Oct. 11, YC 115
24th Imperial Crusade medical facility
11 am
Offices of Dr. Ezra Thomas
Dr. Thomas sat, datapad in hand, his posture one of a professional with years of experience, emanating comfort. He was an older man, Ryven guessed roughly mid-sixties, with the usual gray streaks in his hair and spectacles that Ryven assumed were merely for show. Dr. Thomas was well-dressed, but in a comfortable rather than stuffy sort of way. He seemed to be perpetually stuck somewhere between smirking and frowning, as if he couldn't make up his mind and became frozen that way. His face was etched with deep wrinkles that followed the lines of this bizarre expression. His eyes were a deep brown matched only by the gray speckled bushy eyebrows perched over his eyes. He wore a light blue shirt and yellow tie, which Ryven suspected was meant to be calming, to lower the threat that a psychologist presented, the threat of an invasion of the mind, the thoughts, the inner sanctum of one's most private of private feelings. Ryven felt it really wasn't working.
Dr. Thomas invited Ryven to sit on his dark leather sofa, and then directed him to lay down and relax.
Ryven lay down and willed himself to relax, his eyes tracing the features of the relatively nondescript ceiling. Abandoning that, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In..1...2...3....out..1..2...3.
Dr. Thomas spoke first. "So, in setting up this appointment, you mentioned some basic concerns you were having. While they certainly are important in and of themselves, your current issues do not exist sui generis. They are intimately entwined with the fabric of the totality of your life experience up to this point. While I could probably make some recommendations without delving into your history, to do so would be irresponsible and destined to failure. With that in mind, I believe we should begin with your childhood. How would you characterize that experience?"
Ryven nearly choked. "Um, well, if I had to choose one word, I would go with: unpleasant." He rolled his eyes mentally.
Dr. Thomas's expression seemed to tilt closer to a frown. "Now, now, Mr. Krennel, I think you can tell me more than that. How about you just describe it to me?"
So, Ryven told him about the orphanage, about the fights, the arrival of Baillieu and his subsequent death, and his finally meeting his uncle/father Titus. Dr. Thomas would occasionally prod him with questions, trying to pin down a particular detail, but Ryven pretty much talked for forty five minutes straight, sharing his pains, his few tender memories, and the hope he had finally experienced. When Dr. Thomas finally stopped him, Ryven was surprised to find his cheeks burning, his tears streaking fire down his face, salty trails remaining as legacy.
"I think that will be enough for today, Mr. Krennel." Dr. Thomas was typing on his datapad. "When can you come back in? I'd prefer sooner rather than later. We have a lot of ground to cover."
Ryven sat up, cradling his head in his hands. He wasn't ready for the session to be over. He wanted to fix whatever was wrong with him. For God's sake, he had murdered a man in a rage only a week or so ago. He was maddeningly in love with Kat. He had to fix this. Finally, he answered. "You free tomorrow?"
Dr. Thomas's expression drifted closer to a smirk. "I'm never free. However, I can squeeze you in in the afternoon."
"Thanks, Doc." Ryven stood and walked out of the office, feeling somehow lighter than when he entered.
Dr. Thomas began dictating the long list of notes, thinking to himself that he could spend the next twenty years trying to parse all of this man's issues.
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