A Broken Kind of Life (33 page)

Arguing with a lawyer wasn’t really a pleasant thing, but Spencer’s father didn’t back down. “No, Mr. Downing, it’s up to Aaron to decide what he needs. He’s the only person who knows exactly what’s going on inside his head. I’ve consulted with my attorney, and in order for your injunction to succeed, you’re going to have to have a judge declare him legally incompetent to make decisions in his medical care.”

Aaron’s face heated, and his hands clenched at his sides. They were going to go to court and have a judge tell them he was incompetent, all because he’d picked a therapist on his own. Didn’t that show he was capable of making decisions about his care? Damn it, Dr. Thomas was one of the best trauma specialists in the country. Aaron had made the right decision. He was sure of it.

“You would do that?” Aaron asked his father and faked a calm he didn’t feel. They didn’t need the conversation to descend into something angry, at least not yet.

“Aaron, it’s just a piece of paper. It doesn’t mean anything.” His father’s face was an open book, showing every emotion he felt. Right then, it showed Aaron that his father was placating him and that he didn’t mean a word of what he said.

“Really? It just strips away my rights as a human being and puts me totally under your control. Am I wrong?” Aaron felt Spencer nudge his leg and felt better. He wanted to reach over and hold Spencer’s hand, but he didn’t know if his mother had told his father that he was gay. He didn’t want to test the idea right then.

“Technically, but it’s our job to take care of you.”

“Because you think I can’t take care of myself? Do you think that the attack was my fault too?” Aaron asked and watched the blood drain from his father’s face.

“Of course not, but that doesn’t have anything to do with the situation at hand,” John said but was quickly interrupted by his wife standing at the doorway to the kitchen. She didn’t greet Dr. Thomas or Spencer; she simply announced that dinner was ready and asked that they move into the dining room.

With reluctance, Aaron stood and felt Spencer’s hand on his back.

“It. Will. Be. Okay,” Spencer whispered to him as their fathers passed. “No. Judge. Is. Going. To. Give. Them. What. They. Want.”

“Yes, but what will they do if they lose?” Aaron asked. He could just see his parents packing up and moving to New York or San Francisco just to get him away from Dr. Thomas. Then, not only would he lose his therapist, he’d lose his best friend and his boyfriend. He couldn’t think about that happening, not when he’d finally found even a little bit of happiness.

“Come. On. We. Will. See. What. They. Have. To. Say.”

Allen and Anthony were allowed the rare privilege of eating in their rooms, after leaving Aaron with matching supportive looks. Aaron sat with Spencer on one side of the table and Dr. Thomas sat alone on the other with Aaron’s parents at each end. Plates were served, drinks were poured, and salad dished out by the time the conversation turned back to the subject of Aaron’s therapy.

“I don’t want to cause a rift between you and Aaron. That was never my intention. We talked about sharing his therapy with you, and I thought in time he would. You asked me what I would get out of treating Aaron for free, and as I explained to him, I would use our findings to publish papers and help other therapists treat patients with similar indicators. The fact that he had not found a therapist to that point who could do anything more than medicate him and mask his symptoms tells me that the information is sorely needed.” Dr. Thomas took a long drink of water while he waited for a response.

Michelle looked at John and then at Aaron. “Dr. Thomas, while I appreciate what you’re saying, it’s not your intentions we’re concerned about so much as your ethics. We found through careful research that you were a top-notch trauma therapist. At the time, we thought you might be the answer to all of our prayers. But then, we talked to Nancy Burgoff. Do you remember her, Doctor?” Michelle asked, her voice almost malicious with quiet triumph. Dr. Thomas’s expression did not change.

“Yes, I remember Ms. Burgoff very well,” he said but didn’t elaborate.

“She told us that your partner, Dr. Huehn, had an affair with a sixteen-year-old female patient. He is currently serving time for that indiscretion, is he not?”

“He is,” Dr. Thomas said, but again, did not elaborate.

“Your practice closed soon after his arrest. She also told us that you showed up to an APA function so intoxicated that you could barely stand. Rumors started throughout the psychiatric community in Chicago that you’d become an alcoholic. Do you deny the rumors?” she asked point-blank as she stared him down from across the table. The meal was forgotten in the showdown, and Aaron could do nothing but watch with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“I do not deny that I drink; however, I have never done so before a session or even when Aaron is in the house. What I do in my personal time is really none of your concern, and for the record, I haven’t talked to Huehn since his arrest. He hid his affair from everyone, including the staff at the clinic. The only reason anyone found out about it was because of the girl’s pregnancy. The LLC offered Emily and her family a very generous settlement, which I can’t discuss because of a confidentiality agreement, but from what I understand she’s doing very well with the female therapist I recommended for her. I am not a monster, Mrs. Downing. If I didn’t care about your son’s well-being, I wouldn’t be here letting you take your anger out on me,” Dr. Thomas told her, and sat back in his chair, taking another long drink of water. His dinner sat cooling on its plate on the burgundy placemat.

“And what is it that I’m so angry about, doctor? Are you going to do some dinner table analysis?” She laced her voice with sarcasm, and Aaron started to rise and say something to her, but a look from Dr. Thomas stayed him.

“I am not here to antagonize you, Mrs. Downing. I’m here to see if we can come to an amicable solution so that I can continue to help your son,” he answered.

She snorted. “How have you helped him so far? I haven’t seen any changes in him during the last few months that can’t be attributed to his new friendship with Spencer or working out his issues on his own.”

“Mom, when is the last time I had a panic attack? When is the last time you had to feed me tranquilizers like candy? You want to know what Dr. Thomas has done for me? You want to know how he’s started to give me my life back?” Aaron asked before turning to Spencer.

“Touch me,” he told Spencer in a low voice. “Anywhere you want, just touch me.”

“Aaron, this really isn’t necessary,” Michelle said in a high, panicked voice, no doubt steeling herself for one of Aaron’s meltdowns in the middle of the dining room.

“Aaron, please…,” his father said, his voice mingling with Michelle’s in their fear and concern.

“Do it,” he told Spencer while his parents looked on in horror. Spencer reached over and brushed Aaron’s cheek with his fingers. Aaron’s eyes closed for just a second as he felt his boyfriend’s touch against his face, and then he lifted a hand and held Spencer’s palm against his skin. The gasp he heard belonged to his mother, and he raised his head to see her eyes filled with tears. So, with his free hand, he reached along the table and took her hand.

The tears fell freely.

“How…?” she asked, completely at a loss for words as her tears turned to sobs. The free hand not covered by Aaron’s flew to her mouth, and her quiet cries were the only sound in the room. A chair scraped the tile, and John stood up. He moved around the table to stand next to Michelle and put an arm around her shoulders.

“With Dr. Thomas, I found that my problem is with touches that I don’t control. If I reach out and touch you, or I tell Spencer to touch me, I’m controlling it. I still have some issues with being touched unexpectedly, but we’re working on that. Well, we
were
working on that,” Aaron said with a shrug and pulled Spencer’s hand back down to the table, where he held it.

“What else are you working on?” she asked, and Aaron noticed that she didn’t use past tense when talking about his therapy. The slip encouraged him. Spencer must have noticed it too, because he squeezed Aaron’s hand gently. Aaron looked up at Dr. Thomas.

“I can’t reveal the content of our therapy sessions, even to your parents, without your permission. Since I don’t have any waivers with me, I can’t divulge any information. If you want them to know, you’ll have to tell them,” he said with a small smile, and Aaron wondered how much of that was true.

“Well, we’ve been working on identifying my triggers for flashbacks and stuff. We found some that I had no idea of—like storms. I didn’t remember that it stormed that night while I was there. So, when it storms, I have a problem leaving the safety of my room. The smell of gasoline, the sight of blood, being touched unexpectedly, all of these things can trigger an episode. Dr. Thomas has encouraged me to find an online support group for rape victims. I found one, but haven’t talked to anyone yet. I just watch the other conversations and see that I’m not as alone as I thought. He showed me that I can distract myself using video games and escape what happened for a little while. That’s just what we’ve accomplished together in the last two months. Imagine what I would have been like in a year, if I could have kept working with him,” Aaron said, again being sure to use past tense so that his mother would understand that he didn’t want his therapy sessions to be over.

“That’s…,” his mother started.

“Impressive,” his father finished, causing her to look up at him.

“Aaron, we want you to make progress, we do. I’m just scared. What if something happens and Dr. Thomas is no longer able to treat you. What will you do then?” she asked, and Aaron got the impression she was going to make that more descriptive but decided to spare Dr. Thomas’s feelings.

“Then Dr. Thomas can refer me to another therapist, one that he thinks I’ll work well with. I’ll continue using the blog to work out my issues. I’ll keep using the tools we’ve developed. But, honestly, I’ve talked to Dr. Thomas almost every day for the last two months, and I have faith in him. Please, Mom, call off the injunction. I promise to talk to you about what’s happening in my therapy and if I have any concerns about it. I’ll sign a waiver so that you can talk to him too,” Aaron insisted and felt hope well up in his chest. God, he felt like a little kid begging for a puppy, but if that’s what it took, he’d do it.

“I just… I don’t know,” Michelle said again, looking up helplessly at her husband for support.

“I started working with a colleague earlier this week, engaging in therapy myself,” Dr. Thomas offered. “We’re encouraged to have our own therapists for the stress of caring for patients. I haven’t had one for quite a while.” The way he leaned forward in his seat, it almost looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

“Oh… I’m glad you’re going to be… feeling better,” she said lamely. It seemed to Aaron as if she were grasping for straws, but something in her expression changed, and she looked up again at her husband.

“I’ll talk to Harry about pulling the injunction in the morning,” his father said, and Aaron squeezed Spencer’s hand tightly in his. A wide smile broke across his face, and Spencer’s father smiled back. The wonder in Michelle’s voice tugged at Aaron’s heart.

“There’s my son,” she whispered.

N
OT
all fairy tales end with the prince getting the girl. Sometimes, they end with a deaf boy getting the guy of his dreams.

Spencer stood watching Aaron gulp the last of his soda as he stood against the island in his parents’ kitchen. Yes, he definitely got his prince. Aaron caught him staring and raised one brow in silent inquiry. Spencer smiled, bridging the gap between them in slow, deliberate steps, and took his boyfriend into his arms. The smile widened when Aaron nestled his head against Spencer’s chest and they stayed like that until Allen broke the moment by bumping Aaron on the way to the fridge. Aaron froze, startled by his brother’s touch, but Spencer’s steadying hand calmed him.

“Are we still going?” Aaron asked as he glanced up at Spencer, whose heart broke at the fear lingering in his expression. Not much had changed over the last several months, except the leaves falling from the trees making way for the snow and ice in typical Midwestern fashion. Aaron, however, remained as unchanged as the oak in the Downings’ front yard. His therapy progressed, more like the tortoise than the hare, but so many things had stayed the same.

“I. Would. Like. To,” Spencer said. Aaron’s mom snuck into the kitchen as they talked, and though she busied herself with the beginnings of a pie, her tense posture showed her concern.

Rarely did Spencer and Aaron leave the relative security of their homes. They spent most days either at Aaron’s house, playing video games with Allen and Anthony, or at Spencer’s house having therapy with Spencer’s father or working on the Spaaron app. Spencer couldn’t even count the number of enhancements they’d made, especially over winter break. They’d slowed down now that the new semester had started and Aaron took more classes. But for things like movies, they stayed home because Spencer wanted the closed-captioning, and Aaron wanted the privacy.