A Reluctant Visitor [Sean]

[Horus Richmond]

The past two months had been hell for Horus.

The blonde had managed to self destruct in the bathroom and frightened his three favourite buddies in the world. People had been called, talks had happened, and indeed, Horus had been monitored hard by anyone and everyone who had heard what had happened. He couldn't pick up a knife without someone thinking he was going to start hacking away at his skin, or skip a meal if he felt a bit off. Every five minutes he felt like someone was watching him, waiting for him to spontaneously burst into tears.

On the plus side, he supposed that if he hadn't done that, then he wouldn't have managed to persuade his siblings to come out and look after him once he was given a half-decent all clear.

And now Horus was stood outside Sean's office, his foot shuffling back and forth, lips pressed together tightly. One lazy thud of a knock later, and he leant against the wall, sagging visibly with relief. No one was up here to ask him if he was okay and if he would need someone to talk to. Sean was an alright guy. He supposed, at least.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets and tonguing the lip studs framing his mouth, the stumpy blonde looked around sharply, then began thinking of as many odd things as he possibly could to give Sean something to think about. Teapots with wigs that did the tango, cheese that turned into mice, crossdressing zombies. Anything, anything at all to divert the doctor from the true matter - that Horus had issues, and no amount of chocolate coats with caramel pockets would ever change that.

Horus was in denial that there was a problem. He just needed to lose weight and was stressed a bit. Normal. There was nothing wrong with him at all.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean knew what had happened with Horus, and he had been as concerned as everyone else. Unlike everyone else, he also had a suspicion that Jesse Adams had had a role in the boy’s breakdown, although he knew that the manipulator couldn’t have been the only cause. This was precisely why the telepath had worked with Jesse, to prevent outcomes such as that which had happened to poor Horus.

The entire faculty had banded together to watch over the sleepy boy, to make sure that he didn’t take any drastic action. So far it had worked, but that was a stopgap solution. One couldn’t treat a breakdown’s aftermath without also treating the causes. That had led Horus to his office, for which the telepath was grateful; they could chat privately.

He had sensed the boy’s arrival, of course, before the knock at his door. But then there had been the onslaught of ridiculous thoughts, many of them involving cross-dressing which the psychiatrist attributed to Horus’s friendship with Vincent, and Vincent’s relationship with Hammel’s resident sweet-natured pixie Moe. Horus was hardly the first student who tried to distract Sean with random thoughts, but as with all of the others, he would fail to succeed.

Because he wanted Horus to feel more at home, the telepath had moved to one of the armchairs at the back of the office. He didn’t want the desk separating them, giving off a vibe of formality and potential discipline. They could talk in a more comfortable setting, although it was imperative that Horus remain upright. “Come in,” he called. “And have a seat with me back here.”

[Horus Richmond]

Horus' hands were stuffed in his pockets as he waited to be called in, and he was inspecting his shoes a little. Looking up when Sean called, he opened the door and shuffled in, his expression rather mournful as he sat down. He knew he was going to get upset at some point in this discussion, and he was already trying to build up some defense to protect himself. Eventually he looked up into Sean's face and shrugged.

"So 'm guessin' we're gonna talk about how 'm a loony or whatevs." He grunted, fidgeting with the cords of his hoodie anxiously. "Well 'm not. I jus'... stuff got too much an' 'm fine now. Really. There ain't nothin' wrong." He added, trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "What is fuckin' wrong is how all th'teachers an' m'friends are treatin' me like 'm gonna jump out th'upper floor windows." The blonde scowled accusingly at Sean with his teeth pulling at one of his lip piercings, a little huff apparent in his voice.

Of course, with that came a rush of self-doubt that curled in his stomach and made him feel sick - thoughts of how he was fat, how people judged him for being narcoleptic, for breaking down in his own bathroom. Clenching his jaw stubbornly, Horus stared at the floor with a fierce look in his eye, fighting quietly with himself in his mind more that with Sean's presence. "Anyway." He eventually said, his voice cracking slightly. "'s jus' normal t'be unhappy with y'body. Right?"

But it was certainly not normal to eat till sick. And Horus had still been sneaking a puking session when he was alone and no one was around to hear him. He just wanted Sean to talk, to stop him digging the hole he was quietly shoveling himself into, and to make the self loathing subside, even if it was for just a few hours.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist was patient and waited for Horus to be seated and to get as comfortable as was possible given the circumstances. While it was necessary to speak to Horus, he wouldn’t do him the further indignity of crowding him. He waited for the boy to set the tone of the conversation, and unsurprisingly, he was a bit defensive and denied the need for any help. More than that, he professed to feeling crowded. The telepath understood on more than a professional level. “You aren’t here because of a fear that you’re going to jump out a window.” Horus wasn’t Vincent. The psychiatrist was concerned about self-harm which was more encompassing than a potential suicide risk. Moreover, he was concerned about the underlying causes. While Jesse’s manipulations played a role, the other boy wasn’t skilled enough to create from nothing; this must have been a pre-existing vulnerability.

The segue was unsurprising, and it gave the psychiatrist a jumping point. “It depends on the degree of the unhappiness.” Their society was entirely too focused on an arbitrary – and unhealthy – version of aesthetics, one which affected both young women and young men. While at their most awkward and most vulnerable, teenagers were told that they were too tall, too short, too skinny, too fat, didn’t have enough muscle, had the wrong color hair and eyes, had ugly noses, had lips that were too thin and too big, had crooked teeth, had weird marks on their body, and that their acne would keep them from ever having sex. Sean spent a fair amount of time trying to help students focus on health and mental image rather than peer pressure and guilt-based advertising, but it could be difficult. And Horus’s body issues surpassed the usual teenage threshold. “Most people have a mild degree of longing, but it isn’t all-consuming.”

[Horus Richmond]

Horus opened his mouth to defend himself against anything Sean was going to say, only to fall utterly silent. No accusations, or prying, the man was simply stating the obvious, and the blonde hugged himself, unsure of what to say. He then began to chew on his sleeves, anything to do to keep himself occupied in his rather defenseless position. "S'... what are y'sayin'?" He asked quietly, pausing in the hoodie chewing to stare bleakly at Sean. The blonde felt confused and somewhat unnerved by the lack of lecturing, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Mine ain't all consuming." A lie. "'s jus'..." Horus's voice died and he looked down at himself, grabbing his stomach, and then his arms, a little bile crawling up his throat. "Sammy an' Vincent can exercise. I can't 'cause I jus' collapse an' hurt m'self. So 'm all fat an' ugly." The blonde swallowed thickly and refused to meet Sean's eyes. "I know I should b'grateful 'cause I have a boyfriend that loves m'an' stuff... but I jus'... I see everyone aroun' me an' they all... they're all decent." Horus rambled on, before returning to his frantic hoodie chewing. "'m a whale." He repeated quietly, mostly to himself.

The words stung and made him want to throw up, but he wouldn't prove to Sean that he was wrong. He was fine. He had to be fine.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean knew that the boy was lying, which was hardly surprising but also counter-productive. Horus wasn’t here as a punishment – although that was the primary flaw in Claude’s system of making Sean handle all but the most egregious of disciplinary infractions. Sean was here as a psychiatric professional to help the boy through these problems. “That I’m here to listen; that I’m here to help.”

He had such a warped perspective of weight, something that society’s current obsession with obesity didn’t aid. The other night San had seen one of the most irresponsible articles on nutrition yet, one which argued that a family of four eating a box of pasta for supper was unhealthy because there were eight servings in a box; disregarding that the average person should eat six to eleven servings of grains each day. “First of all, you aren’t a whale. And secondly, I’ve been overweight too, you know.” He hadn’t weighed himself recently, but he knew that his diet of baked goods and grain alcohol did nothing for shedding pounds. “It isn’t a reflection of your value as a person. And Vincent’s physiology is different because his cells regenerate faster, remember? You can’t compare yourself to him that way.”

In a few minutes, he would discuss Horus’s boyfriend, since that might aid the conversation. But at the moment, he let it slip by to focus on other aspects.

[Horus Richmond]

"Y'wanna help?" Horus snorted slightly, not in anger at Sean, more disbelief. "Then get rid o'm'narcolepsy an' give m'a body that ain't shit." He grunted, pulling his knees up to his chin and letting a soft sigh pass his lips. He wasn't meaning to be so aggressive in his defense, and even he knew that Sean was just trying to help, but he felt like a victim. Someone to be poked and prodded and studied under scrutiny. "Sorry." He eventually mumbled, mostly into his jeans. "I don' mean t'be all Jesse-th'-prick t'you."

He wasn't a whale. Horus had heard that from Ember, from Vincent and from Sammy. Even from Elliot. But it was as though his mind blocked out those encouraging comments and replaced them with venom, words that only made him feel less of human and more some sort of freakish blobman. "Y'don' look overweight." Horus grunted, picking the dirt out of his fingernails and huffing. "An' Vin is a dick. But y'know, he's got all this toned muscular shit goin' on. I jus' wish I could be like that. I know I shouldn't have listened t'Jesse, 'cause he's a psychopathic bunch o'dildos but y'know... 'ts true."

He swallowed unhappily, then looked around. "D'ya have any water. 'm feelin' a bit sick." The blonde fidgeted in the seat, eyes morose. "I ain't a good person much anyway. 'm a lazy sack o' shit an' ... yeah. Sean? Th'other teacher think 'm a waste of time, don't they?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“It’s all right,” the telepath assured him. This was hardly the worst session he’d had in his career; it wasn’t even the worst session he’d had this school year. Sessions with Jesse, Sidra, and Mia immediately came to mind.

“I’m a mountain. Mountains never look overweight.” Although it might sound like a joke, the psychiatrist was serious. The larger someone was, the easier it was to hide the fact that he was overweight, and the telepath was extremely tall. But this was not about him, and at the end of the day, if Horus didn’t find comfort in the expression of solidarity, then Sean would not dwell on it. And while Horus’s descriptions of Jesse were accurate it did not go to the heart of the matter, because Horus still agreed with the assessment. That was the problem. “Vincent has it easier than the rest of us when it comes to toning, and so you can’t look at him and say ‘I want that.’ It isn’t fair to yourself. And you shouldn’t listen to Jesse because he spoke to hurt you; you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

At the request for water, Sean rose from the desk and went to the mini-fridge he kept in his office. Pulling out a bottle of water, he brought it over to Horus. “Here you go.” He settled then and listened while Horus listed off his other flaws. “You aren’t lazy; you have a disability. The teachers understand that.” It was deeply concerning to hear Horus describe himself this way, and he offered perspective with people Horus knew. “Sam is lazy. He wastes his time and everyone else’s by coming to class high. You aren’t that.”

[Horus Richmond]

"A mountain?" Horus thought aloud, imagining a mountain with Sean's head crashing into Jesse while roaring. "... I ain't a mountain. 'M a shortass." Still, the image of Mountain!Sean crashing into Jesse cheered him enough to give him the ghost of a smile.

Horus gritted his teeth slightly at the idea of giving Jesse any sort of satisfaction that didn't involve stomping repeatedly on his face while shouting abuse at him. Gratefully taking the water and sipping it, the blonde sat quietly for a few minutes before looking at Sean almost shyly. "'s not right what 'm doin' t'myself, is it?" He asked quietly, shredding the paper on the bottle to give his hands something to do. "I mean... like. Some part o' me knows I shouldn't b'doin... stuff t'm'self. But 'm scared t'stop. 'Cause 't makes m'feel like 'm doin' somethin' about it."

Horus swallowed again, avoiding Sean's eyes and twisting the bottle cap round and round in his hands. "I jus'... wanna be someone that people can think 's ... I dunno. Awesome. Attractive. All that good stuff." The blonde hesitated and laughed a bit. "Sammy's jus' Sammy. He's jus' ... an ass." He shrugged his shoulders. "I wanna do somethin' in art. Somethin' creative. Like... make hoodies f'a livin'. Or put designs on stuff. I know it don't matter what I look like 'f 'm an artist... but how can I create beautiful shit 'f I don' feel that way m'self?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The thought would make Sean smile as well, if he didn't regard Jesse was a partially personal failure on his part. But they were making some progress. Sean gave the boy a sympathetic look and confirmed, “It isn’t right, no. And I do understand the impulse.” He had felt it through others before, which didn’t make it easier. “But you have to remember that it isn’t helping, even if you feel like it might be. Not all active roles are positive.”

The telepath stopped trying to make eye contact given how Horus was squirming. “Did you know that people find confidence attractive?” Although it was a line often repeated in self-help books, it remained true. Study after study found that people’s ratings of others could be positively influenced by the confidence exuded, and negatively influenced by those who exhibited self-doubt. And while Sean’s personal opinion was that nobody should let attractiveness dictate life, that wasn’t the lecture that Horus needed right now. As such, he would play by the other rules of society. “Chinks in are armor are usually only apparent if we point them out to others.” He wouldn’t dwell on Sam; he was only making the point about actual laziness as compared to Horus’s power side effects. “I want you to be happy, because you deserve it. That said, a number of artists were tortured souls. Van Gogh comes to mind.”

[Horus Richmond]

Horus settled a little as Sean affirmed that what he was doing was wrong, as though he needed someone else to tell him that. "I jus' can't stop. I feel happier afterwards." He said quietly, cheek resting on his knee. "Like 'm vomittin' all m'problems away." Horus looked nervous, as though he'd said too much, looking at Sean quickly for reassurance.

"Elliot don' mind what 'm like. He knew m'when I was still in nappies. Uh. Diapers. Baby poo an' piss collection items." He scrubbed the back of his head and took another sip of water. "I love Van Gogh." Horus said, suddenly sounding excited, eyes lighting up. "An' Picasso had some pretty rad ideas, I mean, cubism 's pretty out there. An' Cezanne, I like him. An' Andy Warhol." The blonde began rambling instantly enthused by the discussion of his favourite topic. "Didja know some theorists actually believe that Van Gogh had his ear cut off by a rival artist?" The narcoleptic stopped, smiling a little bit. "S'what have I gotta do t'get better? I mean, have I gotta take pills or somethin'?"

Horus' mind was a buzz with art thoughts now, the enthusiasm washing away his previous guilt and fear. "Aint there somethin' like art therapy? S'I can draw m'feelin's away?"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“I know.” The psychiatrist realized that, because he had spoken with and treated others with eating disorders before. But it did not change the underlying facts that it was unhealthy and that it did nothing to treat his emotional problems or the societal causes. It was also distressing that Horus equated all of his problems with his appearance, since that was such a vast oversimplification. “But you’re doing damage to yourself in the long run. Stomach acid destroys the throat, for instance.” That was only of the myriad problems which came from what he was doing, but it was a problem that was rarely given thought.

“But the fact remains that he loves you for all of you.” This was important, and Horus needed to focus on this, needed to remind himself of this whenever he grew depressed.

And then the psychiatrist smiled a bit, because Horus expressed interest in the topic at hand. Appealing to his enjoyment and knowledge of art appeared to fill the young man with enthusiasm, changing him from the listless figure he had been mere moments ago. “I had heard that, actually, and if true, it changes quite a bit of common wisdom.” It did not change Van Gogh’s depressive tendencies, because he had chosen to end his life when he was far too young.

Treatment was what had brought them there in the first place. Although he could prescribe medication, it was not the be-all-end-all of treatment, and he wanted to use traditional talk therapy with Horus. And art therapy was not his usually fare, but it could not hurt. “If you wanted to try art therapy, I would agree to it. Medication is a last resort, and while I can’t rule it out eventually, at the moment I want to explore other avenues with you.”

[Horus Richmond]

Horus absorbed Sean's information thoughtfully, pressing the bottle of water in with a small clunk, then popping the indented plastic back out again. "'S is that why I wake up wit'a sore throat? 'Cause m'throat is all burny from th'acid?" He frowned a little. He couldn't imagine not having a functioning throat - it was useful for shouting at Vincent and having pixy stick eating races with Sammy.

A smile grew on the blonde's face when he thought of Elliot, and he managed a nod. "I know. Y'know, m'family's come out t'look after me." He shook his head and nibbled his lower lip. "I jus' don't want people to worry."

Horus curiously leant forward, finishing his water and peering over at Sean. "S'... do I come t'y'whenever I feel like I wanna puke? Or...?" He trailed off, eager at the idea of art therapy. Anything to get the feelings out of his head. "I do wanna get better." He added, nodding his head furiously. "I'm tired 'f Vin followin' m't'th'toilet." He frowned. Having an idiot yelling ARE YOU THROWING UP FLOPPY? while peering at him from the other cubicle got annoying fast.

"Thanks." The teen added, shuffling his feet and fiddling with the lid of the empty water. "Y'... don't give m'th'sympathetic face. It's nice."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

The psychiatrist confirmed that with a nod. The corrosive effect of stomach acid on the throat would lead to the pain, particularly in mornings when respiration was reduced and less spit was produced from speech and food consumption. “That’s right. And it gets worse over time.” This wasn’t an area of human physiology which adapted.

“I did know that.” The Richmond clan was refreshingly intimate, and the ties which bound them were tight. The telepath had heard rumors that several of his siblings were in town, and he had caught a glimpse of one of them at the grocery store. “And I understand that. But the easiest way to get people not to worry is to avoid doing whatever worries them.” Of course that didn’t work in all situations, but this was one where it would work, with effort.

He knew that Horus wanted to improve, which was why the psychiatrist had confidence in him. “Vincent shouldn’t be following you, even though I know why he is. And we can work out a schedule which works. I’d like to see you twice a week regularly for now, on specific days, some of which will be spent in art therapy. And I’m available at other times, and so if you feel the need to vomit and need to talk, I’m happy to do so.” He was available; that was the point he wanted Horus to take away from this.

He then gestured at the empty bottle. “Would you like another?” He had plenty. “And you’re welcome. I know it sounds cheesy, but I do know what it’s like getting that face.” One of the many reasons he didn’t overdo it.

[Horus Richmond]

Horus frowned at the information, and tried to resolve himself into imagining a world where he didn't need to puke to feel better. Twisting his hoodie sleeves in on themselves, the blonde subconsciously put his hand to his throat, as if there'd be a hole gradually burning itself through.

"S'I really gotta try an' stop this?" The teen realised with sinking futility that he had to do this, he couldn't make himself sick forever. "'m just scared that th'feelin's... they'll eat m'up." A worried expression appeared on Horus' face, and he looked to Sean for reassurance. "I don' wanna start diggin' nail scissors int' m'stomach again. That hurt." In fact, despite not needing stitches, the wounds had left several angry red scars that, whilst promised they'd fade, made Horus feel all the more self conscious about himself.

"Y'really a nice guy Dr. Neville." He finally admitted, with a small smile. "I dunno why Sammy an' Vin think y'some sort of evil lord of punishments." Finally finishing fiddling with the bottle, the blonde got out his phone and turned it to calendar mode, looking at Sean curiously. "S'what days d'ya wanna see m'an'stuff? 'Cause I'll alarm it s'I don't sleep through." Horus relied heavily on his phone alarm for urgent appointments - a shame he didn't count classes as those.

He looked at the water bottle, then shook his head. "'m good, thanks." He mumbled a bit, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks f'everythin' Dr. Neville." Horus added honestly, stifling a yawn. "I jus' think 'm gonna... sleep soon." It was the armchairs, they were too comfortable for Horus to not want to sleep in them.