“Orange"

--

Summary: (for GothNoWriMo 08(?), mxm, sensitive themes, mentions of incest) Ewan was a boy dying of kidney cancer, and selfishly, I thought I could save him. How could I, though? I couldn’t even keep my own head above water…

--

Chapter One

“You’ve been doing it again?”

I looked away as shame filled me. I couldn’t lie to my shrink, but I also didn’t want to admit to self-injuring again. That was what got me here in the first place. But he was insistent.

“Listen, Randal, I’ve been treating kids like you for self-harm for about thirty or so years now,” he leaned forward, eyeing me. “I know the warning signs, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there. My son, who’s about your age, is going through it now… I’m not some quack ringing you for money. You can trust me.”

The wrinkles around his friendly eyes creased as his eyebrows knitted together. Mr. Strait was an all right guy, I guessed. Nothing about him screamed pedophile or anything. Although, his son, Atticus, was a little strange.

I shifted in my seat, and took in a breath, “I know I can trust you. And I do…”

“But?”

“But, I don’t feel like talking about every single fucking thing, okay? I have a best friend for that.”

“Who is your best friend?” He leaned back in his seat, and I wondered how he could keep his face so… passive.

I shifted my weight in my seat again. This conversation was making me more and more nervous by the minute. I had a friend. Everett was… my only friend. And I was his. So naturally we were each other’s best friend. I had mentioned Everett maybe once or twice to Mr. Strait.

The man looked at me with those piercing dark brown eyes, asking, “Randal?”

“Sorry,” I apologized, hastily thinking up something to say. “Everett. He’s my best friend.”

“I see,” Mr. Strait nodded. “How long have you known Everett?”

I sat forward, my hands still on my knees, which were Indian-style in front of me, “Everett has nothing to do with my cutting, okay? Don’t even think that.”

Mr. Strait sighed, shrugging his broad shoulders, “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of the problem, that way we can help you stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” I fired back, angry beyond words.

Mr. Strait nodded, folding his fingers in a temple on his desk. “I see.” His eyes flicked up to the clock that hung over the doorway and he sighed almost inaudibly. “We’ll cover why you don’t want to stop tomorrow. Sound good?”

I made an agreeing sound, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him.

He held open the door for me, and I thanked him like the polite little Southern boy I am. Everett’s face lit up as I walked out into the waiting room. Ev always pestered me into taking him to my shrink’s office with me. I told him over and over that he would be bored out of his mind, but he still insisted.

It made me happy that he wanted to accompany me.

Especially when I had a particularly bad session. Ev would take me to our favourite place to hang out (a secluded spot on top of a ridge that overlooked the ocean), hold me, and tell me to just cry.

Everett waved to Mr. Strait before grabbing my hand and insisting he hold it while my shrink and I said our good-byes.

“How was it today?”

The concern that laced his voice made me grin like a lunatic, “It went well.”

“Liar,” Everett brushed his hair out of his face, that little puppy-dog, apologetic grin curving his lips.

“Fuck you,” I muttered half-heartedly as I got into his little car. I sighed as he turned on the stereo. “Halo” by Bethany Galeotti blasted out of his fucking awesome speakers. “I don’t want to quit, Ev.”

“Why not?” He didn’t look at me as we pulled out of the small parking lot.

“It’s… the only thing I have that I feel I own,” I murmured. I should be saying this to Mr. Strait, but… Ev was my best friend. He deserved to hear this shit first. I crossed my arms over my body, pulling my sweater sleeves over my hands. Everett noticed and let his eyes scan me before he spoke again.

“Will you never believe me when I say you own me?”

I didn’t want to think about this conversation again. But I walked right goddamn into it. “I don’t own you, Ev.”

“Yes, you do,” he turned to me as we stopped at a red light. His powerful grey eyes assaulted mine, and I suddenly felt nauseous. He grabbed my hand, and I opened my mouth to object before he placed it over the left part of his chest. “This is yours, Randal.”

I jerked my arm back, my own heart beating right out of my chest, “Just take me home, Everett.”

Ev sighed and gunned the engine so loud that the little old woman beside I looked up.

Did I mention that I had lied when I told Mr. Strait that Ev didn’t have anything to do with my cutting?

--

“Dad, I’m home!” I called out. He poked his head around the corner, grinning.

“Good to see you, Iguana. How was your session?” Dad set down the plate of sushi he had made while I was in therapy, using the pet nickname he called me ever since I was little.

I sat down at our table, shrugging, “As good as any shrink session can be, I guess.”

His brow creased, “You’re getting better, then?”

“It doesn’t happen like that, Dad.” I felt bad for saying it, but… it was the truth. “I can’t just go for a month or two and be ‘cured.’”

“I know, Ran, but… I just like to believe that,” my dad smiled to me as he brought a piece of sushi to his mouth. And, for a moment, I forgot about all my shit, too. I grinned and stole the folded piece of food from right between his chopsticks.

“Hey!” Dad’s brow furrowed, bus his smile gave him away. He swiped it back, and we fought over that stupid fucking sushi for an hour.

But in that hour… Mom was still alive. Everett hadn’t confessed his love for me. I didn’t cut. I didn’t have problems.

It was just a normal kid and a normal Dad, being, well…

Normal.

--

Author’s Note: This is my contribution to Awareness Month. Some of this will be autobiographical, but no worries. No names will be used. Certain things will be changed.

And Dr. Strait will be a main character! (I had to make a distinction between Atticus and his father, who was also a shrink, so Atti’s dad will be “Mr. Strait,” ROFL.)

I hope, too, at least one of you guys get how my funky brain connects things and knows why Ran’s dad calls him “Iguana.”

Musical Inspiration: “Halo” by Bethany Joy Lenz/Galeotti WTFEVER.