Work Text:
APRIL: GEOFF
“Your three-thirty is here, Mr Young,” my new assistant, Silvie, says as she timidly pokes her head around the door of my office.
I give her my warmest smile. “Thanks. Send him in.”
She nods and turns to leave, but I hold up a hand to stop her. “Sylvie?”
Her dark eyes widen like a deer in headlights. “Yes, Mr Young?”
“Please call me Geoff.”
She smiles shyly and visibly relaxes. “Okay… Geoff.”
As I grin and nod – a silent dismissal – she ducks out, and in her place appears one of my favourite patients.
Yes, I know, I shouldn't have favourites.
Oh, well. I just can't help it.
“Charlie.” I greet him with a smile and gesture for him to take a seat on the sofa opposite me, not that I need to as he knows the drill by now; I've been his therapist for almost six months.
“How are you?” I ask as he sits himself down.
He nods. “Yeah… good.”
Hmm… unconvinced.
Giving him space to elaborate, I pause, but he doesn’t continue.
“How has this week been?” I prompt, clasping my hands in my lap and crossing my ankles, settling in for the session ahead.
Thoughts chase each other across Charlie's young face. “I– It's– Ugh!” he exclaims in frustration.
“Take your time,” I tell him calmly.
Heaving a huge breath, Charlie launches into a tale of a difficult meal, an argument with his mum, a stiff reconciliation. He laments feeling watched all the time, micromanaged, every decision feeling out of his hands.
“That sounds really difficult, Charlie,” I acknowledge.
“It is!” he concurs agitatedly, but then the fight whooshes out of him and he looks so depleted all of a sudden. “I just want to have a normal birthday.” He sounds sad, and it reminds me just how young he really is.
“Your birthday is coming up?” I clarify.
Nodding, he tells me, “This weekend. My friends want to throw me a party and my mum is adamant she needs to be there. It's so embarrassing! I'm turning sixteen, not six!”
Ah. Still work to be done with Jane, then.
Noted.
“What has your dad said?” I enquire, wondering if Julio is managing to stand up to Jane a little more. He's doing well in family therapy and I suspect he may be the key to softening Jane's anxiety-driven approach a little.
Charlie chews his lip. “He’s trying with her. He suggested Tori and Michael stay and watch us instead. Like I need babysitting! I mean, seriously?”
I try to gently help him see that this could be a good compromise. “You get on well with your sister though, yes?”
He nods and deflates a little again. “Yeah.”
“And she's the same age as Nick and some of your other friends?”
His thick eyebrows knit together; he looks a little confused. “Yeah?”
“So she's not really watching you; more like, joining in? But she's there in case anything goes wrong and she can alert your parents?”
“Nothing will go wrong!” Charlie insists, but then he flops against the sofa back in defeat. “I don't mind her being there. Obviously, I love Tori. And I like Michael too. It's only annoying because I feel like they'll be like, spying on us or something. And I don't need them to do that!”
Nodding supportively, I change tact a little. “How do you feel about the party itself, Charlie?”
He scowls. “Fine!”
“Are you sure?” I probe gently. I strongly suspect there's some anxiety underpinning this emotional reaction.
He sighs heavily. “No. There'll be food.” He shrugs. “That always makes me anxious. But then, also, I'm so sick of meal plans and calorie counting. Ugh! I just want to be a normal teenager!”
I hum softly. “I understand that. Do you maybe feel up to pushing yourself a little? If you're fed up of everything being micromanaged?”
Charlie eyes me somewhat suspiciously. “Pushing myself how?”
“Well… maybe… you could have a small portion of something you wouldn't ordinarily have? Something at the party? No pressure, just see how it goes?”
Charlie looks lost in thought for a moment, and then slowly, he nods. “Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe.”
“These things take time, Charlie,” I tell him.
An epic eyeroll tells me he doesn't much like the sound of that.
I let the silence sit for a moment, giving space for Charlie’s emotions to simmer down. When I notice that his shoulders have relaxed slightly and his jaw is less tense – clear signals that his nervous system has settled a little – I prompt him again.
“It's been four months since you left inpatient.”
Charlie chuckles, and I can tell he's definitely calmer. “Hmm, yeah, I should bake a cake or something.”
This kid. I wish he could see himself the way I do – smart, witty, and so, so brave.
I smile at him. “I know you're being sarcastic, but that's actually a lovely idea.”
Charlie nods and smirks. “Too bad I was being sarcastic then.”
“But it'd be nice to mark the occasion,” I tell him. “You've come a long way, Charlie.”
Charlie's face falls; he can no longer meet my gaze.
Hmm. Still struggling to accept praise.
Need to continue to work on that.
“What, you don't agree?” I probe.
He shrugs – a tiny lift of his right shoulder – and shakes his head infinitesimally side to side. “I dunno.”
Come on, Charlie, see what I see.
“Alright, let's try something,” I suggest. “I want you to name three bits of progress you've made over the past four months.”
Charlie huffs out a disbelieving laugh.
“Come on,” I cajole, “humour me. You know I like my thought exercises.”
“Progress how?” he asks, that hint of sass I've started hearing more and more of in our latest sessions creeping into his voice.
“Well, how about I start?” I say, making a big show of ‘thinking’, but I already know exactly where I'm going with this. “So. You settled back in at school in January.”
Charlie's face falls again, memories clearly flitting through his mind. He shrugs off the compliment again. “Yeah, I mean, I had a lot of help. I still relapsed two weeks after.”
I spread my hands wide and just give him the look; we've talked about this many times, and I know he knows what I'm thinking.
Sure enough, he nods. “I know! It happens. It's normal. We've talked about it.”
“But you continue to criticise yourself about it,” I confirm softly. “Does it weigh on you?”
A dark cloud passes across Charlie's face, and I know he's reliving that night – the fight with Nick – yet again.
“Self-harm relapses are normal,” I reassure him. “They don’t negate any progress you–”
“I know!” he interrupts, in the most teenage display of irritation I think I've ever seen him demonstrate towards me. It doesn't bother me at all though, rather, conversely, it actually warms my heart that he feels safe enough to be his true self with me.
“You are three months clean!” I remind him. “That's our second bit of progress, isn’t it?”
Charlie sits up a little straighter, tucking his clasped hands between his thighs. “Okay, fine. Happy?”
I grin. “Yeah,” I answer truthfully. “I'm delighted. So… progress number three; let's hear it. I’ve done the first two for you.”
Come on, Charlie, you can do this.
Give me something.
Charlie glances down at his hands and picks at the cuticle of one thumb with the nail of the other. I take a sip of water to give him space to think, and a breath later, he looks back up at me, those big blue eyes determined.
“Me and Nick–” he starts, then heaves in a huge breath and looks away again. “I dunno…”
As I hurry to place my glass back on the side table next to my chair, I try to reassure him. “No, no, no, that's great. So… you feel you and Nick have progressed in your relationship?”
Charlie’s brow furrows just slightly and he nods. “Yeah, I… probably since that night of the argument,” he starts, and then sucks in a shuddery inhale. “I guess we feel a lot closer.”
He sighs. “He’s seen me at my absolute rock bottom and hasn't run away screaming.”
After another deep breath, he chuckles. “Now I feel like I'm in relationship therapy or something.”
My lips twitch. “We can save that until you're ten years in and having marital problems.”
The joke lands; he huffs out a little laugh and I feel a small swell of pride in my chest. This is why working with teenagers is my specialism – getting the laughs out of them after helping them out of the depths of their illness just feels so incredibly rewarding.
“But I expect your progress has allowed you to deepen your connection with him,” I continue, not wanting to get too off track. “If your intrusive thoughts have lessened, you've got more energy to give to your relationship.”
Charlie's lips twitch. “More energy.” He nods, and then he grins toothily, his entire face lighting up. “Yeah.”
O…kay… I know what that expression means.
Time for the condom chat soon.
Deciding today is not the day though, I just smile and nod, encouraging him to carry on.
“I… still feel like I've got a long way to go,” he says quietly, his eyes tracking off to the side, before his gaze meets mine again. “I still have a lot of bad days.”
“Well, you've experienced trauma, Charlie,” I remind him carefully.
“Yeah, but–” He looks around the room, irritation clear in his expression. “I really don't wanna be defined by the fact that I was bullied at fourteen and then had one toxic ex-boyfriend.”
Oh, Charlie.
“Trauma doesn't define you,” I insist, my voice calm but firm. “But it also doesn't vanish in five minutes, so give yourself some grace.”
The corner of Charlie's mouth quirks up just slightly.
“And you've got people around you who love and care for you,” I continue. “So enjoy them.”
The beaming smile on Charlie's face lights up my entire office.
“Do you practice your motivational pep-talks, or do they just come to you in the moment?” he asks cheekily.
Ah, there's that sass again.
I blumming love it.
“Oh,” I faux-sigh. “You know, they just come to me; I'm just a talented person.” I return the cheeky grin and Charlie chuckles.
Sensing our time is almost up, I check my watch. “Yeah, I think we're out of time here, so I'll see you next week,” I tell him. Leaning forward in my chair, I continue, “Oh, and enjoy your birthday. And party hard. Sixteen's one of the big ones.”
Charlie's content little smirk fills me with confidence that this week is going to be a good one.
And I'm so bloody proud of him.