A Broken Kind of Life (20 page)

“Spence, can you hold this mirror for me?” Dr. Thomas said for Aaron’s benefit as he signed to his son. Aaron could only imagine he did it out of habit, saying what he signed aloud. Spencer took the mirror from his father and held it up in front of Aaron.

“Okay, Aaron, I want you to take the peroxide and clean the area around the wound. Then I’m going to have you put on this gauze and tape,” Dr. Thomas said, folding a piece of white gauze into a smaller square, maybe two inches by three inches, and applying medical tape to either end.

Aaron looked in the mirror, momentarily panicky because of the blood he saw on his face. Then he looked up into Spencer’s face, and his friend smiled down at him, and he did what Dr. Thomas asked. It took just a few minutes before the cut was bandaged and Spencer’s father was putting away the supplies. He came back into the room and sat back down, not on the coffee table this time, but in a leather chair farther away from Aaron. Aaron continued to sit in a small ball on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. Spencer had moved to sit on the couch next to him, careful not to touch.

“To answer your question, Aaron, I had the idea how to help you because I am a clinical psychologist who specializes in severe stress disorders. The method that I used with you is called grounding. By grounding you in the room and in the present, it helps to keep you from slipping into your traumatic memories when they are triggered,” Spencer’s father said, settling back into the plush leather and crossing his long legs.

Aaron studied him for several minutes before responding. He took in the relaxed manner, the man’s steady confidence. It seemed he knew everything there was to know about Aaron, or….

“You think you can help me?” Aaron asked quietly. They all thought they could help him. Every shrink his parents had sent him to thought they could help him, but they were wrong. The hope that had been building in his chest started to deflate, because Aaron really wished someone could help him. He was really starting to get sick of being broken.

“No…. However, I might be able to help you to help yourself.”

Aaron looked up at that, meeting the man’s gaze. He rarely looked anyone in the eye, but the answer was just so unexpected. What the hell did that mean? He could help Aaron help himself? Wasn’t Spencer’s father the shrink? How could Aaron fix himself, and if he could, why hadn’t he done it already?

“What exactly does that mean?” Aaron asked, trying not to formulate any kind of hope or plan in his head, only trying to get clarification.

“It means that I can teach you coping mechanisms, relaxation techniques, and other ways to deal with your trauma. You are never going to be the boy that you were before you were attacked, but….”

“How do you know what happened to me?” Aaron demanded. He could feel the anger, the uncontrolled rage building inside him, and for no good reason. Spencer’s father could have read it in the paper or seen it on the news. There weren’t many people around here who didn’t know who he was—poor little Aaron Downing. The room was suddenly warmer, and his heart beat wildly in his chest, fueled by the adrenaline. Aaron could almost feel his face flushing with anger, but before he could really build up a head of steam, Spencer’s father cut him off.

“Spencer told me what you had told him because, being your friend, he wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make things easier. He cares very much about you. I dug up the press clippings and other things that I could find about your case because, like today, I wanted to be able to help you if my help was warranted.”

He was calm and controlled, and Aaron could feel his anger deflate. Apparently, Dr. Thomas knew trying to placate him would only make him angrier. The calm, detached, unemotional explanation was so much 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 crept into his voice. Aaron didn’t believe much in therapy—he had absolutely no reason to. All the other therapists 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. He wanted to be normal; he hated having Spencer look at him like he was broken. 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.

“I’m not going to charge you, Aaron,” Spencer’s father told him firmly, adamant about that point.

“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.”

Aaron nodded. If Dr. Thomas could really help him start being a more functioning member of society, he could publish ten papers.

“Spencer,” Dr. Thomas said, moving his hands to get his son’s attention. “I need to talk to Aaron for a while alone.”

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 he was touching Spencer.

“P
LEASE
don’t leave,” Aaron said slowly and plainly, looking up at Spencer. Then he turned to Dr. Thomas. “Please, can’t he stay?”

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.

“Spencer, do you have any problems sitting in on Aaron’s therapy session?” His dad looked at him and waited for an answer.

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.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? It won’t be pretty,” Aaron asked Spencer with a sigh.

Spencer nodded.

“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 anyone’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.

A smile crept onto Spencer’s face as he accepted a piece of pizza and dropped down next to Aaron on the floor in front of the couch.

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.

“Not really,” Aaron replied, taking a long pull from the soda.

“Can you define ‘not really’?” Spencer’s dad asked, in full “Dr. Thomas” mode, even though to Spencer, he sounded slightly amused.

Aaron took another bite of pizza and appeared to contemplate his answer carefully.

“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.

Aaron sat back, and sweat beaded on his temples, and he took several long drinks of his soda while he contemplated his answer.

“I feel socially retarded. I can’t get a job, I have problems at school, and lately it seems like simple things have started to provoke reactions in me. The only way I can think of to deal with those reactions is to medicate myself into oblivion, and I hate that.” Aaron looked down at his plate rather than looking at Spencer or his father.

A blush rose in his face, making him look even more awkward, and Spencer wanted to tell his father to give Aaron a break, but he sensed they were close to the end. He didn’t want to undermine Aaron’s confidence in the therapy or his new therapist.

“I’d like to end our talk here because there are some things that we need to decide on before we go any further. First, I want to work with you on a professional basis, so you need to decide if you want to transfer yourself to my care. If you do, I’d like to start weaning you off the medication that has been prescribed for you. I can’t do that until we have been working together for a while on the tools that you will need to work through your crises rather than medicate them. You are legally an adult, so all I need is your consent to transfer your therapy records to my office, but I would strongly suggest that you discuss the change with your parents. We would start off with three sessions per week plus exercises for you to do on your own,” his father said, and Aaron’s eyes widened. His breathing accelerated wildly, and for a second, Spencer feared maybe he would have another panic attack.

“You want to take me off my meds?” Aaron asked, looking a little shell-shocked. “Do you really think that I’d be able to handle my… my issues without them?”

“In time, yes, I think you will,” Spencer’s father confided. “There are a lot of different techniques that you can use, like the grounding, which we used successfully earlier, in order to deal with flashbacks and other psychosomatic crises.”

“What kind of exercises would I need to do at home?”

Aaron was excited. God, for the first time in years, he thought maybe he could see a light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

“Journaling, breathing exercises, meditation, and other techniques that we find for you to use,” Spencer’s father listed.

Aaron knew these were all things he could do in the privacy of his bedroom. For some reason, he didn’t want to share Dr. Thomas with his parents. This was the first therapist he had selected on his own, his first adult decision. He was also a little afraid his parents would disagree, maybe stop him from going to sessions. Aaron’s gut told him trusting this man was the way to go, but then, his gut had steered him horribly wrong before.

“I’d like to start working with you,” Aaron told him, making the decision without any hesitation. If this man believed he could help Aaron start to function like a normal human being again, then the least Aaron could do was give him the opportunity.