Session #1
Therapy, past trauma, crying, speech loss, angst, referenced nightmares, referenced past noncon, referenced past character deaths, implied past torture and captivity, dubious psychology by fault of the author
[Follows Hush]
East wasn’t sure what to expect.
This was a medical office unlike any he had been to in the last few months. There were two couches, plush with throw pillows, and a vibrant rug on the floor. The lamplight was warm, and the sun filtering through the blinds made the room feel less claustrophobic. The doctor - Judy Ahsan - was far from intimidating. She was a stocky woman, with a soft round face smiling up at him. She wore a long flowing dress, her silhouette mostly hidden by the floral patterned fabric.
“Easton Howard, correct?” He nodded wordlessly - maybe he should have asked Nathan to come inside with him. Maybe he should have told Nathan he wasn’t ready; he wanted Jackson here. (This felt too much like an interrogation.) “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Judy. I’m told you prefer East, is that right?”
“Yessir.” His voice was starting to feel impossibly small, out of reach, but he knew that silently nodding again would only make the stress in his chest worse. Judy sat on the couch opposite of him, a clipboard already heavy with paperwork as she uncapped a pen.
“Mr. Jackson has given me a basic understanding of your situation. I want you to know that you’re safe here, and anything you say here is just between you and me.”
“Anything?”
“Unless I believe you are an active danger to yourself or others, nothing you say here leaves this room.” Her dark eyes were gentle, so much like Jackson’s. “And if I do believe you’re a danger to yourself or others, Mr. Jackson wants you to know he would be responsible for you and your actions. No law enforcement will be involved if he can help it. Alright?”
“Alright.” He felt weak, a shallow echo of everything around him.
“Good. Now, you’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, correct?”
“A bit.”
“Given your situation I’m not surprised. Are you just having trouble falling asleep or are you waking up - bad dreams and the like?”
“Both. The dreams are worse.” Gritting out the words felt like pulling teeth. Why were words so difficult? Why did his chest ache with the way Judy’s eyes watched him?
“Do you want to tell me more about the dreams?”
He did. But his throat felt as though it had cinched shut, even breathing a thin whisper of air in his lungs. East stared at her, eyes begging, and somehow, she understood.
“Here, would writing be easier?” She removed some papers and held out the clipboard, which he took in shaking hands. His handwriting was a messy scrawl made worse by the shaking, but forcing himself to articulate the pressure in his chest, the shadows in the night - it was easier than he anticipated.
“Sometimes they’re bad. I don’t know I’m asleep and I’m back there and I never left.” He handed the clipboard back.
“You’ve been through something incredibly traumatic and dreams like that are normal for someone in your situation. Do these dreams wake you up?”
“No. Not those ones - I’m too scared to open my eyes. I think I sleep through the worst of it, but apparently my crying wakes one of the housemates who shares a wall with me.”
“Would it help if your housemate or someone you trusted woke you up from those dreams? So you could wake up, remember that you’re safe, and go back to sleep?”
East thought for moment, rolling the pen between his fingers. Jackson was the only person he trusted without hesitation. He tried to think of even Jackson waking him from one of those nightmares, and his stomach clenched with nausea.
“I don’t know if I trust them enough to do that,” he paused a moment longer before continuing to write, “yet.”
“Well, just keep it in mind. When you’re ready for them to help, ask them about it.” Judy took the clipboard back, using it to steady her own writing for a few moments before handing it back to East. “You said these aren’t the dreams that wake you - the flashbacks. Which ones do wake you up?”
East hesitated. And, at least in that, he was getting more comfortable. Hesitation in the bunker had always been his doom, but here he was allowed to process, to think before acting. But perhaps he shouldn’t have been allowed that, because now he considered writing a lie on the paper before him. But Judy was so soft, the room so cozy, safe -
“How much did Jackson tell you?”
Judy straightened, handing back the clipboard after reading his question. There was still softness in her eyes, but a clear strength as well.
“I know you killed the man that raped you. I know you suffered him for many years.” Her voice was clinical, but her words warmed as she continued. “I’m not here to judge you, East. I’m certainly not here to bring you to court. What’s done is done. I’m here to help you move on and grow beyond it.”
East chewed the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, familiar and metallic and clean.
“I killed other people. Before, for him. I dream…” He took a shuddering breath, the pen slippery on his sweaty grip. “I dream it’s Jackson, or Tierney, or strangers. I kill them for him and then I realize who they are and it scares me awake.”
He handed the clipboard back to her, worrying the tassels on a throw pillow while she read. East couldn’t stand to see her reaction, even if his imagination made it far worse than it could ever be. Safe. He was safe here. Even as Judy took a measured breath, he was safe. Probably.
“The people you killed, did you know them?” He shook his head. He didn’t think so. (Would he remember if he did?) “Why did he have you kill them?”
East shrugged, even as he scribbled the best answer he could muster.
“Fun, maybe. I don’t know - he wanted to make sure I still did as I was told.”
“Was that important to him? That you followed orders?” East nodded, almost tempted to roll his eyes. Of course it was important to his handler - it was worth killing for. “Was it important to you?”
East felt his heart stutter in his chest. Such a simple question, and yet…
He nodded, shame creeping up his throat. It had been important to the Wolf. That was how the Wolf survived - lesson number one: do as you are told without hesitation.
“Was it important to you because doing what he told you to do made things easier for you?” East wanted to hide, he wanted to find a dark place to hide and calm himself down because now he could feel hot, guilty tears sliding down his cheeks -
Judy held out a tissue box, nodding to the wastebasket in the corner.
“How do you calm down, when you wake up from one of these dreams?” East was so grateful she was changing the subject, though his eyes didn’t seem to dry as he wrote his response.
“Get out of bed.” He swallowed back a lump in his throat. “Sit under my desk.”
“Does that help you feel safe?”
“No. But it’s - ” He scratched out the word ‘familiar.’ “When I disobeyed him, he would hurt me, and I’d be left alone in the Box for a while. Dark, cold, cramped. It was a punishment.”
“Why do you think you hide under your desk to calm down after one of these nightmares then?”
“It’s…right. I don’t want to even dream about hurting anyone, so if I go somewhere like the Box it just feels…right.” East still sniffled, but the tears had mostly stopped. Judy read his response, scribbling down her own notes as she spoke.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Isn’t telling me what to think why I’m here?”
“No.” A smile quirked at her lips as she took the clipboard back. “You’re here so I can help you think how you want to. But sharing what I think might give you some perspective, if you’d like.” He nodded with a shrug, feeling strangely tired. Barely an hour had passed. “I think you’re not going to hide under your desk as punishment for dreaming about following orders to kill people. I think you’re going there as a punishment because you won’t follow orders to kill anymore, and you know that.”
East furrowed his brow, trying to wrap his head around it. Judy continued, expression open.
“You said doing as you were told was very important - to the point of killing who he told you to kill. And these dreams are so terrible they wake you up because the idea of hurting people is so repulsive to you, even after all that time killing because you were told to…” She shrugged. “Maybe you’re not punishing yourself for your dreams. Maybe you’re punishing yourself because you know, if given the order now, you wouldn’t obey. Which is why it helps calm you after one of these dreams - you know you won’t kill someone because you were told to, so even in a place of punishment, it’s a reminder that you aren’t there anymore. That you’re your own master now.”
(…)
(Was he?)
[Before Butchering]
(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)
Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath
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