Blue Patches Counseling Center: Chapter 3-Tacoma
Title: Blue Patches Counseling Center
Author: Ocelot_l
Characters: Rebecca, Donnie, Tacoma, Todd, Lupa, Harvey, Tara, Film Brain, Marzgurl, Cinema Snob, Maven, Quinn
Pairings: Todd/Lupa, Harvey/Tara, past Marzgurl/Hagan, implied Cinema Snob/Phelous
Summary: Rebecca, Donnie, and Tacoma are all therapists at the Blue Patches Counseling Center. They specialize in different areas but all share the same goal of helping their clients lead happier, healthier lives.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Bad Language, Dark Themes, Depression, Self-Harm, Blood, Suicide Attempt
Word Count: 15,771
Notes: The names of all the producers have been changed in this story, since Demo Reel was set in an alternate universe, but hopefully I've done enough to make the characters recognizable despite the name changes. I hope you enjoy!
PATIENT # 3001245-ELSA EVENTIDE
Session 1
She looked small and pale, and seemed almost to blend into the white couch on which she sat. Her eyes were tired and her mouth drawn, though not a single golden hair was out of place, nor was her make-up in any way smudged. Her hands rested neatly atop her lap, fingers twitching only slightly when she noticed the pad of paper and pen lying on the table before her.
“What is this for, Dr. Narrows?”
Tacoma smiled at her. “I was hoping to begin our sessions by asking you to fill this out.”
The woman frowned, picking up the pad to examine it more thoroughly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any questions here. What exactly am I supposed to fill out?”
“That’s up to you,” Tacoma said as he gathered up a few files from his desk. “You can tell me something about yourself, write a little story, draw a picture, whatever you’d like. Don’t worry,” he continued when he saw the concern clearly forming within her eyes, “there is no right or wrong answer here, Miss Eventide.”
She nodded, though she didn’t look entirely convinced that there wasn’t some hidden meaning to this exercise. “Okay.”
“I’m going to go put these away for a few minutes, if you don’t mind,” Tacoma continued, holding up the files. “I’ll be right back.”
He moved confidently across the office and toward the locked door where he kept his files. After opening and entering the room, Tacoma took a few moments to tidy things up and allow his newest client some time to complete his request. He’d found that people were more likely to create something when not being watched, so he made sure to give each new patient a small amount of time to work on their own.
Five minutes later, Tacoma locked the file room and returned to the couch where the young woman sat, taking a seat in the chair opposite her. He noticed she was now clutching the notepad tightly in her pale fists. “Have you finished, Miss Eventide?”
“Please, call me Elsa.”
“Alright, Elsa then.” She gave a slight nod. “Can I take a look?”
She hesitated for the briefest of moments before handing him the pad without another word. Tacoma settled it atop his lap before glancing down with a keen eye. He had to work very hard to keep his brows from rising too high since he was utterly surprised by what this young woman had drawn.
It was one of those transparent 3-D cubes that teenagers often doodled in the margins of their history notes during especially boring lectures.
“It’s the only thing I know how to draw perfectly,” Elsa said without prompting, watching as the doctor studied her work rather intently. Tacoma glanced up, still smiling.
“I’m very impressed. It certainly is a perfect drawing.” Elsa seemed to relax the teeniest bit at these words, leaning a quarter of an inch closer to the couch. “I remember drawing these back in school. Is that when you started drawing them?”
“That’s where I first learned about these,” Elsa confirmed, “though I never drew them during school. My friends would cover their textbook covers and worksheets with drawings of them but they always just looked so messy and immature,” she admitted, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Plus most of them couldn’t draw straight to save their lives, so they always turned out crooked. It was an annoyance to look at them, honestly.”
“Hmm,” Tacoma said, shooting her a curious look now. “So if they annoy you, why did you feel like drawing one right now?”
“I told you, because it’s the only thing I could draw perfectly,” Elsa snapped, a touch of irritation coloring her features now.
“Perfection,” Tacoma softly repeated. “It’s very important to you, I take it?”
“I didn’t say that.” Elsa quickly lowered her gaze, clasping her hands together more tightly. “Perfection is not something I desire. It’s just… what is expected of me.”
“What do you mean?” Tacoma wondered.
Elsa’s body grew rigid and Tacoma knew she was trying to close up. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Let’s just get this over with so we can both get back to our jobs.”
“Well, talking to you is my job,” Tacoma said with a smile, trying to loosen her up again. “But I can see why you would be eager to return to where you work. It must be so exciting to be an airline pilot, getting to travel the world and meet all sorts of people.”
“It’s fine,” Elsa tried to say in a casual manner, though Tacoma could once again see her hands tightening.
“Only fine? What don’t you like about it?”
“Oh, a number of things. There aren’t many women in my line of work, as I’m sure you know, the hours can be long, and the airports… ugh, I really hate airports,” she confessed, her expression growing disgusted.
“I know they can certainly be hectic and even dangerous at times,” Tacoma agreed.
“And noisy,” Elsa continued, voice growing softer. “They’re so noisy… you can hardly find a moment to just stop and think. I… truly hate having to stay inside airports some days.”
“Might that be why you didn’t show up for any of your scheduled flights last week?” Tacoma asked, just as softly. He could tell by her startled expression that he was right, so he continued talking. “Where did you go when you weren’t at work, Elsa?”
“I took a walk,” Elsa muttered. Her head had drooped and her legs came closer together. “In the woods.”
“The woods?”
“I just needed… a little silence,” she said, her hands clenched together so tightly that her perfectly manicured nails now dug into her flesh. “I just needed a little peace. Everything’s so noisy and hectic when I’m working… I needed to find somewhere quiet again. I needed to find a place where I could remove the noise and distractions from my mind, so that when I came back to work, I would be perfect again.”
“We all need a little time to ourselves now and then,” Tacoma agreed, earning a small flash of gratitude from Elsa. “Has this been something you’ve always needed to do? I noticed you said ‘again’ before.”
Elsa bit her lip before sitting up straight. “I might as well tell you, even though you’ll think it’s stupid. Whenever I was young and I had a test or a spelling bee or something of that nature coming up, I’d sometimes have these terrible dreams about failing them. I would wake up in bed each morning and feel almost paralyzed with fear.” Her arms moved without her realizing around her body as she hugged herself tightly. “I couldn’t talk during those episodes, I couldn’t breathe, I just… laid there in terror, for hours it would seem.”
“Did you ever tell your parents about those incidents?” Tacoma asked in concern. Elsa shook her head.
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be the good girl, the perfect daughter. I couldn’t let them know how stupid I was being because of one silly test. So when I was finally able to move again, I would run into the woods and lie down in the grass for a while. It was so quiet and peaceful there,” she said, her eyes glowing faintly as she reminisced. “I could clear my head and breathe easy for just a little while.”
“The woods?” Tacoma asked in mild surprise. “I can understand finding peace in nature, but aren’t the woods usually a scary place for a little kid?”
“Not for me,” Elsa said, a small smile sliding into place. “I was never scared by the woods, no matter how dark or dank they were. When I was there I felt stronger and braver than I ever did at school or at home. Sometimes I… I even pretended I was a creature of the darkness,” she admitted a faint blush on her face. “I called myself the Maven, the master of the night, the fearless demon who sneered at the worries of mere mortals. The Maven would never care about acing her geometry test or winning the spelling bee. She didn’t need to be Prom Queen or valedictorian… she didn’t need to be perfect.”
Elsa let out a shuddering sigh, her fingers moving to grip her knees. “Are you okay?” Tacoma asked gently.
“Y-yes… yes, I’m fine,” she said, quickly composing herself. “I don’t know why I said all that. You must think I’m ridiculous now.”
“Not at all,” Tacoma replied. “I actually think I understand you a little better now, Elsa. So last week, when you went for that walk in the woods… do you think you might have been searching for the Maven again?”
“Oh God.” Elsa buried her face in her hands. “I sound like a lunatic, looking for some fictional monster that I know doesn’t exist.”
“Just because the Maven isn’t a real person doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist.” Elsa looked up, flushed and very confused, but Tacoma kept talking. “The Maven is a part of you, Elsa. She’s the strength you search for inside yourself to keep getting up every day and doing what you need to do.”
“But she isn’t real!” Elsa cried.
“Neither is a perfect person,” Tacoma retorted, causing Elsa to fall silent. “But if it were me, I’d rather believe in a strong, brave, awesome creature of darkness to help carry some of the weight that’s been laid upon my shoulders. Maven helped you a lot, Elsa, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you remove some of that weight too.”
Elsa continued to sit in silence for a moment. “I’d… like that,” she finally said, her face softening as she took comfort in the doctor’s words.
Tacoma smiled before reaching for a pen. “And maybe, one day, you can show me how you draw such perfect cubes,” he said, scribbling on the paper a moment before turning it around to show her what he’d made. “Because mine, as you can see, are anything but.”
Elsa let out a small laugh. “I think I like yours better.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 1
Tacoma walked out of the file room and glanced curiously at the man sitting on his couch today. “Have you finished, Quinn?”
Quinn held up the yellow pad in a casual manner, revealing that the only thing scrawled across it was his name in untidy letters. “Sorry, doc,” he said in his charming Irish brogue, “couldn’t think of much that was interesting about myself.”
“That’s okay,” Tacoma said, “although I doubt that’s true. Not once have I actually met a person who had nothing interesting to say about him or herself.”
“Considering your line of work, I believe that completely,” Quinn said with a chuckle. Tacoma slid down into his chair across from him and neatly folded his hands across his legs.
“Well, Quinn, is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”
Quinn sighed softly and reached down toward the sleeves of the red sweater he wore, rolling them up so that Tacoma could see the deep scars and gashes covering his pale flesh. “Suppose this is what you’re after. Take a look at my artwork, doc. I’ve carved many a notch into myself; once I even tried signing my name across my neck,” he admitted, tugging down the collar of the sweater so that Tacoma could see the gruesome sight for himself. “Might be what inspired my answer to your question, if I’m true to myself.”
Tacoma took in Quinn’s scars with an even expression, acknowledging them without becoming overly emotional. It wasn’t often that his clients who engaged in self-harm were so open about the practice, and he knew it would be best to keep the situation as calm as possible. “When did you last cut yourself, Quinn?”
Quinn closed his eyes, considering the question. “Must have been… two months at least. Heh, wow, I’m impressed now that I think about it. Usually I can’t go longer than a week before indulging in my nasty habit. I’ve been itching to do it for days now, which is why I came here,” he admitted.
“Why do you think you managed to hold off for two months?” Tacoma wondered.
“Was in a relationship,” Quinn answered at once. “Felt happy for a little while… felt something for a little while. But she left.”
“I’m sorry,” Tacoma told him sympathetically.
Quinn shrugged, trying to look unperturbed, although the way he tugged on a loose thread hanging from the end of his sweater let Tacoma know that he was far from fine about this development.
“I should have expected it really. Everyone leaves me. My pa left when I was 3. They all head for the hills eventually.” Without thinking, Quinn reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a small, silver flask.
“Um, Quinn, you can’t drink during a session,” Tacoma gently reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.” Quinn laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe I just did that. I’m already letting you down, doc. Not much of a surprise really, since letting people down is all I’m good for. Christ, what a fuck-up I am.”
“Look at me, Quinn: you are not letting me down,” Tacoma reassured him, staring intently at him until the other man met his gaze. “The fact that you came in today shows that you are trying to help yourself. You can feel the urge to cut rising in you but instead of giving in, you’re here, talking to me now. That takes a lot of courage and strength.”
“Yeah.” Quinn looked away and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Fuck. Sorry, doc.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Tacoma reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small business card which he handed to Quinn. “This is my personal number. If you feel the urge to cut, I want you to call me instead, any time, day or night.”
Quinn eyed the card uncertainly before finally accepting it. “Thanks, doc. I just hope you don’t regret giving me such valuable information.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 8
“I could feel it real bad today, doc.” Quinn was lying down on Tacoma’s couch this time, still tugging incessantly on that dangling sweater thread as he spoke. Tacoma always ended up finding red strands decorating his couch and floor when his sessions with the Irish man were finished. “The urge has been building inside me for a couple weeks now, but today… oh, today I just wanted to go crazy on myself.”
“I’m so glad you called me instead,” Tacoma said.
“I didn’t do that first.” Quinn revealed his flask once again. “I’ve been self-medicating for the past 72 hours.”
“Quinn, we’ve talked about that,” Tacoma said with a look of disapproval.
“I know, I know. That’s why, after I woke up and puked my guts out today, I decided to give you a ring.” Quinn looked sharply to
Tacoma then. “Can you just explain to me one thing, doc? Why is it so fucking simple? Why, after surviving through all the shit others have done to me, can I turn around and destroy my own life so damn easily? Why does being in pain sound so much better than even trying to be happy? God, I… I’m so fucked… I need so m-much fucking help…”
As Quinn broke down into tears, Tacoma grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and offered them to him.
“It’s okay, Quinn. It’s not a bad thing to need help. I want to keep working with you to figure out the answer to these questions if you’ll let me.”
“Th-thanks, doc.” Quinn wiped his face and sat up again. “It feels really good to know you… you won’t go away like all the others.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Quinn,” Tacoma said determinedly. “That’s a promise.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 11
When the hands on his grandfather clock reached twelve and five, Tacoma reached for his phone. “Hello Quinn,” he announced in a calm but friendly voice. “This is Dr. Narrows. I just wanted to check in with you. I’m not sure if you forgot, but we had an appointment today that you missed. I hope you’re feeling well. Please call me back soon to re-schedule today’s session.”
Once he’d hung up, Tacoma noticed a spot of red hidden under the couch. He bent down and pulled out a small clump of red wool, examining it gently between his finger tips, before he sighed and tossed it into the trash can.
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 15
Tacoma frowned as he glanced at his clock for the fourth time that hour. He finally picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number, tapping his fingers impatiently against the desk as he did.
“Quinn, this is Dr. Narrows,” he said into his voice mail. “This is the fourth time you’ve missed a session and I want to be sure you’re doing okay. Please call me, and this time, don’t reach for the alcohol first,” he said, voice now filling with concern. “I could barely understand the last voicemail you left me because of how badly you were slurring your words. I’m very disheartened to know you’re drinking again but I’m also very worried about you. Please, call me back when you get this.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session ?
Tacoma took a deep breath before knocking on the door before him. The paint was peeling off the wood and a few specks of maroon latex came off on the heel of Tacoma’s hand. He sighed and rubbed it against the bottom of his coat as he waited for someone to answer.
It was nighttime and Tacoma was visiting a part of town he’d never been to before, one where the streets were littered with trash and empty shopping carts, one very far from his own home. The only reason he’d stopped by here was because of a garbled text he’d received from Quinn.
cmbydocnedd2tlk
This text had worried Tacoma enough to cancel his last session of the day and drive right over to Quinn’s apartment. It was the only message he’d received from his patient in almost two months and Tacoma was anxious to find out what Quinn needed to talk about with him.
Unfortunately, Quinn did not seem as anxious as Tacoma did about their meeting, since he refused to answer the door no matter how long the doctor knocked. After ten minutes which yielded only more flakes of paint dusting his shoes, Tacoma was about to give up.
“Damn. Why the hell did I even come all the way out here?” he muttered, raising a hand up to massage the side of his head.
“Quinn’s not here. He’s probably passed out in a gutter somewhere.”
Suddenly, to Tacoma’s surprise, the door creaked open a few inches, space enough for the man to peek his head inside. “Quinn?” he called out, squinting into the dark apartment as he searched for its occupant. “Are you here? It’s me, Dr. Narrows!”
A gust of wind pushed the door open even more, as if trying to invite the doctor inside. “I’m coming in!” Tacoma called out, stepping gingerly into the small space. He groped along the wall for a light switch, illuminating the place in no time, and blinked as he once again took a moment to examine his surroundings. The apartment seemed to consist of one room that served as a living room, kitchenette, and bedroom, with one other small door in the back presumably leading to a bathroom.
There was almost no furniture in the room, save the couch-cum-bed, mini-fridge, and a hotplate, and no pictures or posters of any kind along the walls. The place looked utterly dreary and grey, aside from one speck of white Tacoma saw sticking out from under a couch cushion. He reached forward and grabbed what turned out to be a piece of paper which bore the untidy scrawl he’d first seen during Quinn’s introductory session with him.
Hey, doc. I finally have something to write for you. Aren’t you proud? You don’t have to be. I’ve fucked up so much that not even my ma would be proud. But that’s over now. Sorry for missing my sessions and thanks for everything.
“Oh God.” Tacoma’s heart plummeted into his chest and he nearly tore the letter due to how greatly his hands started shaking. “Quinn!” he called out desperately, looking around the apartment with wild abandon. “Quinn, are you here? Please, answer me!”
He’d sent the text twenty minutes ago. He could have been anywhere by now. Tacoma was about to turn and run out the door when he noticed a drawer in the kitchenette was opened half-way. He strode over to it and pulled it completely open, studying its contents until his eyes landed on an opened bag of disposable razor blades.
“Oh no.” Tacoma flew over to the bathroom door and flung it open, wincing as the overpowering coppery scent of blood assaulted his nose. “Quinn!” Tacoma wanted to throw up when he saw him soaking within a pool of reddened liquid, but he forced his nausea down and grabbed his phone out instead. “Please, send an ambulance,” he cried to the operator. “I’ve got a suicide attempt at the Riverside Apartment Complex, Apartment 2C! Please hurry!”
Once assured the ambulance was on its way, Tacoma pulled a towel off the wall and began ripping it into strips before he fell to his knees beside the tub and gently lifted Quinn’s wrists from the water. Tacoma stared down at the still bleeding gashes in horror before he started to gently wrap the towels around the wounds.
“Come on, Quinn,” he muttered as he wrapped. “Come on, you can’t do this to me. You can’t give up like this. You’re stronger than this, you can fight this. You have to fight this, Quinn. You have to fight for your life!”
“Doc?” His voice was frail and cracked now, matching the rest of his body.
“Quinn!” Tacoma smiled widely. “Thank God you’re awake!”
“Doc?” Quinn repeated, his eyes still closed. “You there?”
“I’m here, Quinn! Please, open your eyes!” Tacoma begged.
“Can’t… tired… so many shadows,” Quinn murmured, before his body began sinking even lower into the water.
“Quinn, no!” Tacoma grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back up, as firmly but also as gently as he could manage. “Please, Quinn, try to stay awake! An ambulance will be here very soon, so you have to try as hard as you can to stay awake!”
“Shadows… all around me. Thought… I’d see a white light… green valleys… thought it’d be pretty.”
“Quinn, stop that. You can’t think about valleys and light now!” Tacoma ordered, his voice growing desperate. “Please, Quinn, I need you to fight! I know it’s hard and I know it’s scary, but you can’t give up on living!”
“Mmm… not scared,” Quinn mumbled, a trail of drool running down the side of his chin. “Cuz you’re… with me…”
“And I always will be,” Tacoma promised, as he looked around the bathroom for another towel. “But I need you to be here too, Quinn. You can’t leave me like this, so promise me you’ll fight, please!”
Quinn didn’t respond, his body going slack as he started to descend into the water once more. Tacoma grabbed his shoulders once again and, finding no other towel in the room, snatched up that old, worn red sweater Quinn had tossed onto the floor before entering the bath. He lifted Quinn from the tub and wrapped his torso in the garment, neither noticing nor caring as his whole body became drenched in sticky red water, before carrying him into the living room. Thankfully, a few EMTs wheeled a stretcher into the apartment seconds later and Quinn was taken into their custody.
“Can I come with him?” Tacoma asked once he’d been loaded into the ambulance.
An EMT frowned, eyeing the doctor’s appearance. “You’re not family.”
“I know, but I’m his therapist, and I promised I wouldn’t leave him.” Tacoma’s eyes grew wide and pleading. “Please.”
The EMT sighed and tossed him a towel. “Alright, fine, get in.”
“Thank you.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Tacoma was flipping through the pile of mail that had been delivered to his office without paying it much mind, until a small, folded yellow piece of paper caught his eyes. It must have been slipped into the pile when the office aide was delivering the letters from the mailroom since it came with no envelope or stamp. Tacoma unfolded the note and took notice of a familiar, untidy scrawl which caused him to sit up straight in his chair.
Hey, doc. I know this is unexpected, but I’m out of the hospital and I wanted you to be the first to know. I figured a letter like this would be the best way, since the last few times I’ve written to you have not made for pleasant memories, I’m sure. I wanted you to know that the nurses told me how you came with me that night. I knew you’d regret giving me your number.
Honestly though, I’m stunned you came out to my apartment at all, but I should have known you were a man of your word. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You gave me another chance I didn’t deserve at all, but this time I want to make you proud, doc. I want to come back and start seeing you again. I won’t miss sessions again and I’ll even give you my flask to prove how seriously I’ll take this. I can’t promise that I won’t be wishing to sing with the angels again one day, but that’s why I need to see you. You’re already an angel on Earth, and I think you’re the one who can help me. So please, doc, give me another chance and let me come back to my regular sessions every Thursday. If you don’t want to see me, I understand, but please know that I’ll always be grateful for you helping me get my second chance.
Tacoma sniffled softly and wiped the tears from his cheeks before folding the note up and placing it into his pocket. Once his eyes were clear, he lifted his pen and made a note on his calendar for the following Thursday.
Author: Ocelot_l
Characters: Rebecca, Donnie, Tacoma, Todd, Lupa, Harvey, Tara, Film Brain, Marzgurl, Cinema Snob, Maven, Quinn
Pairings: Todd/Lupa, Harvey/Tara, past Marzgurl/Hagan, implied Cinema Snob/Phelous
Summary: Rebecca, Donnie, and Tacoma are all therapists at the Blue Patches Counseling Center. They specialize in different areas but all share the same goal of helping their clients lead happier, healthier lives.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Bad Language, Dark Themes, Depression, Self-Harm, Blood, Suicide Attempt
Word Count: 15,771
Notes: The names of all the producers have been changed in this story, since Demo Reel was set in an alternate universe, but hopefully I've done enough to make the characters recognizable despite the name changes. I hope you enjoy!
PATIENT # 3001245-ELSA EVENTIDE
Session 1
She looked small and pale, and seemed almost to blend into the white couch on which she sat. Her eyes were tired and her mouth drawn, though not a single golden hair was out of place, nor was her make-up in any way smudged. Her hands rested neatly atop her lap, fingers twitching only slightly when she noticed the pad of paper and pen lying on the table before her.
“What is this for, Dr. Narrows?”
Tacoma smiled at her. “I was hoping to begin our sessions by asking you to fill this out.”
The woman frowned, picking up the pad to examine it more thoroughly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see any questions here. What exactly am I supposed to fill out?”
“That’s up to you,” Tacoma said as he gathered up a few files from his desk. “You can tell me something about yourself, write a little story, draw a picture, whatever you’d like. Don’t worry,” he continued when he saw the concern clearly forming within her eyes, “there is no right or wrong answer here, Miss Eventide.”
She nodded, though she didn’t look entirely convinced that there wasn’t some hidden meaning to this exercise. “Okay.”
“I’m going to go put these away for a few minutes, if you don’t mind,” Tacoma continued, holding up the files. “I’ll be right back.”
He moved confidently across the office and toward the locked door where he kept his files. After opening and entering the room, Tacoma took a few moments to tidy things up and allow his newest client some time to complete his request. He’d found that people were more likely to create something when not being watched, so he made sure to give each new patient a small amount of time to work on their own.
Five minutes later, Tacoma locked the file room and returned to the couch where the young woman sat, taking a seat in the chair opposite her. He noticed she was now clutching the notepad tightly in her pale fists. “Have you finished, Miss Eventide?”
“Please, call me Elsa.”
“Alright, Elsa then.” She gave a slight nod. “Can I take a look?”
She hesitated for the briefest of moments before handing him the pad without another word. Tacoma settled it atop his lap before glancing down with a keen eye. He had to work very hard to keep his brows from rising too high since he was utterly surprised by what this young woman had drawn.
It was one of those transparent 3-D cubes that teenagers often doodled in the margins of their history notes during especially boring lectures.
“It’s the only thing I know how to draw perfectly,” Elsa said without prompting, watching as the doctor studied her work rather intently. Tacoma glanced up, still smiling.
“I’m very impressed. It certainly is a perfect drawing.” Elsa seemed to relax the teeniest bit at these words, leaning a quarter of an inch closer to the couch. “I remember drawing these back in school. Is that when you started drawing them?”
“That’s where I first learned about these,” Elsa confirmed, “though I never drew them during school. My friends would cover their textbook covers and worksheets with drawings of them but they always just looked so messy and immature,” she admitted, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Plus most of them couldn’t draw straight to save their lives, so they always turned out crooked. It was an annoyance to look at them, honestly.”
“Hmm,” Tacoma said, shooting her a curious look now. “So if they annoy you, why did you feel like drawing one right now?”
“I told you, because it’s the only thing I could draw perfectly,” Elsa snapped, a touch of irritation coloring her features now.
“Perfection,” Tacoma softly repeated. “It’s very important to you, I take it?”
“I didn’t say that.” Elsa quickly lowered her gaze, clasping her hands together more tightly. “Perfection is not something I desire. It’s just… what is expected of me.”
“What do you mean?” Tacoma wondered.
Elsa’s body grew rigid and Tacoma knew she was trying to close up. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Let’s just get this over with so we can both get back to our jobs.”
“Well, talking to you is my job,” Tacoma said with a smile, trying to loosen her up again. “But I can see why you would be eager to return to where you work. It must be so exciting to be an airline pilot, getting to travel the world and meet all sorts of people.”
“It’s fine,” Elsa tried to say in a casual manner, though Tacoma could once again see her hands tightening.
“Only fine? What don’t you like about it?”
“Oh, a number of things. There aren’t many women in my line of work, as I’m sure you know, the hours can be long, and the airports… ugh, I really hate airports,” she confessed, her expression growing disgusted.
“I know they can certainly be hectic and even dangerous at times,” Tacoma agreed.
“And noisy,” Elsa continued, voice growing softer. “They’re so noisy… you can hardly find a moment to just stop and think. I… truly hate having to stay inside airports some days.”
“Might that be why you didn’t show up for any of your scheduled flights last week?” Tacoma asked, just as softly. He could tell by her startled expression that he was right, so he continued talking. “Where did you go when you weren’t at work, Elsa?”
“I took a walk,” Elsa muttered. Her head had drooped and her legs came closer together. “In the woods.”
“The woods?”
“I just needed… a little silence,” she said, her hands clenched together so tightly that her perfectly manicured nails now dug into her flesh. “I just needed a little peace. Everything’s so noisy and hectic when I’m working… I needed to find somewhere quiet again. I needed to find a place where I could remove the noise and distractions from my mind, so that when I came back to work, I would be perfect again.”
“We all need a little time to ourselves now and then,” Tacoma agreed, earning a small flash of gratitude from Elsa. “Has this been something you’ve always needed to do? I noticed you said ‘again’ before.”
Elsa bit her lip before sitting up straight. “I might as well tell you, even though you’ll think it’s stupid. Whenever I was young and I had a test or a spelling bee or something of that nature coming up, I’d sometimes have these terrible dreams about failing them. I would wake up in bed each morning and feel almost paralyzed with fear.” Her arms moved without her realizing around her body as she hugged herself tightly. “I couldn’t talk during those episodes, I couldn’t breathe, I just… laid there in terror, for hours it would seem.”
“Did you ever tell your parents about those incidents?” Tacoma asked in concern. Elsa shook her head.
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be the good girl, the perfect daughter. I couldn’t let them know how stupid I was being because of one silly test. So when I was finally able to move again, I would run into the woods and lie down in the grass for a while. It was so quiet and peaceful there,” she said, her eyes glowing faintly as she reminisced. “I could clear my head and breathe easy for just a little while.”
“The woods?” Tacoma asked in mild surprise. “I can understand finding peace in nature, but aren’t the woods usually a scary place for a little kid?”
“Not for me,” Elsa said, a small smile sliding into place. “I was never scared by the woods, no matter how dark or dank they were. When I was there I felt stronger and braver than I ever did at school or at home. Sometimes I… I even pretended I was a creature of the darkness,” she admitted a faint blush on her face. “I called myself the Maven, the master of the night, the fearless demon who sneered at the worries of mere mortals. The Maven would never care about acing her geometry test or winning the spelling bee. She didn’t need to be Prom Queen or valedictorian… she didn’t need to be perfect.”
Elsa let out a shuddering sigh, her fingers moving to grip her knees. “Are you okay?” Tacoma asked gently.
“Y-yes… yes, I’m fine,” she said, quickly composing herself. “I don’t know why I said all that. You must think I’m ridiculous now.”
“Not at all,” Tacoma replied. “I actually think I understand you a little better now, Elsa. So last week, when you went for that walk in the woods… do you think you might have been searching for the Maven again?”
“Oh God.” Elsa buried her face in her hands. “I sound like a lunatic, looking for some fictional monster that I know doesn’t exist.”
“Just because the Maven isn’t a real person doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist.” Elsa looked up, flushed and very confused, but Tacoma kept talking. “The Maven is a part of you, Elsa. She’s the strength you search for inside yourself to keep getting up every day and doing what you need to do.”
“But she isn’t real!” Elsa cried.
“Neither is a perfect person,” Tacoma retorted, causing Elsa to fall silent. “But if it were me, I’d rather believe in a strong, brave, awesome creature of darkness to help carry some of the weight that’s been laid upon my shoulders. Maven helped you a lot, Elsa, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you remove some of that weight too.”
Elsa continued to sit in silence for a moment. “I’d… like that,” she finally said, her face softening as she took comfort in the doctor’s words.
Tacoma smiled before reaching for a pen. “And maybe, one day, you can show me how you draw such perfect cubes,” he said, scribbling on the paper a moment before turning it around to show her what he’d made. “Because mine, as you can see, are anything but.”
Elsa let out a small laugh. “I think I like yours better.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 1
Tacoma walked out of the file room and glanced curiously at the man sitting on his couch today. “Have you finished, Quinn?”
Quinn held up the yellow pad in a casual manner, revealing that the only thing scrawled across it was his name in untidy letters. “Sorry, doc,” he said in his charming Irish brogue, “couldn’t think of much that was interesting about myself.”
“That’s okay,” Tacoma said, “although I doubt that’s true. Not once have I actually met a person who had nothing interesting to say about him or herself.”
“Considering your line of work, I believe that completely,” Quinn said with a chuckle. Tacoma slid down into his chair across from him and neatly folded his hands across his legs.
“Well, Quinn, is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about today?”
Quinn sighed softly and reached down toward the sleeves of the red sweater he wore, rolling them up so that Tacoma could see the deep scars and gashes covering his pale flesh. “Suppose this is what you’re after. Take a look at my artwork, doc. I’ve carved many a notch into myself; once I even tried signing my name across my neck,” he admitted, tugging down the collar of the sweater so that Tacoma could see the gruesome sight for himself. “Might be what inspired my answer to your question, if I’m true to myself.”
Tacoma took in Quinn’s scars with an even expression, acknowledging them without becoming overly emotional. It wasn’t often that his clients who engaged in self-harm were so open about the practice, and he knew it would be best to keep the situation as calm as possible. “When did you last cut yourself, Quinn?”
Quinn closed his eyes, considering the question. “Must have been… two months at least. Heh, wow, I’m impressed now that I think about it. Usually I can’t go longer than a week before indulging in my nasty habit. I’ve been itching to do it for days now, which is why I came here,” he admitted.
“Why do you think you managed to hold off for two months?” Tacoma wondered.
“Was in a relationship,” Quinn answered at once. “Felt happy for a little while… felt something for a little while. But she left.”
“I’m sorry,” Tacoma told him sympathetically.
Quinn shrugged, trying to look unperturbed, although the way he tugged on a loose thread hanging from the end of his sweater let Tacoma know that he was far from fine about this development.
“I should have expected it really. Everyone leaves me. My pa left when I was 3. They all head for the hills eventually.” Without thinking, Quinn reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a small, silver flask.
“Um, Quinn, you can’t drink during a session,” Tacoma gently reminded him.
“Right. Sorry.” Quinn laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe I just did that. I’m already letting you down, doc. Not much of a surprise really, since letting people down is all I’m good for. Christ, what a fuck-up I am.”
“Look at me, Quinn: you are not letting me down,” Tacoma reassured him, staring intently at him until the other man met his gaze. “The fact that you came in today shows that you are trying to help yourself. You can feel the urge to cut rising in you but instead of giving in, you’re here, talking to me now. That takes a lot of courage and strength.”
“Yeah.” Quinn looked away and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Fuck. Sorry, doc.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Tacoma reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small business card which he handed to Quinn. “This is my personal number. If you feel the urge to cut, I want you to call me instead, any time, day or night.”
Quinn eyed the card uncertainly before finally accepting it. “Thanks, doc. I just hope you don’t regret giving me such valuable information.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 8
“I could feel it real bad today, doc.” Quinn was lying down on Tacoma’s couch this time, still tugging incessantly on that dangling sweater thread as he spoke. Tacoma always ended up finding red strands decorating his couch and floor when his sessions with the Irish man were finished. “The urge has been building inside me for a couple weeks now, but today… oh, today I just wanted to go crazy on myself.”
“I’m so glad you called me instead,” Tacoma said.
“I didn’t do that first.” Quinn revealed his flask once again. “I’ve been self-medicating for the past 72 hours.”
“Quinn, we’ve talked about that,” Tacoma said with a look of disapproval.
“I know, I know. That’s why, after I woke up and puked my guts out today, I decided to give you a ring.” Quinn looked sharply to
Tacoma then. “Can you just explain to me one thing, doc? Why is it so fucking simple? Why, after surviving through all the shit others have done to me, can I turn around and destroy my own life so damn easily? Why does being in pain sound so much better than even trying to be happy? God, I… I’m so fucked… I need so m-much fucking help…”
As Quinn broke down into tears, Tacoma grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and offered them to him.
“It’s okay, Quinn. It’s not a bad thing to need help. I want to keep working with you to figure out the answer to these questions if you’ll let me.”
“Th-thanks, doc.” Quinn wiped his face and sat up again. “It feels really good to know you… you won’t go away like all the others.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Quinn,” Tacoma said determinedly. “That’s a promise.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 11
When the hands on his grandfather clock reached twelve and five, Tacoma reached for his phone. “Hello Quinn,” he announced in a calm but friendly voice. “This is Dr. Narrows. I just wanted to check in with you. I’m not sure if you forgot, but we had an appointment today that you missed. I hope you’re feeling well. Please call me back soon to re-schedule today’s session.”
Once he’d hung up, Tacoma noticed a spot of red hidden under the couch. He bent down and pulled out a small clump of red wool, examining it gently between his finger tips, before he sighed and tossed it into the trash can.
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session 15
Tacoma frowned as he glanced at his clock for the fourth time that hour. He finally picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number, tapping his fingers impatiently against the desk as he did.
“Quinn, this is Dr. Narrows,” he said into his voice mail. “This is the fourth time you’ve missed a session and I want to be sure you’re doing okay. Please call me, and this time, don’t reach for the alcohol first,” he said, voice now filling with concern. “I could barely understand the last voicemail you left me because of how badly you were slurring your words. I’m very disheartened to know you’re drinking again but I’m also very worried about you. Please, call me back when you get this.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Session ?
Tacoma took a deep breath before knocking on the door before him. The paint was peeling off the wood and a few specks of maroon latex came off on the heel of Tacoma’s hand. He sighed and rubbed it against the bottom of his coat as he waited for someone to answer.
It was nighttime and Tacoma was visiting a part of town he’d never been to before, one where the streets were littered with trash and empty shopping carts, one very far from his own home. The only reason he’d stopped by here was because of a garbled text he’d received from Quinn.
cmbydocnedd2tlk
This text had worried Tacoma enough to cancel his last session of the day and drive right over to Quinn’s apartment. It was the only message he’d received from his patient in almost two months and Tacoma was anxious to find out what Quinn needed to talk about with him.
Unfortunately, Quinn did not seem as anxious as Tacoma did about their meeting, since he refused to answer the door no matter how long the doctor knocked. After ten minutes which yielded only more flakes of paint dusting his shoes, Tacoma was about to give up.
“Damn. Why the hell did I even come all the way out here?” he muttered, raising a hand up to massage the side of his head.
“Quinn’s not here. He’s probably passed out in a gutter somewhere.”
Suddenly, to Tacoma’s surprise, the door creaked open a few inches, space enough for the man to peek his head inside. “Quinn?” he called out, squinting into the dark apartment as he searched for its occupant. “Are you here? It’s me, Dr. Narrows!”
A gust of wind pushed the door open even more, as if trying to invite the doctor inside. “I’m coming in!” Tacoma called out, stepping gingerly into the small space. He groped along the wall for a light switch, illuminating the place in no time, and blinked as he once again took a moment to examine his surroundings. The apartment seemed to consist of one room that served as a living room, kitchenette, and bedroom, with one other small door in the back presumably leading to a bathroom.
There was almost no furniture in the room, save the couch-cum-bed, mini-fridge, and a hotplate, and no pictures or posters of any kind along the walls. The place looked utterly dreary and grey, aside from one speck of white Tacoma saw sticking out from under a couch cushion. He reached forward and grabbed what turned out to be a piece of paper which bore the untidy scrawl he’d first seen during Quinn’s introductory session with him.
Hey, doc. I finally have something to write for you. Aren’t you proud? You don’t have to be. I’ve fucked up so much that not even my ma would be proud. But that’s over now. Sorry for missing my sessions and thanks for everything.
“Oh God.” Tacoma’s heart plummeted into his chest and he nearly tore the letter due to how greatly his hands started shaking. “Quinn!” he called out desperately, looking around the apartment with wild abandon. “Quinn, are you here? Please, answer me!”
He’d sent the text twenty minutes ago. He could have been anywhere by now. Tacoma was about to turn and run out the door when he noticed a drawer in the kitchenette was opened half-way. He strode over to it and pulled it completely open, studying its contents until his eyes landed on an opened bag of disposable razor blades.
“Oh no.” Tacoma flew over to the bathroom door and flung it open, wincing as the overpowering coppery scent of blood assaulted his nose. “Quinn!” Tacoma wanted to throw up when he saw him soaking within a pool of reddened liquid, but he forced his nausea down and grabbed his phone out instead. “Please, send an ambulance,” he cried to the operator. “I’ve got a suicide attempt at the Riverside Apartment Complex, Apartment 2C! Please hurry!”
Once assured the ambulance was on its way, Tacoma pulled a towel off the wall and began ripping it into strips before he fell to his knees beside the tub and gently lifted Quinn’s wrists from the water. Tacoma stared down at the still bleeding gashes in horror before he started to gently wrap the towels around the wounds.
“Come on, Quinn,” he muttered as he wrapped. “Come on, you can’t do this to me. You can’t give up like this. You’re stronger than this, you can fight this. You have to fight this, Quinn. You have to fight for your life!”
“Doc?” His voice was frail and cracked now, matching the rest of his body.
“Quinn!” Tacoma smiled widely. “Thank God you’re awake!”
“Doc?” Quinn repeated, his eyes still closed. “You there?”
“I’m here, Quinn! Please, open your eyes!” Tacoma begged.
“Can’t… tired… so many shadows,” Quinn murmured, before his body began sinking even lower into the water.
“Quinn, no!” Tacoma grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back up, as firmly but also as gently as he could manage. “Please, Quinn, try to stay awake! An ambulance will be here very soon, so you have to try as hard as you can to stay awake!”
“Shadows… all around me. Thought… I’d see a white light… green valleys… thought it’d be pretty.”
“Quinn, stop that. You can’t think about valleys and light now!” Tacoma ordered, his voice growing desperate. “Please, Quinn, I need you to fight! I know it’s hard and I know it’s scary, but you can’t give up on living!”
“Mmm… not scared,” Quinn mumbled, a trail of drool running down the side of his chin. “Cuz you’re… with me…”
“And I always will be,” Tacoma promised, as he looked around the bathroom for another towel. “But I need you to be here too, Quinn. You can’t leave me like this, so promise me you’ll fight, please!”
Quinn didn’t respond, his body going slack as he started to descend into the water once more. Tacoma grabbed his shoulders once again and, finding no other towel in the room, snatched up that old, worn red sweater Quinn had tossed onto the floor before entering the bath. He lifted Quinn from the tub and wrapped his torso in the garment, neither noticing nor caring as his whole body became drenched in sticky red water, before carrying him into the living room. Thankfully, a few EMTs wheeled a stretcher into the apartment seconds later and Quinn was taken into their custody.
“Can I come with him?” Tacoma asked once he’d been loaded into the ambulance.
An EMT frowned, eyeing the doctor’s appearance. “You’re not family.”
“I know, but I’m his therapist, and I promised I wouldn’t leave him.” Tacoma’s eyes grew wide and pleading. “Please.”
The EMT sighed and tossed him a towel. “Alright, fine, get in.”
“Thank you.”
----
PATIENT # 3012392-QUINN O’LEARY
Tacoma was flipping through the pile of mail that had been delivered to his office without paying it much mind, until a small, folded yellow piece of paper caught his eyes. It must have been slipped into the pile when the office aide was delivering the letters from the mailroom since it came with no envelope or stamp. Tacoma unfolded the note and took notice of a familiar, untidy scrawl which caused him to sit up straight in his chair.
Hey, doc. I know this is unexpected, but I’m out of the hospital and I wanted you to be the first to know. I figured a letter like this would be the best way, since the last few times I’ve written to you have not made for pleasant memories, I’m sure. I wanted you to know that the nurses told me how you came with me that night. I knew you’d regret giving me your number.
Honestly though, I’m stunned you came out to my apartment at all, but I should have known you were a man of your word. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. You gave me another chance I didn’t deserve at all, but this time I want to make you proud, doc. I want to come back and start seeing you again. I won’t miss sessions again and I’ll even give you my flask to prove how seriously I’ll take this. I can’t promise that I won’t be wishing to sing with the angels again one day, but that’s why I need to see you. You’re already an angel on Earth, and I think you’re the one who can help me. So please, doc, give me another chance and let me come back to my regular sessions every Thursday. If you don’t want to see me, I understand, but please know that I’ll always be grateful for you helping me get my second chance.
Tacoma sniffled softly and wiped the tears from his cheeks before folding the note up and placing it into his pocket. Once his eyes were clear, he lifted his pen and made a note on his calendar for the following Thursday.