vagueangel
in
__vam
Just Another Kid
Summary- Bam's known for a while that Ville has a little.. problem. But what happens when it starts getting out of control?
Rating- Mostly PG-13, but since it's me, there are NC-17 bits thrown in.
Caution- This is a bloody long story.
Right then... onward.
All previous chapters can be found here
Because I can be bought with flattery and sugary confections.. here is
Chapter Eleven
Worrying one fingernail with his teeth, Ville looked out the window, at the scenery flashing by. “I feel bad, you having to drive into the city twice a week. Maybe I should get my license, then I could drive myself.” He kept his head turned. “Or I could take the train.”
Bam glanced over at him, rested a hand on his thigh. “Do you wanna go alone, baby? Cause I can just drop you off and fuck around for an hour…”
“I dunno.”
“Well, I’ll come up with you, and if you want, I’ll stay in the waiting room. That way if you need me, I’ll be close by.” Bam gently squeezed his boyfriend’s leg.
It was Ville’s fourth trip to the psychologist; he had been going twice a week. He sighed softly and slipped his hand into Bam’s. “If you don’t mind… Then next week, you can go have fun.”
“Anything you need.” It had to be the three hundredth time Bam had uttered those words, and he still meant them. But it was exhausting. It seemed like everything was exhausting lately, reassuring Ville, making sure he got out, making sure he ate… Just being in the house all the time was getting tiring. Sometimes it felt like he was Ville’s babysitter, not his boyfriend.
But he would put up with it. He would put up with it for as long as was needed. That’s what you did for the person you loved, wasn’t it? Bam wasn’t the most patient person, but he thought he was doing a pretty damn good job.
Once inside the office, Ville sat on the edge of the couch, suddenly uncertain without Bam with him. He pushed himself back into the overstuffed cushions, drawing his legs up under him, wishing for the millionth time he could smoke during these hellish hours.
Dr. Jackson flipped a fresh page on his pad, Ville’s file resting on his lap. “How have you been?”
“Since two days ago?” Ville shrugged. “As good as can be expected, I guess. Just.. constantly waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
He shrugged again, picking at the fraying bottoms of his jeans. “For the next piece of missed time, for Bam to get fed up and leave me, for the media to find out about this whole mess and have a fucking field day…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Waiting for this to all be over.”
Silent for a moment, Jackson nodded slowly. “And which one of those scares you the most?” He watched his patient frown and continue to pluck at his pants. “Ville?”
“Bam.” Ville let out a soft sigh, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I’m depending on him too much, I know. I’m keeping him from doing things, from being with his friends. I’ve.. become an inconvenience.”
“Do you ask him not to do things, or not to be with his friends?” Jackson shifted his papers around and crossed her legs, leaning back in his chair. When Ville shook his head, he waited a minute longer before speaking. “Then don’t you think that’s it’s his choice? That he stays close because he wants to, because he loves you?”
Biting his lip, Ville looked out the window, over the busy Manhattan street. “Maybe he feels like he’s obligated. God, I don’t know.” He was reaching for his cigarettes before remembering he couldn’t smoke, and made a small, frustrated sound. “I know he loves me but… Can we talk about something else?”
Nodding a bit, Jackson made a small note on his pad. “What would you like to talk about?” He watched Ville shrug again. “You don’t have to talk about anything, Ville. But you aren’t going to get past this that way.”
“I know.”
“Have you called your friend? About past regressions?”
“Not yet.” Ville played with his lighter, picking at the label. “It’s hard, you know? I mean, knowing he’s known all this time, and I’m only just finding out. It’s hard to know I’ve been this screwed up for so long.” He cut the doctor off before he could speak. “I know, it’s not being screwed up. But it sure as hell feels like it.”
Jackson scribbled something else in his pad, glancing at the file on his lap. “Why is it so hard to talk to him?”
“Are you kidding?”
The doctor shrugged, meeting Ville’s eyes. “He’s known about this since you were.. seventeen?” he asked, flipping through the file. “And ten years later, he’s still your friend. So, why is it hard?”
Ville nervously scratched at his heavily tattooed left arm, knowing any marks wouldn’t show. “I’m not sure. I guess… Because it still doesn’t feel real. And if he tells me about it, back in the day, then it’ll be that much more real.” He studied the sleeve tattoo, not knowing where else to look. “Maybe if he knows how bad it’s got, he won’t want to be my friend yet.”
Writing for a few minutes this time, Jackson tilted his head slightly. “Are you aware you have abandonment issues?”
“I haven’t.”
“You do, Ville. Do you realize how many times you’ve expressed a fear of someone close to you leaving you?” Jackson saw the look of near panic cross the other man’s face. “How are you when you’re alone for long periods of time? How does it make you feel?”
“I could really use a fag,” Ville mumbled, trying to keep the stress out of his voice. He watched Jackson stand and open the window, handing him a small ashtray from somewhere off the slightly cluttered desk. “Oh, god, thank you.” Lighting up quickly, he took a few deep drags.
“How does being alone make you feel?”
Squirming uncomfortably on the couch, Ville sucked at his cigarette. “Sometimes… Sometimes I feel like I need to be alone. Sometimes I can’t stand to be around people. But then, after a week or so, it crushes me. The isolation. All I have is my own head to listen to, and it never stops.
“I go off by myself to get away from all the noise, all the people for a while. To just have some fucking peace. And then after a day or so, I don’t have peace. I have my own stupid head going nonstop.” He stopped abruptly, breath hitching in his throat. “I hate being alone,” he whispered.
Rating- Mostly PG-13, but since it's me, there are NC-17 bits thrown in.
Caution- This is a bloody long story.
Right then... onward.
All previous chapters can be found here
Because I can be bought with flattery and sugary confections.. here is
Chapter Eleven
Worrying one fingernail with his teeth, Ville looked out the window, at the scenery flashing by. “I feel bad, you having to drive into the city twice a week. Maybe I should get my license, then I could drive myself.” He kept his head turned. “Or I could take the train.”
Bam glanced over at him, rested a hand on his thigh. “Do you wanna go alone, baby? Cause I can just drop you off and fuck around for an hour…”
“I dunno.”
“Well, I’ll come up with you, and if you want, I’ll stay in the waiting room. That way if you need me, I’ll be close by.” Bam gently squeezed his boyfriend’s leg.
It was Ville’s fourth trip to the psychologist; he had been going twice a week. He sighed softly and slipped his hand into Bam’s. “If you don’t mind… Then next week, you can go have fun.”
“Anything you need.” It had to be the three hundredth time Bam had uttered those words, and he still meant them. But it was exhausting. It seemed like everything was exhausting lately, reassuring Ville, making sure he got out, making sure he ate… Just being in the house all the time was getting tiring. Sometimes it felt like he was Ville’s babysitter, not his boyfriend.
But he would put up with it. He would put up with it for as long as was needed. That’s what you did for the person you loved, wasn’t it? Bam wasn’t the most patient person, but he thought he was doing a pretty damn good job.
Once inside the office, Ville sat on the edge of the couch, suddenly uncertain without Bam with him. He pushed himself back into the overstuffed cushions, drawing his legs up under him, wishing for the millionth time he could smoke during these hellish hours.
Dr. Jackson flipped a fresh page on his pad, Ville’s file resting on his lap. “How have you been?”
“Since two days ago?” Ville shrugged. “As good as can be expected, I guess. Just.. constantly waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
He shrugged again, picking at the fraying bottoms of his jeans. “For the next piece of missed time, for Bam to get fed up and leave me, for the media to find out about this whole mess and have a fucking field day…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Waiting for this to all be over.”
Silent for a moment, Jackson nodded slowly. “And which one of those scares you the most?” He watched his patient frown and continue to pluck at his pants. “Ville?”
“Bam.” Ville let out a soft sigh, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I’m depending on him too much, I know. I’m keeping him from doing things, from being with his friends. I’ve.. become an inconvenience.”
“Do you ask him not to do things, or not to be with his friends?” Jackson shifted his papers around and crossed her legs, leaning back in his chair. When Ville shook his head, he waited a minute longer before speaking. “Then don’t you think that’s it’s his choice? That he stays close because he wants to, because he loves you?”
Biting his lip, Ville looked out the window, over the busy Manhattan street. “Maybe he feels like he’s obligated. God, I don’t know.” He was reaching for his cigarettes before remembering he couldn’t smoke, and made a small, frustrated sound. “I know he loves me but… Can we talk about something else?”
Nodding a bit, Jackson made a small note on his pad. “What would you like to talk about?” He watched Ville shrug again. “You don’t have to talk about anything, Ville. But you aren’t going to get past this that way.”
“I know.”
“Have you called your friend? About past regressions?”
“Not yet.” Ville played with his lighter, picking at the label. “It’s hard, you know? I mean, knowing he’s known all this time, and I’m only just finding out. It’s hard to know I’ve been this screwed up for so long.” He cut the doctor off before he could speak. “I know, it’s not being screwed up. But it sure as hell feels like it.”
Jackson scribbled something else in his pad, glancing at the file on his lap. “Why is it so hard to talk to him?”
“Are you kidding?”
The doctor shrugged, meeting Ville’s eyes. “He’s known about this since you were.. seventeen?” he asked, flipping through the file. “And ten years later, he’s still your friend. So, why is it hard?”
Ville nervously scratched at his heavily tattooed left arm, knowing any marks wouldn’t show. “I’m not sure. I guess… Because it still doesn’t feel real. And if he tells me about it, back in the day, then it’ll be that much more real.” He studied the sleeve tattoo, not knowing where else to look. “Maybe if he knows how bad it’s got, he won’t want to be my friend yet.”
Writing for a few minutes this time, Jackson tilted his head slightly. “Are you aware you have abandonment issues?”
“I haven’t.”
“You do, Ville. Do you realize how many times you’ve expressed a fear of someone close to you leaving you?” Jackson saw the look of near panic cross the other man’s face. “How are you when you’re alone for long periods of time? How does it make you feel?”
“I could really use a fag,” Ville mumbled, trying to keep the stress out of his voice. He watched Jackson stand and open the window, handing him a small ashtray from somewhere off the slightly cluttered desk. “Oh, god, thank you.” Lighting up quickly, he took a few deep drags.
“How does being alone make you feel?”
Squirming uncomfortably on the couch, Ville sucked at his cigarette. “Sometimes… Sometimes I feel like I need to be alone. Sometimes I can’t stand to be around people. But then, after a week or so, it crushes me. The isolation. All I have is my own head to listen to, and it never stops.
“I go off by myself to get away from all the noise, all the people for a while. To just have some fucking peace. And then after a day or so, I don’t have peace. I have my own stupid head going nonstop.” He stopped abruptly, breath hitching in his throat. “I hate being alone,” he whispered.