Authors: J.P. Barnaby
Aaron (23 page)
better than telling him to calm down, or backing off as his other therapists had done when he got angry. He was different from anyone Aaron had ever seen. Adding in that Spencer had only done it because he cared about Aaron helped to diffuse things as well.
“Can you really help me?” Aaron asked quietly, completely unable to stop the note of desperate hope that had crept into his voice. Aaron didn’t believe much in therapy—he had absolutely no reason to. All the other therapists that his parents had sent him to had pretended like they wanted to help him, but everything they had tried failed miserably, so they just kept him calm and medicated and said that was the best they could do.
“I can help you control it, yes, but only if you want to. It’s not going to be easy, and you will really have to commit yourself and work at it,” Dr. Thomas cautioned, and Aaron nodded. It wasn’t as if he had much of a life anyway. What did he have to lose? Deep down in the darkest places of his mind, he started to see a very small, very faint light. It was the merest shadow of hope.
“I don’t know any of my parents’ insurance information right now, but I could get that for you if you need it,” Aaron said shyly, wanting to get that one little piece of business out of the way because he was anxious to start.
“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you getting out of helping me?” Aaron asked, skeptical but curious. He had found out in life, usually the hard way, that very few people did things if there wasn’t something in it for them.
“Two things, really.I’m going to get the love and admiration of my son for helping his friend, and I’d like to publish a paper on what we accomplish together, to help other therapists treat patients with stress indicators similar to yours.”
Spencer nodded and stood up. He had turned to leave the room when Aaron’s arm shot out, and he grabbed his friend by the wrist. Spencer looked down at him, and, for the second time, Aaron didn’t seem to realize that he was touching Spencer.
Chapter Thirteen
“Spencer’s chest tightened at Aaron’s plea. He thought he would walk to the ends of the earth just to feel the warmth of Aaron’s fingers around his wrist. The monumental significance of Aaron touching someone else only slightly outweighed how good it felt. Even if Aaron were gay, Spencer knew he wasn’t capable of that kind of relationship, but that didn’t stop Spencer’s heart from wanting him.
He wondered how Aaron would handle him hearing the most intimate details of his life, but the anguish in Aaron’s eyes made him shake his head and sit back down.
“Okay, let me grab a few things from my office and check on the pizza. I’ll be right back,” his father said as he got up from his plush leather chair and left the room.
“I. Want. To. Help. You.. You. Are. My. Friend., One. Of. My. Best. Friends.,” Spencer said, and the tension in Aaron’s shoulders melted as he relaxed back against the couch. He liked that Aaron could be so comfortable with him, more comfortable than anyone else he’d seen his friend around.
“You have seen the scars other people haven’t seen and didn’t run. I feel the same way, man,” Aaron said, and leaned his head back on the couch, waiting for Spencer’s dad to return.
Spencer watched Aaron and started to second-guess his decision to get his father involved. What if he was beyond the good doctor’s help? What if his father’s alcoholism made him unreliable? He didn’t want his father to flake out on Aaron just when his friend needed him. Aaron was such a good person. Spencer wanted to see him take control of his life again, even if nothing else could happen between them.
His dad returned a few minutes later with his hands full of pizza, paper towels, and sodas. Spencer wondered why he didn’t want to take Aaron into the office to talk. They set the cut pizza down on the coffee table with the sodas, and Spencer handed each a paper towel to use as a plate.
“My mom would have a fit if I suggested eating on the floor of the living room off paper towels. In fact, she might even do herself bodily harm,” Aaron said with a chuckle, betraying the comfort he felt with Spencer and his father.
Before his father sat, he pulled a digital tape recorder and a small notebook from his pocket. It appeared playtime was over, but it still didn’t feel much like a therapy session, sitting on the floor eating pizza. Maybe that was the intent, to make Aaron feel more comfortable.
“Aaron, are you currently seeing a therapist?” his father asked, setting the tape recorder on the table. Spencer noticed there was a piece of tape over the little red light, muting it almost completely. Apparently, he didn’t want Aaron to feel like he was being interviewed, or he didn’t want anyone to focus on the little red light.
“There is a doctor that prescribes my medications, antianxiety pills, tranquilizers, and stuff, but I stopped talking to him in sessions a while ago. He doesn’t care. He gets paid no matter what my progress or lack thereof.”
It looked like Aaron waited for a rebuke from the doctor, but none came. They talked for a little while longer about his therapy attempts, his flashbacks, and his medications. After nearly an hour, they got into the heart of things.
“You have several tactile, auditory, and visual stimuli for hallucinatory flashbacks which your doctor and parents have chosen to medicate. How do you feel about that?” Spencer’s father asked, his eyes not leaving Aaron’s and his pen poised to jot notes on the answer.
