Chapter Text
To admit that you actually tolerated, nay enjoyed the job you had sacrificed a significant portion of your early adult life to achieve was to slightly less of a relief than one would expect. It was as if one day you woke up and realised getting out of bed was easier than the last. Slow, dawning closure on the part of you that stayed indignantly comfortable amongst the stagnant inefficiency of the past. Not a new you, no, this isn't some hallmark movie or a self help book. A movement, a momentum perhaps. A better without an occasion to uncork a champagne.
Three years of human sciences and an unmarked amount of courses and safeguarding and seminars and here he was. Sat in a secondhand, more than well broken-in office chair fanning himself with a sloppily folded piece of paper, adjusting the newly taxed shirtfront that was tucked below a once blue jacket. God it was warm, and this was only his third appointment of the day. First impressions may have meant everything, but that wasn't the first thought that crossed Andrés’ mind, rather the ever spreading sweat stains he knew had began to colonise his pits. A mildly revolting situation to be in but it was only a compromise till the school board reimbursed him for a functioning desk fan, unlike the one the previous councillor had left behind.
Frustrating, sure, but the relief as soon as the hallway AC hit him when an hour session was up was indescribable. Liminal moments as he watched the carousel of patients pass through his office doors and sit on the adjacent chairs and treat his time like a catholic confession and thank him on the off chance. Tolerably mundane.
Andrés looked down at the journal in front of him, a mess of appointment dates and external notes he’d have to follow up on in his spare time. The pen tapped rhythmically on a name scrawled in red biro. Red for mandatory sessions, purple for referred, blue for self admitted. Mandatory sessions were often… less successful than he’d like to admit. But that was just in the nature of the job, win some you lose some more.
Though he was a general practitioner for all the university, each councillor was allotted a collegiate sports team to deal with. Something about a mental health expose on one of the teams up north and the dean was more than willing to jump at the chance to tick another inclusivity box or whatever. Or at least that's what Andrés had heard in the staffroom.
For Andrés, he had been given the NC Wolves exy team. As an ex-player himself, he wasn't surprised to be faced with frustrated animosity with each mandated session at the beginning of their seasons. Sure, he too had felt that same impatience at the perceived waste of time many moons ago. After all, these sessions were just one more hour that could be spent on the court.
Kyo Temida, the name was written in block capitals and underlined thrice though he could not remember why.
When the Wolves coach, a new man whose name had appeared on his phone more times in the last year than the entirety of the old coaches contact, had told him to pencil in regular weekly sessions for one Kyo Temida Andrés had almost told him there and then that he would have to find alternative methods to work on whatever the boy had to deal. It wasn't an unfounded accusation, having somehow evaded the only scheduled meeting of that academic year and being proceeded with many an unflattering tale from his teammates. Funny mostly, yet wholly off putting. The kind of patient that had Andrés holding his breath, waiting out whatever wall they'd put up or give up in the process.
The last session had been cut short ten minutes early so he had been occupying himself by studying the boy's casefile despite having it already committed to memory. There wasn’t much to go off, the coach had been brief but direct as he outlined the reasonings that he instructed this was mandatory. Depressing and not quite what Andrés expected. What has he expected?
In any case, the early departure had left a big enough window of time for Kyo to not run into anyone he had any pre-existing qualms with and for Andrés to collect himself. He refused to appear rattled or overly concerned whether he did or did not show his face. Impartial. Detached. Professional.
Cool air conditioned draft was a welcome respite but the boy who wielded the open door, not so much. Well better get it over with.
Andrés rose from his chair, gesturing for the taller to take a seat. “Hello, Kyo Temida?” The boy nodded, taking his sweet time to claim his position on the padded chair. The councillor followed suit, deciding handshakes and frivolities were a wasted facade. “I’m Andrés Oswald. Make yourself at home, either chair is fine. It’s an hour so whatever’s more comfortable.”
Kyo grunted, shouldering off a backpack that had certainly seen better days and slumping into his chosen seat. He was larger than Andrés had presumed, having only seen him as an ant like figure from the exy stadium rafters he had little preconceived image to go off of. Solid, boney and uncared for; those were what stood out to him. Obviously there were other quirks but you had to look just that bit closer; wide set eyes, smooth puckered upper lip, scars that disfigured one side of his face and patches of his hair were grey white but all of it greasy.
Recognising that he had probably stared too long, Andrés resumed looking at his journal and tapping his own, looking as imposing as he could muster. Cool, calm, knowing. The upper hand of information.
“So, Kyo. Kyo? Mr. Temida, which would you prefer.” Pleasantries were a neat diversion.
“Kyo’s fine.” he shrugged.
The councillor nodded, “Okay, Kyo. Do you know why you are here today?”
“Cause Coach drove me.” he shrugged again. Kyo returned the other man’s look, deep brown, dead looking eyes holding onto his. Power play. Andrés looked away, frowning.
“And why has your Coach driven you here today?”
“Cause my licence was taken off me and Mik is scared I’d total his car again.” The younger boy smirked. He had danced this dance before. This type of patient filled Andrés with unbridled frustration but he thanked God he’d taken the professionalism oath literally.
He sighed slightly. “So you’re here because of a lack of trust in your driving skills?”
“Exactly.”
“Alright, well I'm glad to hear your take on that matter.” Andrés paused for a second, studying the equally intense gaze of the taller boy. “Would you like to hear why your Coach has mandated you to be here today?”
Kyo shrugged. “Guess you’ll tell no matter.”
His accent wasn’t heavy enough to place, but it was prominent enough to need attentive care to decipher. A neat, despondent drawl. Well practised in the art of making three syllables out of two.
Andrés put his pen down and held his hands in front in a joint manner, just like he’d seen doctors do on all those medical dramas just before they make some dramatic prognosis. “Your Coach initially stated that he referred you to us because you refused to be placed under suicide watch. Am I correct?” Kyo didn’t react, unmoving. Placid. He continued, “He informed me that a week ago you attempted to kill yourself. Sorry that I couldn’t fit you-“
“Kill myself?” The boy snorted. “A few fucking scratches don’t mean I tried kill myself. Told Coach to keep his pretty nose out of it, he likes to make things difficult.”
Flicking to the next page on his pad, he made a hasty note. People feel watched when you write something they know is very much about them but is also very much none of their business. Seen. Tends to throw people off, just enough.
“Kyo, the medical notes I was provided with state that you had lost almost a critical amount of blood before your hospitalisation. If it wasn’t a suicide attempt then it was very close to being one. You understand that?”
The boy looked away quickly, scratching at the crook of his arm. He was smiling… almost.
“Yes sir no sir whatever fancies your dick sir. Sure, I understand. Now have I got to sit through a whole term of this bullshit or could you just sign me off and blow a kiss the Coach, yeah? Look I promise not to kill myself, I promise to use clean blades next time, and fuck i’ll even throw in a couple hail mary’s to pray for my sins. That sound fair, like i’ve learned my lesson?” he sneered, eyes still as dead as before.
“What, no. No, Kyo you aren’t here to beg for forgiveness. This isn’t the right place for that but I can recommend a couple churches if that’s your inclination.”
“Trust, Coach just sends me to this shit to try scare me. First the hospital, now a shrink. So what, I cut myself. I’m sure fourteen year old girls nationally would give mine a run for it’s money. You want to try therapise me, go ahead. Do your worst but make it entertaining at least.”
Well one thing had been firmly established: Kyo could out talk a radio without breaking a sweat.
Andrés cleared his throat. “Have you seen a therapist before, Kyo?”
“Yeah.”
“How old were you the first time.”
He stopped for a moment, to remember or to dwell; he was not sure. “Nine.”
“Can you remember why you were taken to a therapist?”
“They were taking me away.”
“From who?”
“My brother.” he cut those words short as if he could take them back, as if he regretted them.
“Why were they taking you away from you brother, Kyo?” Andrés pressed softly.
Kyo stopped again. Not quite a pause just frozen. Thinking.
His voice was thicker when he spoke again. “I don’t see how this is any of your fucking business. This has nothing to do with Coach and his bullshit preventative tick boxes. Stick to your fucking list, jesus what do they pay you for.”
Andrés made another note. Defensive. Long line of therapists. Brother?
There was almost too much to try read, like distinguishing each individual crackle of static on the tv station. White noise of a cocksure, self righteous, arrogant boy; it was as loud as it was deceptive. Treating patients like these was not difficult per se, rather it was the dancing trepidation knowing that any minute now that ticking time bomb would explode right under his feet. Andrés had seen it a couple times, usually older male patients on the verge of a midlife crisis anyhow, but he doubted he’d ever get used to it. Humanity, untethered.
The silence had lasted long enough.
“We don’t have to talk about this today, but know these sessions are what you make of it. If you want to engage be my guest, I'm all ears, if not then… well that choice is yours.” Kyo shifted, tugging at his shirt unconsciously and frowning. No, scowling. “Kyo, I am not here to interrogate you or torture information out of you, though I know the heat today may feel like so, I am here to help. To me it seems like your Coach did the right thing in bringing you here.”
“That’s what the last one said. And the one before that and the one before that and I'm pretty sure so did the one before that.” His fingers had begun scratching against the frayed bound cloth of his chairs arm, back and forth. “I don’t need help but thanks for wasting your time. Should think about getting AC in here.”
Andrés smelt his shoulder discreetly, praying that the sweat hadn’t begun leaking through the jacket. Nothing noticeable.
“Why do you think you don’t need help?”
The boy shrugged. “I’m not one of your kinda people.”
“What makes somebody my kind of patient?”
His fingers moved back to scratching the crook of his elbow. Nervous tick? he scrawled.
“I dunno.”
“Does Kazimierz class as my kind of patient?”
The look Kyo cast him was caged, flighty. He’d hit something. From all the accounts he had heard from other teammates, the only ones that seemed to cast any positive light on him (bar as being a fantastic player on the court) was Kazimierz. Andrés had concluded they must have been close, or close enough to look past the wall Kyo had conceitedly built.
“How d’you know Kaz.” he accused.
Andrés cleared his throat. “Kazimierz is a patient of mine. He drops in from time to time.”
“Why you telling me this, doctor patient confidentiality and all that.”
“Kazimierz gave me permission to talk vaguely about his comings here. Said that it might help you feel more at ease.” he gestured loosely to Kyos now rigid figure.
Kyo didn’t say anything at that. Just stared, waiting him out. Clearly they had not communicated these visiting prior. Andrés wasn’t surprised, touchy subject and all.
“Would you prefer if we focused solely on why you were mandated to be here? Would it be easier to deal with something practical at first? I don’t mind, these sessions will go in whatever direction you want to take them.”
The boy grunted. Win some lose some more.
“Let’s start by going through what I know so you can fill in the gaps from there.” Kyo made no inclination that he was actually listening but he continued. “On the 22nd of February an ambulance was dispatched and brought you to St Ann's Hospital Intensive Care Unit. You had lost a significant amount of blood from self inflicted injuries and had taken an unknown amount of a prescription opioid medication. There was discussion of sectioning and or suicide watch but you refused both. That is all I have been told.” He paused, pressing his lips together. If Kyo had reacted to the recount of his near death, Andrés had not noticed. “Who found you, Kyo? Who called the ambulance?”
Still slumped, Kyo rubbed a rough hand across his scarred face. Jaw grinding visibly like a racehorse shredding its bit. Andrés cocked his head, concern a subtle press of his brows.
When the boy replied, he looked on the verge of vomiting. “So I answer your questions and you fucking leave this be? Yeah?”
Evasive. Avoidant.
“If that's what you want.”
“Mikhail.”
Ah, that Mik. “Is Mikhail your friend?”
Kyo shrugged again. He seemed to do it out of habit, even if he had the answer ready and prepared. Like even he didn't trust his words, setting you up for disappointment. A casual dismissal. He picked up his pen, tapping for a few seconds before writing; Self esteem issues. Cognitive/ Developmental?? Close relationship/s uncomfortable?
“I’m taking that Mikhail is also your roommate.” Andrés prompted.
“Nah. He’s just there cause his roomates set on fucking his girl blind. Not sure if its worked yet but she sure aint walking straight.”
Though he passed off his suppressed laugh as a couple well timed coughs, Andrés knew that Kyo knew he knew. Collage roommates fucking like rabbits was one of those zeitgeist experiences you could never quite escape, wether it was yours or your best mates, there was always someone experiencing its effects by proxy. His own roommate had never been one to waste an empty dorm room, to put it kindly.
“So Mikhail found you… in the bathroom?”
The taller boy shook his head. Well, more like a twitch, only the shifting fall of his hair to indicate the movement. “Bedroom.”
Hm. Andrés had seen this scene in textbooks a thousand times over. An overdosed addict passed out cold, sprawled on top of some dingy backroom sofa. It was usually health and safety protocols; recovery positions, CPR, non emergency and emergency and local and national helplines. Not how to aid the psychological state of those in the proceeding weeks. Those who need treatment and those who actually receive it seemed to be a rather divorced demographic.
“Did Mikhail travel with you in the ambulance? To the hospital I mean.”
“What?” Kyo made an odd face. “What, no. I mean yeah I don't… maybe but it's not like you know.”
“Its okay if you don't remember Kyo-”
“No it's NOT. Its fucking.” he bit his lip, pushing his back into the chair. His eyes were latched anywhere but Andrés. “No, I fucking know I fucking know. I just-” Kyo was stopping and starting as if the air in the room had grown thin.
“It’s alright, take your time-“
“No it’s not, it’s” he interrupted “I know okay I fucking know, I need to know. I know alright? Then you can stop asking your fucking pointless questions and move onto the next brain dead fuck who walks in.”
Christ, he may be a piece of work but Andrés almost felt… bad. This kid was so desperate to be anywhere but under the microscope, desperate to escape either the waking revival of these events or the repercussions of everybody knowing. Everybody knowing he was too weak to attempt, and fail, to kill himself.
“Kyo,” he started, unsure how to proceed. Buying time. “Kyo, i’m not asking for the correct answer here you could lie to me for all that it matters. These sessions were set up to give you an opportunity to talk and to approach a traumatic experience and find out what the root of all of this is. It’s hard work for you but it’s work for me too, it’s a two way street otherwise you’d be doing my job for me, Okay?”
The boy shrugged again, looking at the fingers outstretched on his thighs.
“But none of this will work if you don’t want to help yourself.” he said offhandedly, turning his page.
“Help myself?” he spat, almost laughing. “Me? I’m only here cause if I don’t attend I get benched for a whole season. I don’t give a fuck about what bullshit Coach has told you my business is my business and nothing to do with you or your fucking questionnaires. I’ll play along for another week then you are going to sign me off and tell Coach that I’m a piece of work but not the retarded mentally incapacitated moron that-“
“Nobody is calling you those things, Kyo. You’re here-“
“DONT FUCKING BULLSHIT ME.” he yelled, slamming his hands against his side of the desk as he stood. “I am not this sick dog, I do not need help, I am fine. If you want someone to work your shit on, I'm sure Kaz would be delighted.” he turned, picking up his backpack with a zealous force. “Fuck you and pass one onto Coach for me.”
Then the door slammed. And that was that.
Twenty four minutes.
Andrés blinked a couple times, almost as if expecting Kyo to reappear. He did not. The room was empty. It felt empty, hollow. Such a force had ripped through it leaving his attentions frayed and fraught. He could barely think straight let alone establish any coherent after thoughts on his paper file. Though there was one thing. One thing he wrote and double underlined.
Volitile.