Healing is hard (Dylan, Abby)
For a fifteen-year-old with the vocabulary of a forty-year-old, having to re-learn how to walk was one of the most frustrating things in the world.
During the attack on his house by the demon Kalevi, Dylan had suffered a back and head injury that left it necessary to develop coordination skills all over again. And considering what the rest of his family suffered, he had gotten off lightly. His brother and sister were dead, his other sister had been violated, and his mother wasn't the vivacious and frustrating woman she had once been. She hardly spoke at all any more.
Dylan himself had given up his lofty speech patterns that had once set him apart from the others his age. Now he was that boy who had two dead siblings and the crazy mum. Now quite a lot set him apart when he sat in his wheelchair in the back of the classroom, trying to blend into the wall. Quiet whispers circulated the room whenever he entered. People stared and speculated. Now he just wanted to be as normal as possible.
He still returned to the hospital for physical therapy and he was making progress though the fact that 'progress' only meant he could barely make it the length of a few feet while using two parallel bars to hold himself up frustrated the hell out of him. And that was why he went to see Abby every week. Abby was a psychiatrist and luckily she was also one of Dylan's favourite people.
"How was this week?" Abby asked him, twirling her pen absent-mindedly.
"It was fine," Dylan said with a shrug. At least he could manage a shrug, he thought. "I think now that it's been a little while the talking has died down."
"You were out of school for quite a while and of course they didn't see you over the summer. They had several months to stew on theories, as people tend to do. But it's getting better?"
"I guess. I don't really pay much attention. I'm just trying to get on with it, you know."
Abby nodded. "I very much so," she said, her voice full of sympathy. Then she did that frustrating psychologist's trick where they stare at you, waiting for you to say more. And Dylan could only sit in silence for so long before his palms started to sweat and he had to break the quiet.
"Lydia is great. She never lets me feel too alone. And when people give me funny looks, she yells at them in incredibly unique ways." Lydia was Dylan's girlfriend and if you asked them, they had been dating since they were 11 and 12, even if they were only just sort of realising what dating really meant. They were childhood sweethearts in the truest sense of the word. Best friends and true partners. Who now kissed occasionally instead of Dylan just bringing Lydia flowers and calling her 'milady' or composing sonnets about how beautiful she was in Shakespearean style. "And Del keeps me entertained when I'm not in school."
"How are things at home?" Abby asked, her brow furrowed.
"Finian keeps us going." Dylan had so much respect for his step-father. More respect than he had ever had for his real father, who had barely even acknowledged that Dylan had been terribly injured and that his son Sean was dead. "Erin isn't being a terrible bitch any more but I hate what it took to make her a human," Dylan admitted. "And mam is getting better, but she's still to afraid to talk to Deirdre. You know. Demons killed her children and hurt her other children and she had no idea that her oldest daughter was one. What a way to find out, hmm? But she said more than two words to me yesterday, so...we're getting there."
"Last week I had you rate how content you were with your life at the moment and you said 3 on a scale of 1 to 10. Any change this week?"
Dylan shook his head. "I think...when I can walk again and when I'm not treated like a sideshow freak, maybe then it'll change from a 3. But it's not going backwards either." Dylan took a deep breath. "So that's something. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Dylan."
"What would you say if I said I was considering leaving school and seeing about going to university now? I mean...next year, not now. I know I'm smart enough."
Abby leaned forward and she looked thoughtful, which Dylan appreciated. Finian had told him flat out it was a stupid idea. "Dylan, I don't doubt you are smart enough, but the way I see it, if you don't like being looked at now, that isn't going to get better in university. In fact, they'll probably stare more, let alone the fact that they will be severely put off by the sixteen-year-old who continuously scores higher than they ever do."
Dylan snorted at that and then he beamed back at her before heaving a sigh. "I guess that's true. I just hate being there now. I didn't mind when they stared because I used words they didn't know because that was them staring at me for a good reason. This is horrible."
"And it will pass," Abby said gently. "I promise you, Dylan. And if you notice them staring, just...tell the truth. Explain that something tragic happened to your family, that staring is an inappropriate response."
Dylan snorted. "They'll steal my wheelchair!"
"Oh they will not," Abby shook her head at him.
Dylan wasn't so sure, but he decided to take Abby's word for it. "I guess instead of hoping they'll stop, I should work on maybe not letting it bother me so much?"
Abby grinned at him. "Then that can be our goal for next week, how about it?"
"Oh goody gumdrops, a goal!" Dylan said, his voice laden with sarcasm.
"You know, ever since you started speaking normally, you have become much more sarcastic," Abby pointed out.
"Nah. It's just now people know what I'm saying." And Abby raised her eyebrows at him and acknowledged that he absolutely had a good point there.
During the attack on his house by the demon Kalevi, Dylan had suffered a back and head injury that left it necessary to develop coordination skills all over again. And considering what the rest of his family suffered, he had gotten off lightly. His brother and sister were dead, his other sister had been violated, and his mother wasn't the vivacious and frustrating woman she had once been. She hardly spoke at all any more.
Dylan himself had given up his lofty speech patterns that had once set him apart from the others his age. Now he was that boy who had two dead siblings and the crazy mum. Now quite a lot set him apart when he sat in his wheelchair in the back of the classroom, trying to blend into the wall. Quiet whispers circulated the room whenever he entered. People stared and speculated. Now he just wanted to be as normal as possible.
He still returned to the hospital for physical therapy and he was making progress though the fact that 'progress' only meant he could barely make it the length of a few feet while using two parallel bars to hold himself up frustrated the hell out of him. And that was why he went to see Abby every week. Abby was a psychiatrist and luckily she was also one of Dylan's favourite people.
"How was this week?" Abby asked him, twirling her pen absent-mindedly.
"It was fine," Dylan said with a shrug. At least he could manage a shrug, he thought. "I think now that it's been a little while the talking has died down."
"You were out of school for quite a while and of course they didn't see you over the summer. They had several months to stew on theories, as people tend to do. But it's getting better?"
"I guess. I don't really pay much attention. I'm just trying to get on with it, you know."
Abby nodded. "I very much so," she said, her voice full of sympathy. Then she did that frustrating psychologist's trick where they stare at you, waiting for you to say more. And Dylan could only sit in silence for so long before his palms started to sweat and he had to break the quiet.
"Lydia is great. She never lets me feel too alone. And when people give me funny looks, she yells at them in incredibly unique ways." Lydia was Dylan's girlfriend and if you asked them, they had been dating since they were 11 and 12, even if they were only just sort of realising what dating really meant. They were childhood sweethearts in the truest sense of the word. Best friends and true partners. Who now kissed occasionally instead of Dylan just bringing Lydia flowers and calling her 'milady' or composing sonnets about how beautiful she was in Shakespearean style. "And Del keeps me entertained when I'm not in school."
"How are things at home?" Abby asked, her brow furrowed.
"Finian keeps us going." Dylan had so much respect for his step-father. More respect than he had ever had for his real father, who had barely even acknowledged that Dylan had been terribly injured and that his son Sean was dead. "Erin isn't being a terrible bitch any more but I hate what it took to make her a human," Dylan admitted. "And mam is getting better, but she's still to afraid to talk to Deirdre. You know. Demons killed her children and hurt her other children and she had no idea that her oldest daughter was one. What a way to find out, hmm? But she said more than two words to me yesterday, so...we're getting there."
"Last week I had you rate how content you were with your life at the moment and you said 3 on a scale of 1 to 10. Any change this week?"
Dylan shook his head. "I think...when I can walk again and when I'm not treated like a sideshow freak, maybe then it'll change from a 3. But it's not going backwards either." Dylan took a deep breath. "So that's something. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Dylan."
"What would you say if I said I was considering leaving school and seeing about going to university now? I mean...next year, not now. I know I'm smart enough."
Abby leaned forward and she looked thoughtful, which Dylan appreciated. Finian had told him flat out it was a stupid idea. "Dylan, I don't doubt you are smart enough, but the way I see it, if you don't like being looked at now, that isn't going to get better in university. In fact, they'll probably stare more, let alone the fact that they will be severely put off by the sixteen-year-old who continuously scores higher than they ever do."
Dylan snorted at that and then he beamed back at her before heaving a sigh. "I guess that's true. I just hate being there now. I didn't mind when they stared because I used words they didn't know because that was them staring at me for a good reason. This is horrible."
"And it will pass," Abby said gently. "I promise you, Dylan. And if you notice them staring, just...tell the truth. Explain that something tragic happened to your family, that staring is an inappropriate response."
Dylan snorted. "They'll steal my wheelchair!"
"Oh they will not," Abby shook her head at him.
Dylan wasn't so sure, but he decided to take Abby's word for it. "I guess instead of hoping they'll stop, I should work on maybe not letting it bother me so much?"
Abby grinned at him. "Then that can be our goal for next week, how about it?"
"Oh goody gumdrops, a goal!" Dylan said, his voice laden with sarcasm.
"You know, ever since you started speaking normally, you have become much more sarcastic," Abby pointed out.
"Nah. It's just now people know what I'm saying." And Abby raised her eyebrows at him and acknowledged that he absolutely had a good point there.