psyche [part two] [1 to 2]
Title: psyche
Author: twilight_rush
Rated: pg-13
Masterlist
Part Two
1
Jamie sort of feels bad for his therapist’s parents. When they named her they probably thought she’d grow up to be an actress, a singer, a socialite, or end up marrying in wealth or someone of royalty. Instead she’s Jamie’s therapist. What kind of name is Emilia Rosa for a therapist?
So much potential for someone with that name.
He sits cross-legged on the familiar blue, worn coach in her office. Emilia sits across from him in her plush chair. She’s cut her orange hair since Jamie last saw her. It makes her look like an old lady trying to lap up the last few drops of her youth before it goes away permanently.
“So how are you today? It’s been a while,” she says, sitting down her cup of sugar plum tea on the coffee table. Jamie hasn’t touched his yet.
“Okay, I guess,” he answers. “You?”
She’s been his therapist since he was about ten or eleven. In some sort of detached way, Jamie considers her part of his little family. She thinks they’re close. She thinks she knows everything about him. He wonders how she’d act if she knew there were still some things he’s failed to tell her.
“I’ve been good, too, I suppose. Life’s been well.”
“Cool.”
“Girlie told me you’ve made some friends?” she goes on.
Jamie picks at the cut-out hole on his skinny jeans; the ones that don’t make him nearly as skinny as he would like. “Yeah, Alexandria’s this new girl at school. She’s neat. I like her. . .”
Jamie can tell her all there is to know about Alexandria. How trippy and zany she is. How she’s an actual good friend. And then there’s Jean. Jamie guesses they’re “friends” now. He wants to keep Jean to himself -- je can’t talk about him without feeling invaded or like an idiot.
“And this guy, Jean,” he decides to says, staring at his tea. It’s probably cold and too sugary now. “He’s cool.”
“Is something wrong Jamie?”
“What?”
“You’re distant.” She peers at him as if she can see the inside of his brain and know, like when he was younger and she could tell what was bothering him. “Something you want to say?”
Something he wants to say?
There are a million things to say and not say.
Jamie is wrong. His whole life is wrong. His body is wrong. Alexandria thinks she knows everything. Zack knows about Jean. Zack’s starting to mess with Jamie again. Maybe it would be best if Jean went back to not acknowledging him. Girlie never notices anything. Jamie can never stop complaining and he’s annoying.
Does she really want to know all that?
“I-I want to have my dosage on my meds lowered,” he stumbles.
“Why?”
“It’s been like that since forever and it doesn’t need to be. I’m ready. I’ve gotten better.”
“Have you?”
Jamie hesitates. Her comment is equivalent to her stabbing him and then spitting on his corpse. He blinks, unconfident, and averts his sight to the floor. “I think so.”
“This is something we’ll have to discuss in-depth, and with your aunt too,” she says in a voice so tired, like he’s annoying her. Jamie sinks into the couch. He wishes it was liquid so he could drown in it.
“But, Jamie, the way I see it, I don’t think it’s time,” she finishes.
Her simple sentence sends Jamie down bitterly, irritation scratching at his organs.
“It is time! My attitude’s changed. I don’t need to take so much of any of that stuff anymore. I hate it. It makes me feel worse. I feel like I’m bipolar half the time with it. There’s no point to it.” With each word he grips his knees tighter till he’s sure the skin underneath the jeans is a shade of purple.
What does she know?
It’s his body. His head.
No one knows anything.
“Jamie --”
“Stop saying my name so much.”
“Your attitude’s gotten worse. I believe there are some things going on and you’re not telling anyone about them.” She leans forward in her seat, thin eyebrows furrowed to show concern.
He can’t look at her. “So what? You want me to confess something?” he eggs, daring her to want to know the truth. Emilia sighs and sits up straight in her chair. She clasps her hands in her lap and lets the sadness overfill her eyes.
Jamie feels like a bastard now.
“I don’t think you even want to admit it to yourself,” she declares.
He stands up and tells her he wants to leave.
Jamie’s brain is a watery paste and he won’t be surprised if brain matter starts leaking from his ears and nose. He keeps quiet and lets Girlie talk the whole drive back home.
He’s been taking all this medication since he was ten. First it was for the hormones, then for anxiety, and by the time he was thirteen depression, nightmares, and panic attacks were included. He hasn’t have nightmares in three months. He can’t remember his last really bad anxiety attack, so it must’ve been long ago. He’s not as depressed as he is just sad nowadays.
He doesn’t need so much junk in his body, traveling through his veins and attacking his brain.
2
Jean’s acoustic guitar is a piece of junk, but he plays it until his fingers cramp up and the few lyrics he has written don’t sound like a new music genre. Indie-Pop Vomit!
He woke up thinking of Jamie and he couldn’t remember whether he dreamt about him or not. It was probably a weird dream if he had. Either way, he had a sudden urge to write a song, and wrote the muddled up words without protest. It’s quite normal for him to write a song at 4 o’clock in the morning, when there’s only two hours left before he has to get ready for school.
Jamie wasn’t at school Monday. It would’ve been easy for Jean to just text him, send a few simple words that read Hey, you doing okay? Still nursing your ears from the show? Ha. Or something. He could’ve bothered Alexandria, but he isn’t ready to mess with her yet.
Maybe he’ll see Jamie today. If he doesn’t see him, Jean promises to check up on him.
***
Usually Jean is late to English - he has to come from the other side of the building where his Sociology class is, go downstairs to get his English book he forgot to get earlier, and then come back upstairs for English - but today he’s early. There are only five students in class at the moment.
Out of the five there’s Jamie, sitting quietly at his desk and already starting on the bellwork that’s written on the board. His skin is an ugly pale yellow and he has his chin close to his chest, so all Jean can see is a mass of uncombed black hair.
Jean walks over and drops in Alexandria’s seat. He feels huge compared to Jamie, and he has a funny urge to hug him.
But they’re in class and he can’t do that in front of everyone - it’d look weird, so he touches Jamie’s shoulder instead.
“You sick?” Jean asks. Jamie lifts his head abruptly, shaking hair out of his eyes. The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a flustered smile.
“Uh, yeah, I was. But I think I’m better now, or getting better,” he laughs, wiping his nose. “I don’t like missing a lot of school so I came today.”
“You look like shit,” Jean points out.
“I--I know, it’s just --” Jamie stutters and mumbles nonsense words, causing Jean to laugh too loud, and the other students look at them questioningly.
Jean stares right back until they turn back around in their seats, somewhat offended. He looks back at Jamie who keeps shaking his head and shrugging. He’s gripping his stomach and Jean can see his throat jumping like he’s choking.
“Are you - ugh, come on.” He tugs on Jamie’s sleeve till he gets up and they jog to the nearest boys’ restroom. It’s empty and smells likes urine and Pine-Sol, but Jamie launches into the nearest stall and vomits, almost missing the toilet completely.
Jean goes in when Jamie stops and is only breathing heavily “You want to go to the nurse? Get some water?”
“I really don’t feel like drinking or doing anything,” gasps Jamie, rubbing his mouth.
“Which means you should,” Jean chimes. He goes out to the vending machine and comes back with a bottle of 7-Up. “It’ll calm your stomach.”
Jamie drinks a few sips before going to sink and washing his face with a wet paper towel.
“I feel like shit, too,” Jamie laughs, except it’s small and sad and even Jean can’t laugh along.
Jean comes up from behind Jamie and lightly touches his shoulder again. “You should go home.”
“My aunt’s at work,” Jamie groans, taking another sip and holding his stomach like he might puke again. “By the time she gets here it’d be fifth hour because her boss doesn’t like her taking off.”
“There’s no else to come get you?” When Jamie says no Jean begins pushing him out of the restroom. “Well, great. I’ll take you home. We’re not doing anything important in my classes.”
Jamie argues with him that it’s okay, he’ll call his aunt anyway, but Jean’s insisting they go get their backpacks, tell the teacher they’re going to the nurse, and then leave. So Jamie goes along with it.
“You have your keys to your house, right?’ Jean asks, starting up the car. Jamie half-heartedly snaps his seatbelt on and slouches.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been doing okay?” Jean asks for the sake of it, even though he already has a clear idea of Jamie’s answer may be.
Jamie bangs his forehead against the window, breathing hot air so the window fogs up. He swishes the pop bottle around. “I wish everyone would stop asking that.”
“It’s not like you give them a reason not to,” Jean tells him. Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Jean figures he’ll be doing all the speaking today.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable,” Jean blurts. Jamie peers at him, confusion making his head spin, or maybe it’s the post-puking fest.
“Huh?”
“You always look like I make you nervous or something, so I’m sorry for that, I guess,” Jean murmurs. He slows down at a stop sign, takes his time turning the corner. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a jerk to you.”
“What, no, you never - I just - uh,” Jamie’s mouth is moving faster than his words, coming out as garble. Jean laughs at the red flush on Jamie’s face, and without even thinking about it, reaches over and touches Jamie’s hand.
But once he feels skin, and realizes what he’s doing, Jean curves his hand like he was reaching for something else.
“Sorry,” he rushes, and Jamie says nothing.
Jean flexes his fingers but his hand still feels like he got burned.
Author: twilight_rush
Rated: pg-13
Masterlist
Part Two
1
Jamie sort of feels bad for his therapist’s parents. When they named her they probably thought she’d grow up to be an actress, a singer, a socialite, or end up marrying in wealth or someone of royalty. Instead she’s Jamie’s therapist. What kind of name is Emilia Rosa for a therapist?
So much potential for someone with that name.
He sits cross-legged on the familiar blue, worn coach in her office. Emilia sits across from him in her plush chair. She’s cut her orange hair since Jamie last saw her. It makes her look like an old lady trying to lap up the last few drops of her youth before it goes away permanently.
“So how are you today? It’s been a while,” she says, sitting down her cup of sugar plum tea on the coffee table. Jamie hasn’t touched his yet.
“Okay, I guess,” he answers. “You?”
She’s been his therapist since he was about ten or eleven. In some sort of detached way, Jamie considers her part of his little family. She thinks they’re close. She thinks she knows everything about him. He wonders how she’d act if she knew there were still some things he’s failed to tell her.
“I’ve been good, too, I suppose. Life’s been well.”
“Cool.”
“Girlie told me you’ve made some friends?” she goes on.
Jamie picks at the cut-out hole on his skinny jeans; the ones that don’t make him nearly as skinny as he would like. “Yeah, Alexandria’s this new girl at school. She’s neat. I like her. . .”
Jamie can tell her all there is to know about Alexandria. How trippy and zany she is. How she’s an actual good friend. And then there’s Jean. Jamie guesses they’re “friends” now. He wants to keep Jean to himself -- je can’t talk about him without feeling invaded or like an idiot.
“And this guy, Jean,” he decides to says, staring at his tea. It’s probably cold and too sugary now. “He’s cool.”
“Is something wrong Jamie?”
“What?”
“You’re distant.” She peers at him as if she can see the inside of his brain and know, like when he was younger and she could tell what was bothering him. “Something you want to say?”
Something he wants to say?
There are a million things to say and not say.
Jamie is wrong. His whole life is wrong. His body is wrong. Alexandria thinks she knows everything. Zack knows about Jean. Zack’s starting to mess with Jamie again. Maybe it would be best if Jean went back to not acknowledging him. Girlie never notices anything. Jamie can never stop complaining and he’s annoying.
Does she really want to know all that?
“I-I want to have my dosage on my meds lowered,” he stumbles.
“Why?”
“It’s been like that since forever and it doesn’t need to be. I’m ready. I’ve gotten better.”
“Have you?”
Jamie hesitates. Her comment is equivalent to her stabbing him and then spitting on his corpse. He blinks, unconfident, and averts his sight to the floor. “I think so.”
“This is something we’ll have to discuss in-depth, and with your aunt too,” she says in a voice so tired, like he’s annoying her. Jamie sinks into the couch. He wishes it was liquid so he could drown in it.
“But, Jamie, the way I see it, I don’t think it’s time,” she finishes.
Her simple sentence sends Jamie down bitterly, irritation scratching at his organs.
“It is time! My attitude’s changed. I don’t need to take so much of any of that stuff anymore. I hate it. It makes me feel worse. I feel like I’m bipolar half the time with it. There’s no point to it.” With each word he grips his knees tighter till he’s sure the skin underneath the jeans is a shade of purple.
What does she know?
It’s his body. His head.
No one knows anything.
“Jamie --”
“Stop saying my name so much.”
“Your attitude’s gotten worse. I believe there are some things going on and you’re not telling anyone about them.” She leans forward in her seat, thin eyebrows furrowed to show concern.
He can’t look at her. “So what? You want me to confess something?” he eggs, daring her to want to know the truth. Emilia sighs and sits up straight in her chair. She clasps her hands in her lap and lets the sadness overfill her eyes.
Jamie feels like a bastard now.
“I don’t think you even want to admit it to yourself,” she declares.
He stands up and tells her he wants to leave.
Jamie’s brain is a watery paste and he won’t be surprised if brain matter starts leaking from his ears and nose. He keeps quiet and lets Girlie talk the whole drive back home.
He’s been taking all this medication since he was ten. First it was for the hormones, then for anxiety, and by the time he was thirteen depression, nightmares, and panic attacks were included. He hasn’t have nightmares in three months. He can’t remember his last really bad anxiety attack, so it must’ve been long ago. He’s not as depressed as he is just sad nowadays.
He doesn’t need so much junk in his body, traveling through his veins and attacking his brain.
2
Jean’s acoustic guitar is a piece of junk, but he plays it until his fingers cramp up and the few lyrics he has written don’t sound like a new music genre. Indie-Pop Vomit!
He woke up thinking of Jamie and he couldn’t remember whether he dreamt about him or not. It was probably a weird dream if he had. Either way, he had a sudden urge to write a song, and wrote the muddled up words without protest. It’s quite normal for him to write a song at 4 o’clock in the morning, when there’s only two hours left before he has to get ready for school.
Jamie wasn’t at school Monday. It would’ve been easy for Jean to just text him, send a few simple words that read Hey, you doing okay? Still nursing your ears from the show? Ha. Or something. He could’ve bothered Alexandria, but he isn’t ready to mess with her yet.
Maybe he’ll see Jamie today. If he doesn’t see him, Jean promises to check up on him.
***
Usually Jean is late to English - he has to come from the other side of the building where his Sociology class is, go downstairs to get his English book he forgot to get earlier, and then come back upstairs for English - but today he’s early. There are only five students in class at the moment.
Out of the five there’s Jamie, sitting quietly at his desk and already starting on the bellwork that’s written on the board. His skin is an ugly pale yellow and he has his chin close to his chest, so all Jean can see is a mass of uncombed black hair.
Jean walks over and drops in Alexandria’s seat. He feels huge compared to Jamie, and he has a funny urge to hug him.
But they’re in class and he can’t do that in front of everyone - it’d look weird, so he touches Jamie’s shoulder instead.
“You sick?” Jean asks. Jamie lifts his head abruptly, shaking hair out of his eyes. The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a flustered smile.
“Uh, yeah, I was. But I think I’m better now, or getting better,” he laughs, wiping his nose. “I don’t like missing a lot of school so I came today.”
“You look like shit,” Jean points out.
“I--I know, it’s just --” Jamie stutters and mumbles nonsense words, causing Jean to laugh too loud, and the other students look at them questioningly.
Jean stares right back until they turn back around in their seats, somewhat offended. He looks back at Jamie who keeps shaking his head and shrugging. He’s gripping his stomach and Jean can see his throat jumping like he’s choking.
“Are you - ugh, come on.” He tugs on Jamie’s sleeve till he gets up and they jog to the nearest boys’ restroom. It’s empty and smells likes urine and Pine-Sol, but Jamie launches into the nearest stall and vomits, almost missing the toilet completely.
Jean goes in when Jamie stops and is only breathing heavily “You want to go to the nurse? Get some water?”
“I really don’t feel like drinking or doing anything,” gasps Jamie, rubbing his mouth.
“Which means you should,” Jean chimes. He goes out to the vending machine and comes back with a bottle of 7-Up. “It’ll calm your stomach.”
Jamie drinks a few sips before going to sink and washing his face with a wet paper towel.
“I feel like shit, too,” Jamie laughs, except it’s small and sad and even Jean can’t laugh along.
Jean comes up from behind Jamie and lightly touches his shoulder again. “You should go home.”
“My aunt’s at work,” Jamie groans, taking another sip and holding his stomach like he might puke again. “By the time she gets here it’d be fifth hour because her boss doesn’t like her taking off.”
“There’s no else to come get you?” When Jamie says no Jean begins pushing him out of the restroom. “Well, great. I’ll take you home. We’re not doing anything important in my classes.”
Jamie argues with him that it’s okay, he’ll call his aunt anyway, but Jean’s insisting they go get their backpacks, tell the teacher they’re going to the nurse, and then leave. So Jamie goes along with it.
“You have your keys to your house, right?’ Jean asks, starting up the car. Jamie half-heartedly snaps his seatbelt on and slouches.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been doing okay?” Jean asks for the sake of it, even though he already has a clear idea of Jamie’s answer may be.
Jamie bangs his forehead against the window, breathing hot air so the window fogs up. He swishes the pop bottle around. “I wish everyone would stop asking that.”
“It’s not like you give them a reason not to,” Jean tells him. Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Jean figures he’ll be doing all the speaking today.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable,” Jean blurts. Jamie peers at him, confusion making his head spin, or maybe it’s the post-puking fest.
“Huh?”
“You always look like I make you nervous or something, so I’m sorry for that, I guess,” Jean murmurs. He slows down at a stop sign, takes his time turning the corner. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a jerk to you.”
“What, no, you never - I just - uh,” Jamie’s mouth is moving faster than his words, coming out as garble. Jean laughs at the red flush on Jamie’s face, and without even thinking about it, reaches over and touches Jamie’s hand.
But once he feels skin, and realizes what he’s doing, Jean curves his hand like he was reaching for something else.
“Sorry,” he rushes, and Jamie says nothing.
Jean flexes his fingers but his hand still feels like he got burned.