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cameron-malkin:
Each gaze felt different — like a snowflake, Cameron supposed, but those cheerful descriptions were better left to Lexus. Dr. Richmond’s eyes burned into Cameron’s arm, skin stinging as blue hues bore into the bicep Cameron massaged. A lesser man would have felt unsettled beneath this gaze, but the 28 year old knew better, his position of power firm within the pack.
In spite of his growing displeasure, a dark chuckle escaped full lips. “Sure,” He mused, happily playing along with the therapist’s deduction, but there was a dark glimmer in his eyes. The concept of running from Emrys — gangly limbs and no muscle — was laughable, to say the least. Leaning against the wall with arms crossed in forced nonchalance, the yellow patient breathed a disingenuous content sigh. “Well, I thought about it,” The 28 year old lied, lips upturned with a face-splitting grin. “But it doesn’t look like they’re up for a run today, either.”
Then came the dreaded invitation. Crystalline hues fell to the plush chair, an amused look dancing across his full lips as he fleetingly mocked the flashy decor. Bet those looked good in the brochures…or are they new? As if venturing into the lion’s den, slow steps chipped at the gap between the two, unable to refute the doctor offer. Scraping gratingly against the floor, it was only after the 28 year old dragged his chair closer to the corner that he chose to sit down. Dr. Richmond — or Emrys, as his name plate so elegantly denoted — kept him laughing like few others, though his eyes were absent of humor. These moments of amusement were forced, light and airy in ways that contradicted the silent deep breaths he took to will himself into relaxation. The New Jersey native merely smirked in reply, “Am I alright? Surely you know that’s not the fuckin’ worst I’ve seen, now, Doc.” Playfully, Cameron leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he took his chin in his hand, inquisitive. “Are you alright?”
It was a step in the right direction, the fact that Cameron took a seat instead of remaining by the door with his arms folded across his chest like a molting raven sat on the edge of a rickety old building, angrily watching passerby beneath him. That was what Cameron reminded him of. An angry bird waiting to swoop into anyone who came too close. He was too much brute-force to be a cat, but not enough blunt instrument to be a dog. But a bird--Emrys thought of him as a raven, hunched and dark, capable and able to protect himself, but in many ways, quite fragile if you could only get your hands on him.
Not, of course, that Em had any interest in breaking him. Just that he wanted to displace a few feathers. Maybe nudge him out of his roost to see what really bothered him. To see what it was about therapy that clearly frightened him so much that not even his smiles met up with his eyes.
“It may not be the worst, Mr. Malkin, but I'm only human and one of my flaws is that I’m concerned for the wellbeing of my patients,” he said. Emrys looked down at the notebook in his lap and then flipped it open, his scribblings and doodles on the inside cover hanging over his knee as he found a blank sheet of paper. “As for me...”
When he found one, he finally looked back, and smiled.
“I’m just fine. But, to start us off, I know you’d rather not be here so I’m going to try and make this painless for you as possible. So, instead of asking you a bunch of questions you don’t want to answer, I’m going to let you ask me whatever you like. Or you can ask nothing at all, and we can stare at each other and whoever blinks first is the winner.”
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lex-again:
Oh no, she thought with a laugh. Fixing her gaze on the source of her laughter, Lexus feigned an exasperated sigh, eyes bulging in mock irritation. Fleetingly, as her heart swelled, she was struck with a revelation: He’s an absolute dork! “I’d like to request a change,” Came her dead-pan reply, placing a hand over his notebook as she beckoned for his cohabit hues. “My therapist is a dork.”
Exhaling a muted laugh, Lexus shook her head, incredulous in the face of Emrys’ humor. Regardless, her smirk matched his, chocolate hues sparkling with intrigue where boredom once resided. Miss Hale widened her smile like an inside joke, sitting back in her chair. Crossing one leg daintily over the other, Lexus was the image of prim and proper, shoulders settling comfortably into her upright posture as if by pure instinct. In truth, the days of back poking and side pinching were far behind her, faded with more prominent memories of harsher atrocities. Still, sitting properly — back straight, shoulders even, chin set — while pretending to chat casually as an ulterior lingered knowingly beneath the surface, called forth memories of pretentious dinner parties she’d rather forget. However, to his credit, Emrys forced another smile from hesitant lips.
“One thing? Hmm…the most irritating thing or the first thing that comes to mind?” Peeking at him, she searched his sharp features for a clue. “I don’t fuckin’ like sharing a room with 3 other women, I’ll tell you that right now. Nor do I like that Cameron shares a room because — while I’d never not be in my bed at bedtime, not in my good Christian mental hospital, sir, however — because Cam now has a roommate, I can’t even seek refuge from my roommates.” Quick to amend her statement, a hand flew out in hopes to catch him before he wrote anything down. Would he classify her as a bitch? “Not that they’re not nice, they are. It’s just…they’re noisy. Y’know, it’s 6AM and this one’s up because she just has to shower right the fuck now and, oh shit it’s 3AM and the other one’s just getting in from a pee break and slams the door. It’s just — bothersome. Every fucking morning.”
I’d like to request a change. My therapist is a dork.
Emrys conjured a smile and then a laugh. But there was no correction on his lips. She was perceptive, but Emrys also made no attempt to hide his personality. Em had found success in being open and honest with his patients. Certainly, he maintained a level of professional boundary. But if he wasn’t himself, how could he ask them to be? How could he hope to make them laugh if he couldn’t laugh?
The pen in his hand twirled absently as he watched Lexus prepare to answer his question. He observed the way she assumed some prearranged position in the chair across from him. It was difficult to tell if this was how she normally sat or if this was a show to make herself appear a little more approachable or proper. Emrys had to admit, he’d seen patients taking on positions or appearances in order to influence his opinions, so he couldn’t possibly put it past her. But he also couldn’t possibly make that judgement call without knowing her better.
His eyes, big and blue, flickered over her as she talked. From her eyes, to her mouth, the way she moved her hands, even how her eyes searched him for cues as to how she should behave. It reminded him a little of two cats standing at either side of the room, backs arched, trying to decide which would brandish their claws first. Unfortunately, Emrys Richmond was not a man of combat. But he did notice the way that Lexus held out her hand, as if she had a flash of fear that he was going to write something negative about her in his notes--it seemed like a running theme with her. Emrys latched onto this.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” Emrys said. “Then I’m going to ask you a question. After that, I’ll explain what I’m doing, if you don’t already know.”
“When I was in college,” he went on, “My roommate had a girlfriend who woke up at all hours to have a cigarette. She’d slam the door on her way out, on her way in, and sometimes, she’d just open the window and smoke in the room, which kept me awake. Granted, I was pre-med and barely hanging onto sanity as it was. I didn’t know her at all, but I hated her passionately.”
Emrys shifted in his chair, changing over his position, crossing his other leg now.
“At the time, I was learning about mediation and how to handle difficult situations with patients, especially in family dynamics. Mostly between parents and children. So I tried to pull her aside, explain to her why her behavior was upsetting, and I asked that she be more considerate. To which her response was, and I quote, ‘fuck off, gay boy’,” he continued.
Resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, Emrys laced his fingers together in his lap.
“Here’s my question, and you can answer honestly. I’m not taking notes,” he said. “What do you think of her behavior? And, do you think I had a right to be annoyed with her?”
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When it’s over, leave. Don’t continue watering a dead flower.
Unknown
(via resqectable)
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lex-again:
Emerys had a way about him, a talent that granted the ability to cut others with a well placed quip. Sitting before him felt almost like sitting in front of the principal, appealing to her better nature — however out of touch it might be — as it coaxed a soft blush onto porcelain features. Though an apology bubbled to the surface, it became lodged in her throat, smothered by newfound ideologies. Dr. Richmond’s comment, spoken casually with his back turned as he drew the curtains, chipped away at her icy exterior — not quite melted, but thawing. Bronze hues softened, though her arms crossed over her chest in a fleeting effort to protect herself.
When Lexus sat, Emrys observed her. She fidgeted anxiously, biting at her lip, looking, for a moment, like she wanted the floor to swallow her up whole. Em had no intention of making her so uncomfortable but he also had no intention of allowing her to run over him. He didn’t know what kind of relationship she may have had with her therapists in the past or what their methods had been, but Emrys had to work with what he knew worked. Certainly, he could change, shift, and be fluid to suit each patient. But he had always found that patients preferred to be treated as living, breathing people, not studies to be put under a microscope. They didn’t like to be condescended to with the regular therapist talk. And to be fair, Em didn’t like doing things that way. He liked it much better when he and his patients could form trust and respect.
No one could blame Lexus for having trouble with authority or therapists. No human wanted to go in front of a stranger and spill their darkest secrets. And when they did, it stood to reason that they wanted that relationship to be solid. Of course, not every therapist worked out, but the hope was that you could build that trust. If Lex had built that trust before and been abandoned--notably by a doctor who had left--it could injure the future patient-doctor relationship.
Luckily, for now, that wasn’t why Em was there.
Emrys couldn’t help but to smile at her. Her wit really did appeal to him. She was funny, in a genuine way, even when he didn’t think she meant to be. He supposed there was a fine line between cruel and sardonic, but he wasn’t sure he could always see the difference.
Wetting his lips, he flipped open his notepad and then made a show of pretending to take notes.
“Ray of sunshine,” he repeated, as if he were writing it down. “Loves cocaine, relapsed, dumped her boyfriend.” With a satisfied nod at the blank paper, he flipped the notepad shut and then shrugged. “Wow. You did my job for me. That was great. So I guess I’ll see you next session?”
There was a soft quirk of his head, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth tilted in a smirk. Then, his expression softened a little.
“Look, Miss Hale. I’m your doctor, but neither you or I are ready to push each other yet,” he said. “I don’t wanna talk about what’s in your file right now. I’m sure we have a lot of time to get into the grit and the gross whenever you’re ready. Until then, why don’t you just start by telling me one thing that’s annoying the shit out of you today?”
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lex-again:
Hell sounded more appealing than therapy. What was a little fire and brimstone anyway? Besides, she had been expertly avoiding the meeting, hiding in the garden in places the guards refused to look. All in all, her masterplan had been going rather well — until it rained.
Met with two burly looking guards outside her shared bedroom, she was convinced God was punishing her, which only increased the growing ire clouding her judgement. “Honest to God,” She plead, hands gripping the door handle in an attempt to root herself to the floor, “I’ll pay you double your wage just don’t bring me there.” Yet, here she was, hands pried off her own door and knocking on Dr. Richmond’s. Though kind, his invitation hadn’t sparked much joy — in fact, it as quite the opposite.
“Come out,” She implored, all too eager to follow his “outside the office” policy, though manicured nails swung the door open anyway. A curse fell from muted lips at the sight of Emrys’ illuminated figure, his silhouette stretching across the carpeted floors. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Had she known the rain would pass, perhaps she could have held out and waited for the sun’s sweet afternoon rays.
In this new golden light, the whole office suddenly looked different. The realization struck her oddly, an unfamiliar pang of guilt resounding within her chest. In the throes of their engagement, memories of Keegan had faded without notice. Now, sitting in front of the desk in which they shared plenty of stolen nauseating kisses, Lexus was confronted with her regrettable past. Despite its plushy exterior, her back was rigid, unable to relax. Eyes glued safely to her feet, “Let’s just…get this over with.”
Lexus’s voice was only familiar the way the sound of the wind was familiar. Certainly, he recognized her, but had she been screaming among a hundred other female patients whose faces he couldn’t see, would he have known her voice? Difficult to say, but Emrys had a sense he would become accustomed to the sound of her voice very quickly. It was no wonder, then, why he had seen a photo of her taped up in Malkin’s room. There was a lilt and a tone in her voice that was slightly similar to his. An aggressive sort of halting, like everything in the world bored her and pissed her off, all one one time. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the two of them were both so clearly unimpressed the world the around them.
“Your enthusiasm is breathtaking, Miss Hale,” Emrys commented casually as he pulled the curtain enough to keep the sun off their faces and out of their eyes. He blinked away the spots and flipped open her file briefly. After a quick scan, he grabbed a notebook--well-worn and well-loved. If anyone bothered to check the front cover, there were absentminded doodles there--of spiders, mostly, but there might have been a cat or two, and a few loopy lines of his practiced signature: E.L. Richmond. As if he were fifteen and worried what people thought of his handwriting.
Emrys tapped the notebook against his thigh.
“You can sit, if you like. I promise I will keep this as short as possible.”
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cameron-malkin:
The strong grip around Cameron’s upper arm felt unnecessary, the lack of trust held in the 28-year-old had always been glaringly obviously but even more so today as he was escorted through the dark halls. Hideous patterned carpets beneath his feet provided the only distraction from his thoughts, emerald hues glued to the swirling disaster of clashing colours. The patient knew where he was going, ever since his brief introduction to the new doctor, he suspected a mandatory therapy session was in the not so distant future so when a knock had arrived at his door accompanied by a cold voice commanding his compliance, he saw no viable option to escape the inevitable. Lifting his concentration from the floor, Cameron shot a glare to the burly guard on his left, “Ease up, buddy.” Came his seething quip, annoyance sharp on his tongue as they turned towards the office door.
As the doctor called out from within, a hefty sigh fell from full lips, Cameron rolled his shoulders back and adjusted his neck, as if preparing to walk into a fight, “You can get off me now.” He snapped once more at his escort before shrugging his arm free from the harsh grasp, his own hand immediately flying up to his bicep to give the tight tendon a brief massage. The patient’s back stiffened as he crossed the threshold into the room he’d not seen before, the unhinged beast glanced around his surroundings, calculating any exit routes, points of distraction, potential dangers, only to be met with soft-looking chairs and the elusive Emrys Richmond. Just like the first time they met, Cameron eyed his opposition, searching for any clues as to what the man may be feeling.
The tension headache already building between his temples caused a deep frown to form across his brow as he dropped his hand from his aching arm and shoved it deep in his jean pocket. “Alright, doc?” Cam nodded in his direction. A shadowy figure remained visible through the glass pane window, the guard’s outline a reminder that any chance of escape was futile. “I thought moving down a floor would gain a bit more trust from those lot.” He motioned to the figure looming close by.
The sight of Cameron coming into his office, followed by a burly looking orderly, drained some of the hope Em had had for the session ahead of them. Emrys had no rose-colored glasses on. He didn’t walk around his life thinking that every patient would accept him, would talk to him, would let him help with their treatment. There was a knowledge among his peers, among other doctors, that no psychologist could help all of them. And of course, Em was no different. But each time he started over (and over, and over, and over, and over) with a patient, he felt that same familiar drag of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. Being given, not a blank slate, but a slate filled with scribbles and notes, the writings of the patient which had been written over by previous doctors, written over again by the patient. Except it was impossible to wipe away what had already been done.
Emrys could only hope that the writing he did with Cameron--since it would only work if they both guided the pen--could be bold enough to overcome whatever had been written in before him. It was a hope that dwindled slightly when he watched Cameron rub at his upper arm. Emrys couldn’t do anything about that now. But it would end up one of the many things on his agenda.
“To be fair,” Emrys finally said, “I think that’s more for my sake than yours. If you bolted out of this room, I’m really decently sure you’d outrun me, Cameron. With his bulk blocking the door, I can avoid twisting an ankle.”
Lifting his brows, Em moved around the desk and sat down in one of the comfortable chairs clustered near the front of his desk. He plopped a notebook down into his lap and then glanced up.
“You can sit if you’d like, but you don’t have to,” he paused, his eyes flickering to Cameron’s arm briefly. “Are you alright?”
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Before the otherness came
And I knew its name
The love, the dark, the light, the flame
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Fresh Meat || Open to Patients
Was Emrys Richmond nervous about taking his first therapy sessions? Absolutely--he’d been tapping is finger rhythmically on his desk all morning, even as he pored over his files in last minute prep work. Was Emrys Richmond the sort to let on the intensity of his nerves? Absolutely not. His close mentor had given him some very wise advice when Em had gone to the end of his rope with his internship--never let them see you bleed. Emrys knew that it would be easy for patients to take advantage of his status as a new doctor. Most especially if he wasn’t careful enough to conceal his own uncertainties, insecurities, and nerves. This wasn’t his internship anymore and he wasn’t participating in a study with low-risk patients.
Emrys finally stood from his desk and walked to the window on the other side of his office to peer out. The afternoon sun beat in on him as he rolled his sleeves to his elbows and slipped his hands into his pockets. Getting a break from his last minute research would do his head good--especially since research would only do so much. As he’d already learned about the patients there, knowing them outside of the office was a lot better and a lot more informative than knowing their files or knowing how they behaved in therapy.
The clock on his desk, the one he kept pointed towards himself, clicked over to 2pm. He heard the sound of movement just outside of his door and he shifted, turning back towards the openness of his office and the comfortable chairs that had been placed inside for optimal relaxation.
“Come in,” he called.
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cameron-malkin:
Despite the lack of information to be gleaned from his poorly decorated walls, Cameron disliked Emrys’ prying eyes. A polaroid of Lexus hung on the wall beside him, his hand itching to tear it down and preserve the image for himself. The 28-year-old couldn’t get a straight answer from the staff member, unsure of his motives and until he could decipher his true goal, Cameron didn’t want him anywhere near his bride-to-be.
A cocky smirk upturned his lips, happily acknowledging the other’s hesitation. Cobalt blue eyes meeting his gaze once more, listening for any minor slip up that may fall from the angular features of the enemy of his peace, cerulean hues didn’t back down from a fight. Despite the prolonged stare, Cameron forced the tension rising in his chest backwards, smothering it to display a lackadaisical gaze. His grin grew wider, laughing at the doctor’s response.
“Hmm,” The hard muscles of his arms budged as he crossed them over his chest, the veins running along his forearms now obvious as his fists clenched into a tight grip, quickly followed by an intentional flexing of his fingers. Mirroring the movements, Cameron responded to the answers with remarks of his own, “One — fine, but I’d like to state for the record you’re no fun. Two — that was the point, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to walk in uninvited? Third —“ Cameron paused, the doctor moving to face him, carefully evaluating his stance, there was no threat to be felt, quite the opposite in fact. The only unnerving factor of their interaction was the fact that the other seemed to be genuine in his approach, that thought alone caused the yellow floors patient stomach to flip.
Under Cameron’s scrutiny, Emrys could understand how another person might feel uncomfortable. With an overall lack of emotion, it would be difficult to feel any kind of empathy with Cameron. But Em didn’t experience that. Some of Cameron’s challenging behavior seemed less inherent and more learned, perhaps to protect him from something else, something outside that was out of his control. As everyone did, Cameron had likely developed coping mechanisms that worked to keep him from harm. Even his nonchalant attitude was somehow not quite genuine. Emrys couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there, a pesky thought in the back of his head, telling him he needed to learn more, do research. Em had a lot of books at home and it was imperative that he studied as much as possible if he wanted even a chance of being in any way helpful.
At Cameron’s question, Emrys couldn’t help but to laugh. His forefinger tapped a rhythm against his leg through the fabric of his pocket, as if he were following the beat of a song that no one else could hear. He shifted his weight slightly, his eyes glancing briefly to the only real point of interest in the room--a polaroid of a girl Em recognized. Em didn’t linger on it, his eyes staying only long enough to absorb what he’d seen before they were back on Cameron’s face.
“Expectations are just ways of pushing people into little boxes and then being surprised when a human being simply doesn’t fit into them,” Emrys said. His voice had taken on a lighter tone. “I try not to have them. For now, I just don’t know you well enough to have an opinion on you. Once we’ve talked more, I’ll be sure to give you a full rundown of my thoughts.”
Flight risk || Open starter.
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cameron-malkin:
Keep reading
There was nothing at all in the room that would suggest anything about Cameron except that he had learned not to offer any suggestions about who he was as a person to the outside world. Emrys related--if his patients knew the hours he spent scrolling through peer reviewed articles while drinking red wine at four AM, he’d lose any credit he may have had to his name. Sometimes, exposing oneself, even with seemingly harmless suggestions about who you were could be dangerous. Especially for someone like Cameron, a man that seemed to have some kind of reputation. Emrys didn’t take gossip into account. But he could see why this man had stripped down everything around him, balled it up into hatred, and used it now to demand that Emrys explain things.
Which, of course, Cameron knew Emrys couldn’t answer. These were rhetorical questions meant to belittle the target, prove that they couldn’t possibly be smarter. Grandiose sense of self. It was important for Emrys to experience this--to allow Cameron the joy of his own pissing contest. This had nothing to do with diagnosis or therapy, Emrys simply needed to know how he related--or didn’t relate, as the case may be--to other people. Cameron didn’t offer him a single, genuine emotion, not at first, and Emrys felt that was imperative to understanding him. To digging into each and every one of the wounds he tried to cover over and found out which ones of them bled the most.
From where he stood, Emrys looked back to Cameron, considering him for a long time. He reminded Emrys of a scalpel. Slim, and sharp, and precise. He did what he could to find the jugular and then he pressed into it until his subject drowned in the thick of their own blood.
“First question,” Emrys said, holding up one finger. “If you’d like to know about Dr. Verrat, you will have to consult with her.” Another finger. “Second question. I was already in your room, but thank you for the invitation.” Another finger. “Third question.”
Here, Emrys dropped his hand and then pivoted his body just enough that they were facing each other. Except that Cameron’s somewhat squared, challenging stance wasn’t mirrored in the doctor. The line of his body was as relaxed as if he were bathing in the sun. But like a wave crashing down through the room between them, Emrys sensed the thickness of the anxiety radiating off the young man. A real feeling, an emotion. No matter how his smirking face tried to conceal it--Emrys wondered if Cameron knew how loud he was without ever saying a thing.
“Unfortunately for all of us, Mr. Malkin, the world is an inconsistent place,” Em said, his voice calm and easy. “Of course, it’d be my preference if everything and everyone were predictable and nothing threw me off of my routines or forced me out of my comfort zone. But that just won’t happen. In therapy you and I could potentially talk more about that. But as I said before, I’m not here for a therapy session. I really did just want to meet you.”
Flight risk || Open starter.
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lex-again:
The intense scrutiny of her gaze yielded no true results, his features unmoved despite the known implication of his answer. Dr. Richmond was not stressed, not offended, and least of all shocked. This unshakable man fascinated and infuriated the 22 year old, the small victory of his deep exhale hardly registering. Although she didn’t want to seem like she cared too much, the way her eyes glued to him stated otherwise.
Oh. As if struck by a bullet, she sat back on her heels, deflated and defeated. Each word that tumbled from his mouth struck her with guilt, making it crystal clear she had made an error in judgement. Blushing wildly, her embarrassment was palpable, heat thrown off her cheeks in waves. Tucking her hair behind her ears, Lexus fiddled with the sleeves of her cardigan, ensuring they covered the evidence of darker moments passed. Her attempt to busy herself to avoid his gaze was unmistakable, and she knew it.
“Ah, fuck,” The curse surprised even her, though muttered in a whisper. The apology opened the floodgates of her mouth without warning, a waterfall of words rushing from the depths of her soul as the bittersweet taste of honesty stained her tongue. “I’m really sorry — that…wasn’t cool. I just — I really wasn’t even sure, I just thought maybe — but I didn’t mean to come off like a bitch or anything, I’m really sorry. I mean, listen,” Untucking and re-tucking her hair behind her ears, animated hands flew wildly in all direction as she spoke. “I mean, for what it’s worth, I think that’s actually a really great approach. I mean, i think that’s a really good rule, you know? I’m sorry, I’m just — my old therapist, Dr. Verrat, she was really nice but kind of easy to avoid, you know? I-I’m not really used to talking to staff and, like, nice staff that don’t treat you like some piece of a puzzle.”
In the sharp daylight that had emerged from behind a fluffy, white cloud, Emrys watched as Lexus seemed to crumble--one moment she had been confident, humorous, deflecting, and now, it was as if that wall had broken up into pieces and fell, like so many stars, to the Earth. He watched them burn through her atmosphere, and with them, Emrys felt he had experienced the second true emotion Lexus had felt since he had come upon her in the garden. First, the bee, and now, a heavy anxiety that she had committed some slight against Emrys. Even though Emrys hadn’t found what she’d said at all offensive. And even if he had, he was a doctor, a psychologist. If he went around getting offended at things patients said to him, he’d live his whole life in a miserable depression. Em had heard a lot in his life. This was hardly the worst.
So he let her feel it and go through it, patiently crossing his arms behind his back and resting his knuckles on the workbench. Emrys had taken on a wholly casual stance, one ankle crossed over the other. From head to toe, he was one long line, mostly arms and legs, almost awkward in his lankiness had he not wielded his lean frame with a kind of foreign confidence. As if he recognized his strangeness and embraced what made him weird in the world. It was his hope that his stance and his calmness about the conversation, about Lexus, about himself, would give her some sense that neither had she done anything wrong, nor was he suffering in any way for her questions.
At length, when a soft silence had fallen, and it seemed that her torture was mostly inward, now, Emrys tilted his chin downwards. His smile may have seemed almost as though he were going to poke fun at her, except that that was just how his face was.
“I’ll take your comment about my stare as a compliment,” he said, watching her for cues as he began to get a rhythm for Lexus’s behavior. Build up confidence, portray indifference, state things plainly--a facade to hide sensitivity and anxiety. He suspected she had brutal cycle of negative self-talk. Emrys knew one positive interaction couldn’t change that kind of cyclical behavior, but he could at least attempt not to contribute to it.
So he leaned off the workbench, standing straight again, his hands going loosely into his pockets.
“Miss Hale,” he said to her. “I encourage you to ask me about my intentions, question my actions, and never take my word for it. Demand that I explain myself, and never accept what I say without scrutinizing it. You have the right to question me, even, and most especially, as your doctor.”
Emrys tapped his thigh through the fabric lining of his pocket. Almost like a musical rhythm, he barely seemed to notice he was doing it.
“That being said, I’m glad you approve of my methods. If you ever feel that I’m treating you like a puzzle piece and not like a human being, I expect you to call me out on it,” he said. “This doesn’t work, inside or outside of therapy, without both of us shooting down one another’s bullshit.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Though if I bring you that caramel macchiato, I expect you to give me a little bit of leeway.”
Who Still Believes In Kings? || Lexus; OPEN
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cameron-malkin:
The stranger blocking his only exit offered no name, no inital observable traits and an unsettling feeling crept along the 28-year-olds spine, biting back the grimace twitching at his lip. Standing in his doorway was just the person he didn’t want to see: someone new. Lolling his head to the side, his cool demeanour showed no signs of apprehension though the rapid hammering of his heart said otherwise. “Well,” He grinned, “You’re new.” For the first time in what felt like forever, Cameron Malkin was caught off guard. It was nearly unnoticeable, save for the subtle exhale of a deep breath that forced his growing anxiety out with it. Meticulous blue hues narrowed, immediately taking stock of the man, sizing him up as the cogs of his mind worked overtime to drum up information in a precursory glance.
Through years of relentless conditioning, the former mafia member became an expert on picking up context clues from even the smallest movements, a nanosecond twitch of the nose to show someone was nervous or an intentionally even-tempered voice spoke volumes to him. Now, watching the stranger, he made similar conclusions. Obviously the man was a staff member and, judging from his attire, Cameron supposed he was a therapist. They enjoyed their blazers or pencil skirts, flashier than the receptionists downstairs despite them being the gatekeepers of Thornewood.
An unsettling quality accompanied the staff member, like a dark cloud looming above their head. Their cheekbones, while prominent, weren’t quite as beautiful as they were ominous. Cold. When he spoke, however, there was a warmth in his voice, a desperate desire to make a connection or at least make an impression. For his job? What else would motivate him? Had Charles spoken to him? No, the warden had seemed too busy to fraternize with basic concerns like Cameron. Nothing else could explain the move from red to yellow other than Charles’ compliance.
It was rare that Emrys Richmond was the one feeling scrutinized. Not an unhappy sensation, simply an observation as he leaned on the wall by the door, his hands placed absently in his pockets. His eyes, darker in the light of the room than they appeared otherwise, tracked the other man--every twitch and movement, every shift of his lips, every motion of his arms. He was tall, taller than Em, and despite his sour demeanor, despite the sort of meanness of his spirit, Emrys found himself smiling. There was an absolute art to finding humor in one’s situation, even if he got the sense that Cameron’s humor was less humor and more an intentional shiv he had built from his bitterness and used to slash at anyone who came too near to him. Still, it was funny to hear his comment on the bathroom, and when Emrys found something funny, he laughed, regardless of the fact that there was no guarantee Cameron had intended to be humorous.
Without even a blink, the man closed up the space between them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Em. It wasn’t an action of friendliness. Emrys was being sized up. Like a cat, Cameron moved with intention and with direction. Every movement seemed calculated and intended to receive a result. As if his mind was a computer, he appeared to be putting in information and drawing his own conclusions. It was very like what Emrys did, except this might have been some kind of survival instinct. Could he beat the shit out of Emrys if it came to blows? Could Emrys put up that kind of fight?
It was, in some way, lucky for Cameron that Emrys wasn’t much of a fighter. He was certainly leanly muscled, but that was from daily runs rather than any inherent need to be physically strong. Regardless of that, Emrys wasn’t intimidated by Cameron’s presence or his overall dominant personality. He had learned a long time ago that the patient set the tone and if this was Cameron’s tone then Emrys would simply have to go with it.
“Ironic as it may seem, I didn’t walk all the way here from my office just for a bathroom. Especially considering there’s at least one down the hall from where I work,” Emrys said with a soft tilt of his head. “I came to meet you. I’m Doctor Richmond. According to a very interesting memo I received when I started, I’ve been assigned to you as your doctor.”
Emrys bobbed his eyebrows once and then leaned off the wall. He moved, instead, further into the room. Although he had gotten a relatively brief tour when he’d first gotten there and there were photos on the website, this would be the first time Em had gotten a real look at one of the rooms. They were nice, all things told, but Emrys still didn’t wholly feel any patient could be completely comfortable there.
“But I’m not here to shrink you, I just wanted to say hi and meet you as far outside of a therapy session as possible.”
Flight risk || Open starter.
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lex-again:
There was something in the way he looked at her, like he was looking through her. Passed the laughter, passed the glowing smiles tossed carelessly in his direction so as to mask the stench of her depression, he saw something: something Lexus couldn’t name. This something, she was convinced, was what kept him here — nearly tethered to the workbench. Though he flirted with the flower, Lexus was positive his thoughts lied on elsewhere.
The distinct buzzing of a bee roused her from her introspection, an instinctual yelp bubbling out of her throat without permission. Immediately, she longed for Cameron’s cigarette smoke, eager to pacify herself with the lie he often told her about smoke and bees. Buzzing freely and without a haze of grey matter to traverse, Lexus immediately put distance between herself and the evil insect. Through the grace of God, it left as quickly as it arrived, allowing Lexus to breathe again. “Fuckin’ bees,” She mumbled, the curse bearing an uncanny similarity to words she’d heard Cameron mutter too many times to count.
Brown eyes peeked at Dr. Richmond, timid in their approach, as a deep shade of rouge colored her cheeks. Having allowed him to witness the woman beneath the facade for a moment, Lexus suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze, fully exposed under his cobalt hues. Inhaling deeply, the memory of Cameron’s deep voice rumbled, I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a shit. She repeated it until it was true, back straightening and eyes growing playful before falling on Richmond’s towering frame.
Frightened of bees.
Emrys could hardly believe that, for a moment, he saw a girl who had a real fear and a real emotion. Not a reaction, those were two different things. The way she smiled and laughed, the way she joked morbidly, those were reactions. But her movement away from the bee and the sound that came out of her was an emotion. Fear. Perhaps fleeting and not life threatening, but fear nonetheless. Emrys thought that that was a good thing. Even through his hazy years of depression when he started college, Em could recall flashes, light lightning, of real emotion. They would bring his world up to an incredible glow for the briefest moment before they were gone. Having a milkshake at three in the morning under an open sky. Being kissed for the first time by the psychiatry student he idolized. These were the memories that had brought him starkly out of the dark for so short a time and yet still he clung to them.
Lexus could still experience those moments, as evidenced by the bee. Em found this encouraging. Although even if she couldn’t, he would never, ever view any patient as a lost cause. Still, knowing that she could emote that way, whether conscious or not, was a step in the right direction, something he might be able to grasp onto when they finally had a session. One he was glad he had gotten to see, and one he would have missed had he tried to meet her in his dreary office for a session right off the bat.
Though Emrys knew he shouldn’t encourage such humor, he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as he looked down at his shoes at her words. Thank God I’m an orphan. Sometimes, in the parts of himself that were still dark and uncertain, Emrys wished he was, too. How freeing it would be to not be bound by the expectations of his bored parents or pigeonholed into a a lifestyle of make money, get married, buy a house, have children, die. Her humor should not have resonated so fully with him, but it did, regardless.
Emrys’s gaze finally lifted back to Lexus and for a moment he considered her. It was a measured consideration. She was sharp, funny, intelligent. Em knew mental health struggles didn’t ignore someone simply because they were attractive, rich, white, or otherwise privileged. Sometimes, it didn’t matter if someone was sharp, funny, intelligent; they might suffer more than anyone could imagine possible. He had seen it first hand. He had watched it happen.
“Well,” Emrys said, taking a breath and letting it out. He seemed almost wholly unconcerned with the fact that she had identified him. It hardly mattered, she would have found out eventually, and he wasn’t hiding it from her. “I had planned on telling you when you attended your first therapy session with me. As I imagine it only matters that I’m your doctor when I’m talking to you as a doctor.”
His lips pressed together and watched her for her reaction.
“This garden doesn’t look much like my office so I wasn’t aware we were in a session together,” he stated plainly. “But don’t worry. When we are in a session, I’ll be sure you know that I’m your doctor and that I’ll be evaluating you so that you have plenty of time to prepare to dodge all my invasive questions about your mental health.”
Tapping the workbench, Emrys straightened.
“Until then, I think I owe you that frappuccino for rescuing my alum meeting tonight.”
Who Still Believes In Kings? || Lexus; OPEN
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lex-again:
There was a danger to men like Dr. Richmond — so charming that they could sweep anyone off their feet. Lexus, having lived mostly off the ground, knew the threat of such charisma better than anyone. Cameron’s unique perspective, equal parts pessimism and realism, kept her skeptical but she liked making Richmond laugh. There was something about his laugh, natural and inviting that made her want to laugh with him. Often, she did, honey hues peaking at dark blue to find a certain light that had been absent in hers. Each new sound of laughter lightened her spirit, distributing the heavy weight of a mistreated and muddied soul. Tirelessly, she pursed the sound he had so willingly gifted her, eager for its return and the swell of validation it brought. Life felt easier in moments like these, when everything was a joke.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ember eyes met Emrys’ in a flash, pausing the absent admiration of her growing bouquet. Lexus had been resolute in her vision, diligently committed to a muted color pallet, utilizing more baby’s breath than blue hydrangeas and white peonies. A wicked thought crept through, how unfortunate it would be if one of her roommates were allergic. “Now that makes things interesting!” The 22 year old surmised, repressing the gentle chuckle that threatened to spill from unruly lips. A ghost of a smile lingered on her features, evident in her voice as she spoke. “And just an FYI — I’m anything but cheap. For you, my first time customer, I’ll give you a deal: coffee will be treated as currency — but I don’t mean that swill in the dining room. I mean real coffee.” With a devilish grin she could only hope he’d correctly decipher, Lexus continued, “Starbucks.”
The word hung in the air, the connotation that such an item would be considered contraband evident by the mischievous glimmer alight in her eyes. Throwing glossy raven hair over her shoulder, cherry red lips thinned to reveal the wicked grin that accentuated pearly white teeth. Feigning innocence, she rattled off the most ridiculous order she could conceive of, “Venti cookies and cream frappuccino, extra whip, no ice and don’t forget I’m dairy free. No pressure.” Voice deadpan, she didn’t wait for him to speak before asking, “What, need a pen?” As if she were fully serious, the 22 year old blinked at him once, twice, three times before bursting into laughter. Throwing her head back, a mighty roar of exuberance shattered the tranquility of the garden but Lexus didn’t care. These were the moments she lived for, the moments she thrived off of, the moments she strived toward. Abandoning reality, humor suspended the confines of Thornewood’s ominous gothic architecture and strict rules that spelled punishment for anyone that disobeyed. Well, at least until she met Cameron and began to flirt with disaster as a means for entertainment.
Emrys likened her, in his mind, whether consciously or not, to a butterfly. Beautiful, and fluttering, and missing a wing. As if someone had come by and torn it off, leaving a jagged edge there. It was in the way she spoke and the way she related to him. Even though her sense of humor was well-rounded and matched his own sarcastic tone, there was a constant edge there. A constant undercurrent of stay away. It was always fascinating to him the way that people developed their own coping mechanisms. The way that they chose to deal with their own traumas. Some people kept others at arms length, hovering near but never quite close enough to touch. Others brought them too close, demonstrating their dysfunctions through promiscuity, yet always emotionally detached and indifferent to those who really cared about them. For Emrys, this was an important interaction with Lexus. Understanding her started at knowing how she related to other people in a non-threatening environment. Or, at least, as non-threatening as a psychologist could make it.
The flower in Emrys’s hand had attracted a bee, and with a kind of brief fascination, he watched the creature land, flit this way and that, uncertain of the stability of the place it had landed. Despite the fact that his eyes weren’t directly on Lexus, he heard every word she spoke, committing it to his memory as he observed the way the bee pressed itself among the petals. Its legs touched and brushed through the pollen. Then, with a soft buzzing sound, it was off again. For a moment, it absently circled Em’s head and then it was gone, buzzing into another flower across from him.
“Venti cookies and cream frappuccino, extra whip, no ice, dairy free, white shirt, navy slacks,” Emrys said, then, repeating her words back to her with a cadence like he was reciting poetry. It was as if his brain recalled these facts by setting them to music, and that wouldn’t have been incorrect. Songs stuck with Em the way honey did to his fingertips when he ate it on toast.
Inhaling deeply, Em turned his gaze back to the dark haired girl next to him. He was still smiling, his body language and his expression completely at ease. And he was at ease. The garden was warm and quiet and even though there were waves of tension coming off of Lexus, they didn’t penetrate through to him. He maintained a comfortable warmth that wasn’t faked for the sake of a patient or put on to hide some other emotion he was having.
“Unfortunately, mothers like mine expect their gifts to be worn at Christmases and birthdays,” he chuckled softly, leaning forward a little. Em laid the flower down on the workbench again. He pressed the heels of his hands against the edge of the bench as he leaned on it, careful not to overturn it or upset any of her work. “So throwing it away may, indeed, induce the need for a rather large compliment of therapists and psychologists.”
Who Still Believes In Kings? || Lexus; OPEN
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The big oak door with the ugly number eight stood just between Emrys and the man inside. It had taken less than an hour for the big yellow memo to show up on Emrys’s desk and for his eyes to bring in the information scrawled there. Two lines, very simple: Cameron Malkin, therapy avoidance. It was hardly the most in depth information Em had received on a patient, but it was hardly the least. He had seen memos, written hard and quickly, out of frustration or desperation, that had only a patient number, or even, only their first name. There were times when a doctor simply couldn’t put any more than that without writing a veritable novel. Times when trying to write a memo felt like a task better suited to a whole army than one measly doctor at one measly hospital.
Already the name was familiar. He had been among the patient files transferred to Emrys when he had arrived, and even if Em had yet to meet Cameron, he had been up late the night before looking through every page of every file that he’d received. Already, he felt knowledgeable about their health and mental wellness, about previous incidents, and relationships to other patients, but there was nothing that would assist him more than knowing them. Not in an office or while they were trying to answer invasive questions about their state of mind, or their sexual habits. It was important to Emrys to meet them outside of the office and find them wherever they were--mentally and physically. If Cameron Malkin was avoiding therapy, there was a reason for that, and Emrys wouldn’t find it by forcing him, outright, to do the thing he was avoiding.
That was why he was there, outside the room with the number eight. That was why he was pushing the door in with a very brief knock. That’s why he was peering inside at the dark haired man with a voice full of venom.
There was nothing at all sweet about him, even from where Emrys entered and stood near the door. Nothing at all soft or harmless. Cameron looked like a weapon, all sharp angles, and the room around him was thick with emotion. Emrys didn’t even need to see his face to know what he might find there. His voice was enough, its edge tipping it away from humor to a defensive lashing out. Could have been fear but it was difficult to tell. He certainly looked like a frightened animal, turned away from the door and hands passing over his face as if to remove something that he didn’t want to be found there.
Emrys regarded him for a moment, leaving the door just slightly ajar, constantly aware of his body and where it was in relation to the patient’s. Constantly aware of whatever impression he gave off. Emrys didn't expect to be liked by every patient he treated, but he did hope to share respect with them. The only way to earn their respect was to prove he deserved it. It was a sort of a balancing act that he wasn’t always good at. An act that left him drained and exhausted at the end of every day.
“Free candy,” he said, smiling and glancing up at the ceiling. Emrys slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I would have stopped by earlier had I known what was at stake. My loss.”
Flight risk || Open starter.
A heaviness seemed to fill the air, a recent sense of trepidation haunting Cameron like a ghost, dark thoughts emanating from a profound sense of invasion. Locked doors hadn’t deterred his ill-fated roommate, thoughts shifting towards potential methods of exorcism, including thinly veiled threats. It was a skill he acquired many years ago, but one he held in high regard. An impending sense of doom seemed to constantly plague him, when would this unwanted presence return? Inescapable even in the shower, the sound of others whistling and whatnot as they, too, washed the day away seemed to only irritate him further, growing insurmountably dire. Hell, he’d even thought about going to therapy – if only to escape this constant presence of another.
The oak door had been shut in an attempt to seal himself in the few precious moments of solitary, but a noise from the hall threw him back into the depths of his swirling inferno. Grimacing, cruel blue eyes refused to regard the intruder, hands wiping in vain attempts to wash the disdain contorting his features. “Good god! If I told you once, I’ve told you 100 times,” He cracked, though there was no humor to his voice, “We’re all out of free candy, alright? Off you go.”
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There was a house inside this girl. The same way there was a house inside of everyone. The same way even Emrys had a house in him. Big, sprawling buildings with rooms and rooms, closets, nooks, and crannies, lots of places to hide anything. Some people kept their houses clean, neat, everything in its place, and a place for everything. Some people were messier. Others complete hoarders. Some people had a few levels in their houses, places where they kept memories, basements for bad experiences. Some people had homes. Not buildings where they stored but places where they lived. Whole lives could be spent inside of them, happily and contented. The kind of place anyone would want to be.
But Emrys didn’t think Lexus Hale’s mind was a home. It was a place where she existed, a place where she hid, but there was a guarded way about her. Even when she laughed and joked. And she was funny. Her humor came off of her like a sweet thing, rolling through the garden as if it belonged there. She drew laughter from Em very naturally, without trying. It was easy to see, then, why she had been assigned to him. Why she had been the unofficial tour guide. Her personality was easily likable.
But Emrys knew better than to assume that anyone with that kind of look in their eyes was as sweetly undamaged as they came off. But she was good at appearing that way. Unlike a lot of patients he had had, she was good at that. If Em hadn’t been a doctor--and, ironically, the doctor assigned to her--he may have never seen it at all. There was a distant distrust, and who could blame her?
Emrys had learned a long time ago that his profession wasn’t the sort that invited warmth or understanding. It was a constant battering of scrutiny. What could he do? What had he done? Had he done everything possible? Had he offered every treatment, gone every route? Even if he could answer yes to all of those, some patients still fell through. Doctors failed the people they were supposed to help, and he was no different. He wondered, briefly, who had failed Lexus. Like every patient before her, it was now Emrys’s job to answer for their failings and do his best to make up for them in whatever way he could. It was as distinct a goal to him as eating, sleeping, and breathing.
“Ah, perfect,” he said, smiling a little more brightly as she slid one, long-stemmed flower his direction. Whatever kind it was, he couldn’t tell, but it was pink and he liked pink, so he supposed it was rather meant to be. He brought it up, holding the petals with one hand so that he could take a breath of it. It wasn’t as sweetly smelling as the freesia, and so his stomach did not react so negatively to it. Emrys turned such that his backside could lean on the workbench and he could gently rub the petals between his fingers, admire the silken smoothness he felt there.
His pensive brow eased somewhat as he looked down at the flower.
“Well, Miss Hale, you’ve opened Pandora’s box. In which case, I need your advice,” Em said. “I have a particularly interesting pink plaid blazer. Before you ask, it was a birthday gift and I don’t have the heart to get rid of it. What kind of shirt and tie do you think I ought to wear with it?”
Em dampened his lips and then lifted his eyes back to Lexus. In the sunlight, her dark hair reflected it back at him. He could observe that she was a lovely young woman, but there was a sunken way about her. Not pallor, but a sense that she had collapsed. A collapsing that had happened once, and again, and again, until there was nothing left to fall and no solid bricks to rebuild with.
But Emrys was careful. This wasn’t a therapy session. He wasn’t attempting to pry into her mind or push her to discomfort. That could be saved for an actual session, when his job was to ask her to move beyond her comfort zone in pursuit of wellness. For now, he wanted to get to know her in a way that was non-threatening to her.
“Unfortunately, you only have--” he paused to check his watch and when he looked back up, his smile had grown in teasing warmth. “--six hours to make your decision. The good impression I make on my alma mater fellows tonight relies entirely on you. No pressure.”
Who Still Believes In Kings? || Lexus; OPEN
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It was the smell of freesia that turned his stomach first. Sunlight caught pollen in her rays and for Emrys Richmond, it was only the competing smell of honeysuckle which kept his stomach from rolling into knots all the way up into the back of his throat. He swallowed bile and wondered if it was the four cups of black coffee he'd consumed in record time that morning that was giving his stomach the sensation of turning inside out and burning his throat with acid. Then again, he supposed it might have been the late night check-in with his mother. Another rundown of what his job actually entailed, how it really was good for people, and whether or not he was going to be married and giving her grand babies anytime soon. A chat with parents always managed to settle his digestive tract. So well, in fact, that he was nauseous for twenty-four hours afterwards.
The Thornewood gardens were his favorite place on campus. Not because he yet had time to spend there on his own (what the fuck was free time again?). It was more because the idea of a garden, the idea of the placid serenity that may lay within appealed to some vestigial part of his animal brain that craved absolute, consuming silence.
Absolute, consuming silence.
Absolute, consuming silence.
Intrusive thought. Think it, forget it. Think it, forget it. Stop telling your patients to do it if you can’t manage it yourself.
The full bloom of a shockingly pink Hydrangea bush almost entirely hid the girl from view, even as Emrys entered the workbench area where various cuttings were discarded or gathered together in bundles. From where Emrys leaned around it, he caught sight of her, arranging flowers as though there wasn’t a whole world out there to look at. Petals quivered and fell away from her fingers, her touch too rough with them to indicate she was paying dedicated attention to her task. Like anyone performing displacement activities, her eyes weren't in it the way they ought to have been. Instead, her hands seemed occupied with the act of tugging on her sleeves anxiously. Em stood quietly by to watch until he was directly addressed.
He smiled and extracted himself from the invasive touch of the Hydrangea. His shoulders, lean and broad, shrugged quietly out of his grey blazer. It was then laid over a workbench and a layer of forgotten, rotting flower petals and stems--it seemed completely unimportant to him that the coat might be ruined by the discarded flora. Em rolled the sleeves of his white shirt all the way up to his elbows until he looked almost like he was going to go wrist deep into the Miracle-Gro bag leaned against the workbench the girl was heavily pressing her weight to.
“Something like that,” he said, plucking up one of the flowers she had been working on while maintaining a comfortable distance between the two of them, his brain on constant watch for cues and suggestions to her state of mind--he couldn’t turn it off. No matter if it was day or night, work or home, his brain seemed constantly to evaluate everyone he came into contact with.
With a thoughtful hum, he lifted the flower, waving it before his face, his eyes tracking it fluidly back and forth.
“I’m not very good with colors or shapes, I’m ashamed to say,” he admitted, leaning one hipbone against the workbench. “I’ll ace an inkblot test, but ask me to match a shirt with a patterned blazer and I’m afraid every doctor and nurse in this hospital would be unable to console me.”
Emrys fiddled absently with the stalk of the flower before he laid it down in front of her again so that she could continue arranging the flowers however she saw fit. Even if he didn’t know the arcane secrets behind flower arranging, he could easily appreciate the colors and shapes she was going for.
“I’m Doctor Richmond,” he said, then, and he opened his hands towards her as if to offer them. “Do you need help holding anything?”
Who Still Believes In Kings? || Lexus; OPEN
Brown eyes were hidden from the other, narrowly trained on the stems in her hand. Leaning her hip against the workbench, Lexus paired bundles of flowers with each other, trying to focus on flower arranging instead of her mother’s ominous threat. You will do no such thing!
Stubbornly, the raven haired girl nearly refused to look up when someone entered the garden. Under her breath, she cursed Cameron for rousing her out of bed. She wasn’t ready yet. Still, she smiled, even though she wished they weren’t there. “What? Come to pick some flowers with me?” Part of her — the part she refused to acknowledge, most likely called self-preservation — wished they’d say yes, despite the wave of self-consciousness that washed over her.
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