It's Not An Addiction (Sean)

[Samuel Rixon]

It was rare that Sam was sent to Sean’s office for something that didn’t involve one Vincent Verax. But lately he hadn’t needed Vincent to get himself into trouble. (Unless you counted getting scolded for punching Vincent in the face the other day.)

He knew deep down why he was irritable and easily provoked into snapping at people. Logically, anyway. He just didn’t want to admit it. Admitting it meant that he’d acknowledged that he had a problem.

He hadn’t told many people that he was trying to quit smoking. He’d told Levi and Spencer, only after snapping at both of them. He’d told Vincent, but only after he’d punched him in the face as a coping mechanism.

All in all, things were not going well.

He’d had a bit of a fight with his dorm monitor when he’d caved to his own cravings and smoked in his room, but that had been days ago. He’d tried to stop again, and he was now fighting off a monster headache. What he really wanted was for Vincent to round a corner so he could hit him, because that seemed to make him feel better. At the very least, it made him forget what he wanted for a few minutes.

He was going to Sean’s office now because he’d told a teacher to fuck off when asked to hand in his homework. They’d recognized it wasn’t normal for Sam to be quite so brash, and had sent him along to Dr. Neville. If he hadn’t done his homework, he normally covered with a weak, often ridiculous excuse as to why he didn’t have it. Snappiness was something very new, and a bit concerning.

The pyrokinetic knew that he wouldn’t even have to knock. He just pushed the door open all the way and flopped himself onto his back on the couch, eyes on the ceiling and arms crossed over his chest. “I told Mr. Tonaya to fuck off,” he announced lazily. God, his head hurt. He’d give anything to make it go away, even if it meant going right back to square one of his plan to stop smoking.

If he was lucky, this would be quick.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

News traveled quickly in a school the size of Hammel. With the aid of telepathy, news traveled even quicker.

Sam Rixon had decided to stop abusing marijuana and alcohol. That was an admirable goal, particularly since he was doing so in an attempt to improve his school performance and to comply with the requirements of his job.

However, rumor had it that Sam had chosen to go about this with his typical impulsiveness, and was doing so cold turkey. Sean had lived through the 1970s; he had smoked marijuana in his time, and he still drank alcohol. But he hadn’t been dependent on either substance. He’d seen what addiction did, he knew the long process of recovery, and those trying to fight their addiction, particularly to chemical substances, tended to be unpleasant for everyone around them.

This was worsened when the person involved already had less than stellar impulse control.

As such, it wasn’t surprising when Sean received a number of complaints about Sam’s behavior, most of which involved profanity, talking back, other rudeness, and fighting resulting from burst of anger and irritation.

Recovery or not, such behavior couldn’t stand.

No sooner had Sam entered his office than had the topic already been broached. With the ice broken, Sean felt comfortably replying, “I’m aware of that. And you’ll have to apologize for doing so.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Considering that Sam had only told a very few people, it really was amazing just how fast news managed to travel. Sometimes rumors held a grain of truth, and this was one of those times.

Maybe he should have sworn his friends to secrecy.

He still wasn’t willing to admit that he had a problem. Sure, learning about things like addiction were more or less part of the curriculum. But he didn’t have a problem.

He was going to argue that until he was blue in the face.

He closed his eyes as Sean spoke to him, not wanting to be there in the first place. His voice was grating on his headache. “I know,” he grumbled back. “But he was being an asshole.” Yes. Because ‘please hand in your homework’ was an asshole-ish thing to say.

“Can you just punish me and let me go?” He didn’t want to stay, even if it was better than sitting in class thinking about other things. Like just how much he wanted a hit. Just a little hit.

Right. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. He tried to concentrate on his hands, daring to open his eyes again, before throwing one arm over his face in frustration. “Your lights are fucking bright.” He was already irritated, and waiting for his punishment wasn’t helping. Or he was just looking for things to complain about. Either was possible.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s expression remained stern. “Language,” he corrected automatically. Sam had been in his office enough times to know that the psychiatrist had no tolerance for profanity, particularly when directed at another person; Morgan’s absence had no bearing on the inappropriateness of Sam’s words. “And I think you and I both know that he wasn’t. This is Mister Tonaya we’re discussing, and from what I was told, he asked you to hand in your assignment. That’s typical, well within his job description, and knowing Mister Tonaya, was done with a genuine smile.”

Morgan was simply too gentle a sprit to be called such a thing. But that was the effect of withdrawal on one’s temperament and perceptions.

“Actually, I can’t,” the psychiatrist informed him. While this was a disciplinary meeting because of Sam’s behavior in class with Morgan, there was more to discuss than that. As a result, Sam couldn’t simply leave as soon as he had been assigned to apologize and work through detention. “You and I need to have a talk.”

The complaint about the light was duly noted, although there was little that could be done about Sam’s light sensitivity. It was to be expected, given that the pyrokinetic was going through withdrawal. “If you want, we can dim the lights a bit.”

Sean was accommodating.

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam pulled a face at the admonishment. “Yeah, yeah.” It was harder to keep a civil tongue these days, but he’d try if it kept Dr. Neville off his back a little bit more. Try being the operative word, of course. The whole time Sean spoke about his history teacher, Sam just made a face. In his mind, Morgan had asked for the assignment in an asshole-ish way, and he was going to stand by that. Normally the gentle teacher was one of his favorites, but not today. “He didn’t smile,” he argued, more to be difficult than anything else.

Being difficult would surely get him out of the office faster.

Or not, if what Sean said next was anything to go by. Sam made an indignant noise and pulled a face under the cover of his arm. “That’s what always happens. You tell me I did something wrong, I get punished, we all leave happy.” Well, not happy, but he was trying to make a point. “Why do we need to talk?”

He didn’t have any idea what that meant. They’d had ‘talks’ in the past, including several on his use of pot once in a while. He didn’t know what he’d done recently that would make a talk necessary.

At least Sean offered to dim the lights. That was a somewhat unexpected gesture, and if nothing else, would make the visit just a tad more tolerable. “Okay, dim ‘em. ... Please?” If being a brat didn’t get him out faster, maybe a touch of manners would.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Because Sean was neither cruel nor sadistic, and because Sam had remembered his manners, the psychiatrist rose from his chair and crossed the room, dimming the lights a bit. He couldn’t turn them all the way off, as the backlight from outside was insufficient to allow Sean to see, but he could reduce enough to ease a bit of the boy’s headache.

With the lights dimmed, he returned to his chair, prepared to answer Sam’s questions and initiate the conversation. “We need to talk about your attitude.”

The psychiatrist assumed that was blunt enough to reach Sam through the haze of irritability.

Maintaining eye contact, and with an even tone, he continued, “I realize that addiction has a physical and mental component, and as such, withdrawal also affects both the mind and the body. I also think that it’s admirable how you’ve chosen to undertake this, and that in the long-term, it will prove beneficial for your health and your future. That said, you can’t be abusive to other people, even if you feel absolutely miserable and everything makes your skin crawl.”

Part of life was balancing one’s own feelings with those of the world at large. “You need to find a way to manage this, particularly since I know you aren’t trying to advertise this to everyone and their social circles outside Hammel.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Minor relief flooded Sam when the lights dimmed. He even managed to remove his arm from his face, blinking in the dimmer light. That was so much better, and the pounding in his head seemed to lessen just a bit. “Thanks,” he said quietly, actually meaning it. Now maybe he could find this whole thing tolerable.

Well, for about five seconds.

“What about attitude?” He cast a suspicious look Sean’s way.

The explanation only made things worse. Sam sat up, looking almost offended. He’d used that... that word. The one that Sam didn’t want to think about, because he wasn’t. “Whoa.” He held up his hands, trying to tune the rest of it out. “I wasn’t being abusive! Who said I was? I didn’t even yell at Levi when he broke my fucking car!” That had provided a momentary distraction before he made himself return to the topic that had originally riled him.

“An’ I’m not addicted to anything!” Not alcohol, not pot. Nothing. Sure, he’d had more access to alcohol recently, especially through Vincent. And maybe he’d been spending more money on marijuana and it hadn’t been lasting that long...

But that had nothing to do with anything. “I’m not,” he repeated, crossing his arms. If this was what he was here to talk about, it wasn’t going to happen. “I’m just trying to stop, an’ it’s hard. That’s all.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“You’re welcome,” Sean replied, since one display of manners warranted another.

With that, he, too, dove headlong into the discussion. Given the boy’s protests, – not unexpected but still responsible for making this more difficult than it had to be – they had a long afternoon ahead of them.

“Trust me when I say that I’ve been there,” the psychiatrist said. He’d been in his car when Josh had driven it into a pole and wrecked the front of it. Not yelling was key, since raising one’s voice contributed nothing but addled nerves and additional stress to an already unpleasant situation. “But your conduct in Mister Tonaya’s class and your altercations with Vincent are what I mean. We both know that you and Vincent fight, but it usually takes longer for it to become physical.”

At least Vincent was impervious to long-term injury. That didn’t make the conduct acceptable; it was merely something that made the situation somewhat better for all involved.

Sean then nodded, agreeing with the conclusion that it was difficult. “It is hard, and that’s why I give you credit for trying this. But you can’t quit effectively if you deny the reasons for quitting, or why it’s hard. Addictions are hard to break, because they become part of us. And it’s never easy to fight ourselves, particularly when there’s an easy way out, an alternative that doesn’t hurt, even if it’s worse for us in the long-term.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam pulled his knees up against his chest, his arms wrapping around them and his chin resting on top. This was so, so not the road he wanted to go down right now. Not with Dr. Neville, not with Spencer, not even with Levi or Vincent.

He didn’t comment on Sean’s experience with cars breaking. He still had to scrape together the money in order to fix it, without telling his parents what had happened. He was willing to bet that ‘being responsible’ didn’t include letting your friends drive with little experience. “Vin complained I hit him?” He scowled again, unimpressed that Vincent would tattle. The thought that someone might have seen and alerted Dr Neville not even crossing his mind. “He let me hit him!” After he’d explained why he’d needed to, Vin seemed to think it was funny, and hadn’t complained (much) about becoming Sam’s personal punching bag. At least, he hadn’t to him.

There was that word again. Sam resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. Instead he just shook his head. “It’s not an addiction,” he repeated, more of a hiss this time. How many times did he have to say it? “It’s just stupidly hard to quit.” This conversation was making him itch all the harder for a fix. “I’m not... I’m not addicted.” The more he said it, the more it felt like one of Vincent’s punches to the gut. And the more he started to doubt it himself.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean shook his head, since Vincent hadn’t complained to him about the altercations with Sam. He didn’t want the young man to get into a fight with his friend about this due to false attribution. “He didn’t complain to me; that doesn’t make hitting him acceptable. It doesn’t matter how I know.”

The psychiatrist was unmoved by Sam’s insistence that his relationship with substance abuse differed somehow from that of other addicts. From courtesy, he didn’t interrupt the boy’s denials; he simply waited until Sam had said his piece before taking his turn to speak. “You need to face this head-on and discuss it like an adult. Otherwise, it becomes very easy to slip. And when we slip, we tend to make excuses for why we shouldn’t pick ourselves up again.”

Sean understood that the pyrokinetic was serious enough about this to have made the attempt in the first place. However, resolve to make a first attempt wasn’t necessarily sufficient for the marathon that was withdrawal, particularly if the person experiencing the symptoms was unwilling to admit the severity of the habit. “You’re experiencing symptoms, and those symptoms are the same symptoms that everyone who quits has gone through. I’ve helped people through this before, and I can, and will, help you through it. If you'll let me."

[Samuel Rixon]

Well, that was one good thing about the meeting. Sam had confirmation that he didn't have more reason hit his best friend. "He said I could," he repeated, weaker this time. "To... help." They'd made a deal that if Sam felt the urge to smoke, he could hit Vincent as a distraction. It worked, as long as Vin was close by.

Sam was very quickly becoming frustrated with the meeting. He didn't have a problem. It didn't matter what Sean said. "I don't wanna discuss it like adults because there's nothing to discuss." He was digging in his heels, not prepared to face up to reality just yet. "Pot's just stupid and hard to quit. Like normal smoking." Because addiction apparently didn't factor into that, either.

The way Sean spoke about symptoms, it was like Sam was sick. He continued to shake his head, denying it. "I'm not sick with symptoms. I just got a headache. That's all." He reached up to twist his hands in his hair in agitation. "I... I'm not an addict. I don't wanna be." It was more of a whimper that anything else. Finally, he looked up at Sean, looking concerned. "How do I make it stop?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean wasn’t surprised to hear that Vincent had made an offer; the boy had little sense of what constituted appropriate behavior. Due to his powers, he also had little sense of self-preservation; were it not for his cellular regeneration, he would have long since died or found himself permanently in traction. The psychiatrist’s gaze remained steadily trained on Sam, as he replied, “Be that as it may, you can’t cope with this by turning to violence. It teaches bad habits, and it isn’t a sustainable solution.”

It was only due to Sean’s experience with Sam’s petulance, as well as his decades of teaching himself to school his expressions, which prevented him from rolling his eyes at the exclamation. Nicotine was exceptionally addictive, and withdrawal was so difficult and unpleasant for anyone even tangentially involved with a smoker. That was a large contributing factor to why Josh still smoked despite knowing better and knowing that Sean didn’t care for it. He shook his head. “It’s hard to quit because your mind and body are used to having it in your system. So you need to adjust to its absence.”

That was, in fact, how addiction worked.

But Sam’s question brought a ray of hope. “I have some pamphlets that I can dig out for you that can give you more detail. But you need to find a better coping mechanism than punching Vincent.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Considering that Vincent was the same person that had blackmailed Sam into buying his silence for a certain incident in bed, it had hardly surprised Sam when he’d offered to be his personal punching bag. It really did make him feel better about everything. Especially when Vin ended up swearing and rolling on the ground. “But it works,” he protested, though the fight wasn’t as present in his voice anymore. “And he likes it, ‘cause it’s helping.” ‘Like’ was probably too strong a word for Vincent’s feelings on the coping mechanism, but in Sam’s mind, it worked.

The pyrokinetic shot Sean a dirty look, starting to toy with the singed hem of his hoodie sleeve. He was starting to get antsy, and he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He didn’t know the legal definition of an addict, nor did he want to, because he didn’t want to be one. Sadly, even he could count, and the math he came up with for his recent usage versus what he had been doing after starting Hammel... didn’t quite match up. “I don’t want to,” he finally admitted with a steady whine. He’d figured stopping was just like trying to stop eating junk food, or something along those lines. Or stopping doing homework. You could just stop, and that was it. But this was so much harder, and he didn’t like what was happening to him. His mind was reeling at effects, and his body wasn’t often fairing much better.

Still toying with his sleeve so as to avoid having to make eye contact, Sam shrugged at the idea of pamphlets. “I just want all of it to stop. I... get headaches. Really bad ones. And really fucked up dreams.” Not to mention his mood swings, and the fact that food wasn’t all that appealing to him anymore. Even Doritos. The other day he’d even seen his hands shake a little, which had scared the hell out of him. Enough to make him once again break his ‘no smoking anymore EVER’ rule. “How’re you supposed to deal with it without punching anyone?” Between the intense cravings he had and his mood swings, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable and suitable solution.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean sympathized with Sam’s plight, because it was difficult to break an addiction and the decision and commitment to doing so were admirable. However, Sam’s commitment to denial because addiction was so taboo would only cause more problems. The psychiatrist realized that this was partially an argument over semantics, but it was a semantic argument that he couldn’t concede, because of the nature of the problem.

“I understand that he wants to help, and that it’s momentary relief, but it isn’t a good method of coping, and you need to stop,” the psychiatrist said. Hitting Vincent simply wasn’t acceptable, even if several other students and more than one member of the staff might relish the opportunity.

The headaches were to be expected, given the chemical, physical, and psychological withdrawal. Fortunately for Sam, Sean was a psychic, which meant that he had decades of experience in coping with headaches. As a telepath and a psychiatrist, he also had more than his fair share of experience with bizarre and unpleasant dreams as well “I might be able to help with the headaches, as well as the dreams.”

Sam might not like his suggestions, and he was within his rights to refuse them, but the psychiatrist did offer them in good faith. “You can try tea or meditation.” Those were the starting propositions. “And as uncomfortable as it is, lots of people cope with this without punching people. Otherwise, every psychic at Hammel, every person experiencing the death of a loved one or a breakup would constantly have their fists in other people’s faces.”

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam was finding it difficult to break his addiction, yes. He was having an even harder time coming to terms with that word. He didn’t want to be an addict. He didn’t even want to think about the word, nor what it meant. He had a habit. It was just a bad one. One that he was going to quit. Really. He was.

“But!” Any protest seemed to die on his lips, though. It was like he was running out of steam for the meeting, let alone making a scene. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted softly. So many of his problems seemed to stem from around Vincent, which made violence his usual go-to answer when it came to frustration. Often, it fixed the problem. But this was ongoing, and he couldn’t charge off across campus in search of his best friend every time he needed a fix, and therefore a distraction.

It just wasn’t practical.

“How d’ you fix dreams?” Headaches could be pacified with drugs, but dreams were something else entirely. As for Sean’s suggestions, the pyrokinentic scrunched up his face in protest. “Tea’s gross. An’ I don’t know how to meditate.” All he could think of was bad cartoons, turbans, and idiotic mumbling in relation to the word. “I dunno how to deal with all this shit,” he muttered, waving his hand vaguely in reference. “It’s like if I don’t go smoke, I’ll go crazy.” As if to prove his point, he drove his elbow into the arm of the couch in frustration. “Like now.” All this thinking about it was only making him want it more.

But that didn’t make him an addict.