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He stared wide-eyed at the pen gliding over the paper on the clipboard. Flexing his fingers, he tried counting his heartbeats, tried ignoring how loud that stupid pen was on the gritty paper, tried managing his breaths as the therapist across from him cleared his throat. Too loud, too loud, everything was too loud and too dark. Something exploded in the distance. Dirk's therapist cleared his throat again, then addressed him directly and Dirk shifted his hands into fists.
"Did you take your medicine this morning?"
I don't need medicine I'm not crazy I didn't take it I'm not insane Dave says I'm fine "Yeah."
"And how do you feel?"
"Fine."
"You look better."
I can't be better if nothing was wrong I'm not insane Dave told me so He says I'm okay "I feel better."
The therapist leaned over, forearms braced on the wood of his desk. Normally, he would have sat closer, attempted to be personal and give a calming effect that he was there to help, but Dirk had requested, as with every session, that he stay behind the desk. "If you're too close," He had whispered, "You'll hear my thoughts and my fears."
"But," He tapped his fingers for a few seconds, then met Dirk's eyes, "Just because you look better doesn't mean you are better. Let's do a small questionnaire," He smiled, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes looked like slashes, like wounds, like medals that granted him some kind of elusive power over Dirk. The patient couldn't say no.
"I'll say a word and you say the first thing you think of."
"We've done this before," Dirk noted.
"Yes," He laid back in his leather chair, and it creaked under his weight as he spoke like a condenscening parent to a child, "We have. First word: Pills."
He winced, "Disgusting."
"Darkness."
"Terrifying." He looked down. The therapist can see me He can see all my faults He's going to know I'm a failure
"Nightlight."
A small breath, "Calming."
"School."
Anxiety shot up again, "People, too many people, too much to know and learn and see and hear, too loud, too dark."
There was scribbling again, and Dirk inched back, he recoiled instinctively, hissed inwardly. The pen was opaque, utterly dark, just like the vast sea of pure nothingless, the endless void of his own terror when night fell.
"Dirk Strider."
"That's... That's two words, sir."
"Dirk, then."
"Still two."
He sighed, "Dirk."
"Despair."
"Dave."
"Perfect, flawless, light, comforting, fuck, he's so helpful, he knows exactly what to say and what to do, no one ever worries about him. No one ever thinks he's a fuck up or that he needs new medication or that he should switch to another school for the fourth fucking time-"
"Dirk-"
"You already said that."
Once his session ended, Dirk staggered out, his mind a buzzing hive of interchanging thoughts, transmitting tsunamis of emotion to seep down to his heart.
Keep breathing keep breathing this waiting room is full of people someone is staring keep breathing
His brother was waiting for him, giving a little wave. Their parents talked with his therapist to the side, speaking in hushed tones and glances of the eyes, as if both boys did not know what the topic of conversation was. Dirk knew he was different, knew something was wrong with him, that something had shriveled and died in his head and now he-
Could never be normal, Never be good enough for our parents, for my brother, for anyone-
"Hey," Placing a hand on his shoulder, Dave stole a glance at him over his shades. A one-second inspection was all he needed, "Keep it together, Dirk. Calm down."
"Right," Fingers shaking, he grabbed Dave's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it until his twin's blood could be felt, could pulse beneath the layers of his skin. "Don't ever let me go. I mean it. I'll suffocate."
A breath was released through Dave's nose and a kiss was given to his brother's cheek. Fuck whoever was looking. "I'm right here."