He was a broken one.
He is dressed in black, mostly garb he picked up from Hot Topic. On his neck hung a small wooden crucifix on a black string. His bracelets kept untying, and they were making him uneasy.
"Do you need help with that?" Francis asks.
Going to the therapist was not easy. There were no good practitioners around him. He had to travel for about an hour to see Francis. Every Tuesday, he missed class. His truancy was so bad that his principal had to step in. His family fought for it, while the Dolores Umbridge bitch of a principal didn't classify clinical depression as an "illness that needed to be checked on a bi-weekly basis". Still, he missed Trigonometry on Tuesdays. His friends would often make fun of him. "Do you sit around a circle? And say 'Hi, I am so and so, and I have been depressed for 3 years." He kept his mouth shut. He was not an alcoholic or a drug addict. He could let go of those things when he wants to. What he is addicted to is the darkness inside him, beckoning him to come taste his fruit every night.
"My mom disappeared in the middle of the night. There was broken glass."
"Are you sure you don't need help with that?" Francis offers, noticing him knotting his bracelets.
"I said no."
"Okay. And then what happened?"
" I was talking to my friend Aaron. He's from Australia, but we were on Facetime. I was woken up by the sounds."
It was hard for him to make friends. He was a freak. He had always been a freak. He had long, shaggy hair, and shopped at the stores his friends avoided like Hot Topic. He loved Green Day, and on nights he would let Billie Joe Armstrong carry his sadness away. His only friend was a Corgi puppy named Trevor. He didn't have much friends at school. Some have abandoned him for his weird new preferences, while some he distanced himself from. He was an outcast. He was alone.
"I make friends online. I like to keep busy."
"Someone knocked on my door, then they shined a flashlight on me. It was the cops."
It had never been this bad. The police never intervened. But this time it was different; it was a sign.
His mother had fallen for a man. At first, he bought his affection with a new car, a laptop, and an Xbox 360. But money can only get one so far without the sight of green fading to red. When it went away, all he saw was evil. He saw him for what he was, but his mother could not. He was forced to live with him. He had to be in a car with him to see Francis. It was hell.
"What did the cops do?"
"They let my sister sleep, and then took me to the living room. One of them sat me down and looked me in the eye before setting things in front of me. They were my pills."
"Why did he do that?"
"I took them before bed. They were on my dresser. He thought I overdosed."
"No. Not this time."
Francis was scribbling notes down. He had only been his therapist for a few months, but no one knew more than him. He knew his life story, from front to back. He was the only one he trusted, because the is the only one swore not to tell by law.
"I have to make sure."
"What did the cop say?"
"He told me that he has the same pills, and he knows a lot of friends who need it too. He told me that I had to be brave. He told me that I needed to be strong, and that I was not a freak."
Francis notices something on his arm. He grabs it, and the bracelets unravel to reveal somewhat fresh wounds on his wrist."
"When did you do this?"
"The night before."
The policeman had awoken something in him. Suddenly, he felt that he was not alone. It was a cop, for Christ's sake. He's probably seen nastier shit than he has. Murders, burglaries, suicide. What he didn't tell Francis was that the cop made him promise him something. He told him that he had to swear that one day, he would not get a call about a young man found dead in the middle of the night from pills or a blade. He held his hands, and made him promise. He submitted.
It was a promise he would keep, but one he would be tempted to break.
TO BE CONTINUED.