly doodling and answering her question without opening his mouth, normally when he would do this Bee would do the same but often, she would tell him about her day, just to make the atmosphere more open.
He drew a small duck like he saw of Bee’s earlier while she rambled quietly, then a fish, and then he just scribbled and listened. He thought about if he wanted to tell her and he thought back on all their sessions, how not once had she lied to him, and irritatingly was always correct. He cracked his knuckles and went back to mindlessly scribbling. He set the pen down to get her attention yet didn’t look her in the eye,
Instead, he whispered, “Why am I a monster?” He asked, his voice was raspy from all the stomach acid.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that I'm afraid I couldn’t hear you” He groaned in petty frustration, usually Bee could pick up on all his mumbled confessions.
His fingers twitched and his eyes watered with retribution for the first time in fifteen years, “Everyone looks at me like, like i'm a monster.” His voice was still quiet and ir broke but she took a small intake of breath and when he looked up, he saw that she was a little taken aback, he had surprised her, after years of trying to shock her this was it and he cried, for the first time in fifteen years he could honestly say he cried, the foreign tear streaks that dripped off his face and onto his pant leg was perhaps infuriating and had him unable to breathe with his nose all stuffed up. He got up he needed to pace because something was building up inside of him ready to go off
“Would you like a hug Andrew?” Her words were calm and easy to grasp onto which was something he was thankful for and for some reason he had no hesitation with nodding yes. She walked slowly towards him, arms open, but ready to back down at any moment. When her arms did get around him, they were not suffocating, ni]o she didn’t hug him tightly gave him enough space to back out, but almost immediately 15 years' worth of tears came running out because he couldn't get over a word.
He was trying to not fathom the idea that his sobs could be heard beyond the door. His stomach was hurting from this uncalled-for crying, and he was so mad at himself, “Sometime this, this rage just builds up, up inside of me and I think to myself, am I like them?” Andrew did not need to refer to who for Betsy to know. She waited for a moment waiting to see if he would add any more information.
“Andrew, your uncontrolled anger is a result of what happened to you. You went through years of traumatic instances and waited for as long as you could to speak about, so yeah you have moments of rage. They were just bad people, who did bad things period.”
Andrew sobbed once more repeatedly speaking with his broken voice over and over again he said no, “no, no, no Bee, you don’t get it, you don't-” she stopped him momentarily to direct him to breathe a key aspect he seemed to be forgetting, “I, I don’t want to hurt people Bee.” he cried, he really didn’t want to hurt people anymore.
“Andrew you can stand on your two feet and be your own different person, and there will be people like Neil and Aaron to stand beside you and help you, your not a monster, your a person, with very real experiences, and it’s going to be okay, perhaps not for awhile but over time your going to feel lighter.”
She was directing him to breathe again, he couldn’t breathe through his nose was stuffed and his eyes hurt, his brain felt like it was thumping and reverberating off his skull. He sat down again a bit more calmly blushing, he was embarrassed, but he didn't acknowledge that because as always she knew him, and that would only make him feel worse instead she offered another mug of cocoa, “Should we talk more about this?”
“Yes, please.” Andrew never said please, and perhaps this would be the only time in a long time he would use it in a semi-positive note. He looked down at the melting mushy mess of marshmallows in the fox mug and knew that he would leave here feeling, potentially okay.