#(just in case it wasn’t obvious as Mr aro over here (i do really like the voices of people i love tho <3)< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

I’d never claim I’m attracted to a voice but Edgar wbg..

[deusaeverythingcomestoanend]

D. Series: The Pirate

Chapter 16

Observant

Do not close your eyes,

For you it will be your demise,

Lose your senses,

Making you restless.

August 12, 1543

A year had almost gone by and during that time Cronus training had increased in difficulty. The only lessons he considered easy were the one he spent with his Uncle Faber. Aroldo would ram through the book lectures followed by exams right afterwards. Depending on how much Cronus failed was the quantity of warm exercises he would have to perform. So in other words the higher his test scores the less he would have to do.

The one hour daily training he would spend with his father proved to be just as hard. They always took place right after the first third of Aroldo's lectures leaving Cronus emotionally exhausted. Cronus believed with Clement being his father his training would be lenient. Boy was he wrong. Clement did not seem to hold anything back when it came to his fighting lessons. It was about a week ago when Aroldo would stay and watch the fights take place. From there he would take mental notes on what Cronus needed much improvement.

Although having Aroldo during the fights did prove to have one benefit. They had a healer who could look over their wounds in case things went a little too rough. Which was a good thing considering how terrifying Godiva was. Cronus found it amusing how a tiny five foot two woman could intimidate not only her father but Aroldo as well. They would both try their best to stay on Godiva's good side.

“You are getting better,” complimented Aroldo returning today's test, “You only missed two questions this time around.”

“It's good to hear,” sighed Cronus looking down at his work, “I don't want to repeat what I did yesterday.”

“I'll bet,” agreed Aroldo nodding his head, “You placed the answer for the first question on the second slot. That tiny mistake caused you to fail the rest of the exam. If you had been more careful you would have gotten a perfect score.”

Cronus shuddered just in remembering the intense workout he had to pay up with. By the time he was finished all he wanted to do was lie down face first on the ground. Unfortunately, both Clement and Aroldo would not allow him such a luxury. Instead they forced Cronus to keep moving forward.

“I see you've managed to find yourself a martial arts' mentor,” commented Aroldo as he picked his things off the small table.

“It wasn't easy,” nodded Cronus remembering how he had to try to concentrate during his visions. The first time he found the Dojo he became overwhelmed by the instructors skills.

“I would think so,” agreed Aroldo, stuffing his things into his bag, “The good thing is that you are learning.”

“It was even harder trying to get back there a second time around,” droned Cronus slumping his head against the table.

“Come now, don't slouch! You still have to train with your father,” reminded Aroldo making his way to the doorway, “Be sure to put your things away. Like always I will be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Of course, you will,” groaned Cronus getting his own things.

“Oh, chin up will you! You did better on your test this time around. Meaning today's lessons won't be as harsh as they usually are,” smiled Aroldo making his way out the door.

“Somehow I doubt it,” sighed Cronus walking up the small flight of stairs leading to his bedroom.

“Yeah, you ain't wrong,” admitted Aroldo walking out the front door, “See ya in a bit.”

Cronus dragged his feet up the stairs. He opened his bedroom door and like usual placed his items back underneath his floorboards. Once his items were securely in place he went outside to train with his father.

Clement stood in the center of their backyard. He was looking up at the warm August sky. Cronus could already tell what he was thinking. His father was an easy man to read. Aroldo warned Cronus that Clement would need to learn how to improve that about himself.

“Why is that bad?” wondered Cronus looking at his father.

“It's never good to show your enemies all of your cards,” sighed Aroldo as they continued with their training.

Cronus shook his head as he stared at his father. Clement favored fall or winter instead of the hotter seasons. They seemed to make life easier. After all cold weather was manageable unlike their unpredictable brethren. Clement kept busy to prepare for the colder months. He glanced back down and picked up the pieces of wood he had cut out.

“Cronus, did you come out here to help me?” smiled Clement already knowing the answer to his own question. Still though he asked it out of courtesy.

“What would you like for me to do, father,” nodded Cronus making his way closer to where Clement was standing.

“I am going to need your help in fixing the roof of our house,” ordered Clement, picking up more small squares of wood, “Don't just stand there. Here help me carry some wooden pieces as well.”

“Why do we need to fix the roof? I mean it's perfectly fine just the way it is,” objected Cronus picking up a stack of wood.

“Or so it seems,” breathed Clement inching closer to their home, “Trust me once you get up on the roof. You will begin to notice there is much work to be done.”

Cronus did not say another word instead he followed right after his father. Clement gave Cronus the order to help him bring out the ladder. Clement told Cronus that for the time being he would be the one on the roof. Well until Aroldo returned from wherever he usually runs off to.

“Why can't you go up there?” shot Cronus puffing up his cheeks and placing his hands on his hips.

“One of us has to go up to the roof; meanwhile, the other holds the ladder. You may have gotten stronger during this past year. Still, I have a doubt you are able to carry my weight,” explained Clement pointing out the obvious.

“I don't wanna,” whimpered Cronus backing away from his father.

“I know you are afraid of heights, Cronus. I can assure you that there is nothing for you to be afraid of,” encouraged Clement kneeling before his frightened child, “I promise you that if you were to fall. I will be there to catch you. If I am not close to where you will land. I will run if I have to just to make sure you don't get hurt. Now go up the ladder and help me fix the roof. We do not want snow to get inside our house.”

Cronus gulped and trembled with each step he took. He would climb up one step and pause before proceeding to take the next. He began to feel dizzy once he reached the top of the ladder. He trusted forward the items he had managed to carry with him. He avoided looking down and pulled himself onto the roof.

“So is Cronus going to help you fix the leaky roof,” observed Aroldo appearing right next to Clement.

“I would hope so. It just took him a lot longer than I expected him just to get to the roof,” shrugged Clement scratching the back of his head, “My son sure has a fear of heights.”

“At least he did not faint this time,” smiled Aroldo looking up at Cronus' blond hairs glowing in the sun.

“I guess you are right,” agreed Clement holding onto the ladder, “I suppose you are going to want him to come down. Hold the ladder will yo-”

“Now, Clement, what is the hurry? I think we should leave him up there. It will help him get over his fear of heights. Once he sees that he is in no immediate danger he will begin to calm down. Besides, you have him help you with the roof. I can begin my own training as well.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Clement knitting his eyebrows at Aroldo.

“Cronus is too busy with his own fear. That he hasn't noticed I have returned. So we are going to have his work on fixing the roof. Until he starts to realise that I am already here. This training session has two parts. The first is noticing that I am present. The second part will be seeing me. Once he spots me he will be brought down and we can continue with the third part of our lesson,” informed Aroldo standing closer to the building.

“Why are you doing this?” questioned Clement not understanding Aroldo's weird teaching methods.

“I want him to be more aware of his surroundings. Especially during stressful situations. I cannot just place my pupil into such situations myself. When the opportunity presents itself. Then I as a mentor must take full advantage of it. Would you agree, Clement?” grinned Aroldo leaning against the building.

“You are a terrifying man, Aroldo,” acknowledged Clement glancing back up to his son.

“Thanks for the compliment,” sassed Aroldo with a malicious smile.

“That wasn't a compliment,” sighed Clement crossing his arms.

“It is if I think it is,” asserted Aroldo nodding his head, “I am going to be playing a little game of cat and mouse with Cronus.”

“You do realize Cronus is going to come down for more planks of wood. Right?” wondered Clement looking over at a frozen Aroldo.

“ER... right!” stammered Aroldo staring blankly at Clement.

“You really did not expect a nine year old boy to carry everything he needed in one go. Did you, Mr. Cruz?” questioned Clement, raising a disapproving eyebrow at Aroldo.

“Don't call me that! It makes me feel old,” shuddered Aroldo wrapping his arms around himself, “I haven't even been born yet! My Great-grandparents aren't even two separate piles of cells for crying out loud. Wait... isn't this universe separate from the one I am from? Questions that remain to be answered.”

“Father, I think I should like to let you know. I have no idea what I am doing,” announced Cronus as he struggled to get down, “Damn it! Why is getting down scarier?!”

Aroldo floated up to the roof. Taking advantage of Cronus' fearful state. He found it somewhat amusing that Cronus kept his eyes shut. Seeing this pumped his veins with an adrenaline rush. He slowed down his pace as he loomed over to inspect Cronus' hand work.

“Tsk...Tsk, Cronus, you are not thinking clearly,” whispered Aroldo as he helped rearrange the small square planks.

Aroldo fixed Cronus work without a care. When he was finished Cronus' arm reached out to smack the top of the roof. He watched as Cronus blindly moved his arms around. It wasn't until he had pulled his entire body on top on the roof did he open his eyes. Fortunately by the time this happen Aroldo had already begun his descend back down.

Only an hour had gone by of Aroldo's game. It became rather clear to Clement that it was starting to bore him. Clement could tell how antsy Aroldo was starting to become. To the point he would not float onto the roof the second Cronus would begin to climb down. It was as if Aroldo wanted Cronus to spot him at this point. At times Clement was sure he had spotted the mentor blowing saliva bubbles.

'Damn, are you really that bored?' thought Clement feeling sympathy.

“Cronus, when did Aroldo say he would return?” asked Clement holding the stare as Cronus began to climb back down.

“He said that he would be back in fifteen minutes,” stated Cronus, keeping his eyes shut.

Clement watched as Aroldo dragged himself towards the roof. He seemed to be void of any enthusiasm. This was a whole new level of boredom.

“And how long do you think you've been helping me?” questioned Clement holding onto the ladder.

“Five minutes,” shrugged Cronus pausing after each step.

“Cronus, it takes you fifteen minute just to climb up and down this ladder,” groaned Clement, trying not to feel embarrassed of his son.

“Then how long have I been working?” wondered Cronus opening his eyes but not really looking.

“Are you almost done?” asked Clement watching Cronus jump off the final step.

“Uh... I... Oh,” voiced Cronus letting Clement that his son was already finished. He looked down at the hammer and small box of nails he carried.

“Sigh... Cronus, you must be more observant of your surroundings. Aroldo has been here for an hour. Do you have any idea how frustrating that man is?” groaned Clement rubbing his temples, “For crying out loud! He is so annoying!”

“Aroldo has been here? Is that why things were different from how I left them?” wondered Cronus looking down at the ground and rubbing his shin.

“Aroldo! Get down I already told him you are here!” shouted Clement placing his hands against his cheeks.

“Boo! You're no fun,” pouted Aroldo floating down from the roof.

“Whatever, you weren't really having any fun anymore,” dismissed Clement shrugging his shoulders, “And don't try to deny it.”

“You got me there,” accepted Aroldo sitting down on the grass, “You need to be more observant of your surroun-”

“I already told him that,” interjected Clement glaring at Aroldo.

“Yes, but did you also tell him wwwwhhhhhyyyyy?” belittled Aroldo looking at his nails, “You did not just say 'Cronus, you must be more observant of your surroundings'. Without giving him an explanation.”

“My explanation was that you are vexing, Aroldo,” scoffed Clement crossing his arms, “What other reason would I need?”

“You've been in battles,” reminded Aroldo with a grin, “Surely, you can do better than that.”

“Father you've been in battles?” gawped Cronus his eyes widening as he stared at his father.

“He is talking about the demons I fought!” blurted Clement sweating nervously.

“No I- URK!”

Clement punched Aroldo in the stomach. He used enough force that it caused Aroldo to double over in pain. He clutched his belly as he stood up.

“Uh... You... do.... realize... hitting... me... only... made... things more... suspicious... right... Clement,” stammered Aroldo rubbing his aching stomach.

“What are you talking about?” questioned Cronus placing his hands on his hips, “I want to know!”

“Not now, Cronus, the grown-ups are talking!” barked Clement trying to avoid Cronus' curiosity.

“Hey, do not yell at Cronus. It is not his fault,” scolded Aroldo standing between him and Clement, “You are going to have to tell him.”

“Tell me what!” yelled Cronus getting rather annoyed.

“Well, I am not ready!” argued Clement walking away.

“What were you two talking about?” asked Cronus looking up at Aroldo hoping he would tell him.

“I am sorry, Cronus, but it's not my story to tell,” lamented Aroldo shaking his head, “Let's get back to how you are not very attentive.”

“Urk! I thought you weren't going to mention that,” laughed Cronus, a nervous smile reaching his face.

“I would not take the blindfold off if I were you,” cautioned Aroldo sensing his student's plan, “You think I did not set traps as a precaution? Anyway I made each end have a sweet scent. If it smells bad then you are going the wrong direction. Also I repeat under no circumstances are you to remove your blindfold.”

“What happens if I do?” mused Cronus facing Aroldo.

“Trust me, there are things better not seen,” reasoned Aroldo placing a hand on Cronus' shoulder, “Ignore the voices.”

Cronus gulped knowing by now to always follow Aroldo's rules. Especially when it came to things the man created himself. Cronus took a deep breath and moved towards the maze. Then smacked the metal bars listening carefully to how it rang. Hearing it helped him get a feeling as to where it was. He moved around the maze carefully.

Clang! Cronus raised his foot up to his chest as he moved over a bar in his way. He could smell a faint scent of white roses. Their fragrance made his mouth water. They smelled closer to a batch of fresh warm cookies. He wiped his mouth of drool. He began to run towards their direction. He tripped on one of the bars completely forgetting about his task. He dusted himself off and stood up.

“Why are you here?” questioned the voice of a young girl.

The girl sent a cold chill down Cronus spine. He scrambled to his feet. Trying to get away from the girl. He banged on the metal trying to get back on track.

“Why don't you take off your blindfold?” asked the girl inching closer, “I bet you have the most beautiful eyes.”

Cronus bit his mouth as he ignored the girl. He smelled the air around him trying to find the cookie rose mix scent. Once his nose found it he walked in it's direction. He had a sensation that the “girl” wasn't really a girl at all.

“You won't even talk to me?” sniffled the girl, “I have been so lonely. I am sure you would understand. I mean you are here alone too.”

Cronus rushed away from the girl. He was frantic as he banged on the metal. He needed to get to the other side as quickly as possible.

“Are you trying to get to the other side?” asked the girl.

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[ingridgovaninsights]

The Worst I’ve Ever Been- A Short Story

The worst I’ve ever been has got to be October of 2010. When I look back on it now, I feel okay. I don’t feel ashamed or angry with myself, because those times are long gone and they must have happened for a reason. Yes, back in 2010 I was most certainly embarrassed and self-pitiful. But I was young then, and I still had a lot to learn. Most of my embarrassment came from worrying what other people thought about me, and that’s a slippery slope to be on. Twenty years later, I am not cured. That’s the thing- there is no magical cure. There isn’t a doctor in the world that can hand you the prescription to make you forget all your troubles, or erase every single feeling you’ve ever felt before. If that were the case, we’d all be robots, and I think I’d rather keep myself and be a bit messed up than be not messed up in the slightest but void of any emotion.

As I was saying, I am not cured. I must repeat that for emphasis, because it’s so, so important. I am, however, managing. At some point along the way- and you may feel at the time like it’s never going to happen, but trust me, it will- you’ll start to feel slightly better. Maybe you found a job, or you discovered a new hobby. Perhaps you reconnected with an old friend, read a book that moved you, or you fell in love. Regardless of what that something is, something happens to you, and you suddenly feel a lot more grounded. That something makes you feel whole and okay again. It’s a wonderful feeling, and it gives you hope. When we talk about treatment for mental illness, we’re talking about a change not a cure… that’s the difference. That difference makes all the difference- because frankly, if you walk around looking for an outright cure, you’re going to be faced with disappointment.

These are the sorts of things I half-read off cue cards to my first year psych students, much to their dismay. I think they were looking for actual content; cold, hard facts and statistics thrown into a lengthy PowerPoint. If they wanted to hear someone’s life experience, they could meet up with a friend for coffee. They chose university for a reason- there’s only so much you can learn from telling and hearing personal stories… or that’s what they say.

Well, these were the doubts I fed myself after every class. Never did a student actually approach me and say, “Hey, Mr. Taylor, your class sucks… I wanna see more slides on the history of cognitive behavioural therapy”, but I was a master mind reader, of course. Over time, I became more experienced in ignoring my negative inner dialogue, but it was no easy feat. I had hard days just like anybody else, even after I thought I’d shot anxiety down for good (turns out there’s no such thing- and as a psych professor, I really ought to know that).

Despite being forty years old, I’d only been teaching for a year. It took me a long, long time to get to where I am now, and to even figure out that’s what I wanted. There were so many wrong turns, drop-outs, and quitting crappy jobs along the way. I’m a man with many regrets, but hey, you live and learn, right?

The new, bright-eyed students watched me from their uncomfortable seats in the lecture hall as I spewed out my usual first-day greeting. What I did was I talked too much about how I got into psychology and teaching, and then I would try to cram the syllabus into the last five minutes of class. I hadn’t yet mastered my time management skills, in contrast to many veteran professors that made the whole teaching thing look like a cake walk. Mr. Allen, who’d been teaching at this very university for over thirty years, was a favorite among psych students, and he always delivered the perfect blend of statistics, history and personal experience. And then there was me, Isaac Taylor, clumsily trying to find that balance when all I really wanted to do was blab to everyone about my life.

I could’ve sworn I saw a few students exchanging uneasy glances, so I quieted down a little, coughed and changed the slide over to the vague course description. What would we be learning about this semester? What were our learning goals? All of that general, boring stuff that didn’t really talk about what we would actually be learning. I’ve tried to talk to my superiors about reconsidering the “orientation” information, perhaps giving it some more interesting content, but my suggestions weren’t taken much into consideration being the “psych baby�� that I was. The psych veterans laughed at me with their eyes, as if to say, “Mr. Taylor, you’ll come to learn that you can’t change anything around here, but good luck with that”.

To my surprise, one of the new students raised a hand with a question. I was shocked because most of them kept their mouths shut at first, at least before they decided whether or not they wanted to drop out. It was a young woman- she had to be in her early twenties- with fiery red hair tied up in a messy bun; freckles; wide-rimmed glasses. She balanced a handful of books on her lap- a few notebooks, a few textbooks. A fairly standard nerd type.

“Professor, you said that October of 2010 was the worst you’d ever been. I think it’s unfair of you to say that and then change the subject; we were all a little bit intrigued to know why, I think. Could you finish the story?”

Again, I was shocked. Caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting any questions at all, never mind such a bold one. Well, there wasn’t much time left for storytelling; it would simply have to wait. Maybe my doubts had been wrong- people did want to hear what I had to say. Or at least this strange young lady did.

The nerdy redhead tipped her head to the side slightly, waiting patiently for my answer. I noticed I was starting to sweat- something I did when I was nervous- and I tugged at the collar of my sweater, desperate for more air. The pause between her question and my answer felt like hours, but in reality it must have only been a few seconds; it’s odd how time seems thrown off when faced with anxiety.

“Well, I’m glad you found my introduction so interesting,” I began, “but unfortunately, the next chapter will have to wait until our lecture on Friday. If people are still wanting to hear it.”

I heard murmurs of approval, a few nods of the head. But the redhead looked unimpressed. She wanted my story now; well that was just too bad. I wasn’t anticipating such a reaction from anybody. Last year, students were polite when I told my story but I didn’t get many questions. I certainly wasn’t encouraged to continue talking. I think some people just wanted to learn what they came here for- textbook material- and be on their way. Others, like this redhead, wanted some more context. She was frowning at me, as if that were not the answer she wanted, but then the clock signaled it was time to leave, and I dismissed the class.

***

A couple hundred students poured out of the lecture hall, and I stayed at the front to gather my supplies, shut down my laptop, and so on. When I had my back turned, focusing on whether I should schedule my updates for a later time or just say “meh, I’ll do it when my laptop finally forces me to”, Nerdy Redhead tapped me on the shoulder. I whipped my head around to see who it was, and her green eyes met mine fiercely.

“I think you have a pretty good story to tell,” she said to me, “and I’m not sure I can wait until Friday. Can you please at least tell me a little bit, to get me through my day? I love stories.”

I narrowed my eyes. I was always skeptical of people that even showed remote interest in me- what was her motive? Perhaps she was being sarcastic; maybe I was dreadfully boring to her and her classmates were going to laugh about this over lunch later. How could I know for sure? I was also slightly offended the way she said “stories”, as if I were reading her some sort of choose-your-own adventure novel. It was a story, sure, but it was a true story and a story that ought to be taken seriously. Maybe I was just too sensitive.

“You can wait like the rest of your classmates,” I said firmly. What made her think she was so special?

She extended a hand; it looked to be quite shaky. “My name is Casey. I don’t think you understand. I think you telling your story will help a lot of people-”

“Can you please cut it out with this fake-worship-the-professor act? It is pretty insulting to me that you think you can march up here and demand a ‘story telling’... I can’t even be sure you’re serious right now.”

Why did I act this way? Why did I doubt everyone that ever believed in me, to the point of pushing them away? I didn’t want that; as soon as the words came out I regretted them, and I felt embarrassed. Casey was young and impressionable. She was a new student, eager to learn- that’s all. Why on Earth would I doubt that?

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, “I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I think it’s great you’re taking such an interest… but really, it’s easier if I just tell the story all at once on Friday. Can you wait like everyone else?”

Casey was upset; that much was obvious now. Her green eyes looked glazed over, almost as if she were on the verge of tears. She didn’t say any more; she turned quickly on her heel and speed-walked out of the classroom.

Okay, so we’d both overreacted- maybe that was normal for us. It was normal for me, anyways- I had a tendency to make everything a bigger deal than it was. Of course, I’d gotten better at that over the years, but it would always be a part of me. I think some of it had to do with the fact that I second guessed everything, automatically in my mind. I guess I couldn’t blame Casey for reacting the way she did- I had been pretty rude to her. Now she’d probably meet up with her friends and they’ll talk about what a dick I am.

I sighed, zipped up my laptop bag and headed for the door, being careful to keep a distance in case I saw Casey again. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. God, how did I always manage to ruin everything?

***

When Friday rolled around, the hundreds of cookie-cutter students poured into the lecture hall, blurring into one big lump that stared straight at me with innocence and curiosity. This class was far more eager than any of my classes in previous years; perhaps it was just luck. But to my disappointment, when the clock hit exactly ten o'clock, Casey was nowhere to be found.

I hung around the front of the class, awkwardly delaying my start in case she decided to show up a little late. She didn’t. Well then, she mustn’t have been that excited to hear my life story. I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt and started up the PowerPoint. Lecture first, story time later. Maybe Casey would rush into the hall in a flurry, books spilling out of her arms, face flushed and out of breath, and maybe she would later tell me “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor, I missed the bus!”

But she didn’t. And for some odd reason that I couldn’t figure out- maybe I had some sort of psychic powers, as much as I didn’t believe in that shit- I had a really bad feeling in my gut. Of course, we had only shared one lecture together- maybe Casey was just pretending to be an Eager Beaver and she was secretly hating every moment, and so she dropped out of the class? Well, I guess she would have to drop out of the entire program, since this course isn’t exactly optional. But something told me she wasn’t feigning her curiosity that day- it was still clear in my mind, the way she teared up and fled when I upset her, and the way she seemed to lean in more when I announced to the class I would be sharing some personal details about my life.

Could I really trust my mind, though? I did have a tendency to overthink things. Maybe she was just sick. People do get sick. All of these troubling thoughts raced through my mind while I tried to teach the lesson. I must not have sounded as passionate as the week prior, because my students were quickly losing interest.

“Okay,” I said loudly, stopping the current slide, “what is going on here? It doesn’t seem that anybody is listening.”

Students were whispering, looking down at their laps, and fidgeting. It was almost like a room full of entirely different people. One girl, who I do remember from last week because she had been sitting next to Casey, raised her hand.

“Um, Mr. Taylor… we’re all a little bit distracted right now, given the news.”

News? What news? I looked around me, perplexed. I guess a lot of the school gossip went over the professor’s heads. Whatever- it didn’t really bother me; most of them were an entirely different generation, anyways, so of course they didn’t want to stand around and share intimate details with me.

“Care to share what that news might be?” I asked, feeling slightly self conscious because I appeared to be the only one in the room who didn’t know.

The girl looked at her friend beside her and they exchanged a sad look. Then, she said, “Our classmate tried to commit suicide last night. She’s in the hospital.”

I felt my heart sink in my chest, and my stomach did a backflip. I thought I might be sick. It had to be Casey, right? I tugged at the collar of my shirt; I was beginning to sweat.

“Oh… um… oh dear. Excuse me, does anybody have the name of this classmate?”

Maybe it was an inappropriate question; I wasn’t really sure. But I just had to know, and I didn’t really care if people thought I was being inappropriate or desperate. I felt absolutely sick to my stomach; this was bad. Really, really bad.

The girl, who was now crying quite visibly, couldn’t look up at me to meet my eyes. “It’s… Casey. Casey Peters, I don’t know if you know her. She’s one of my best friends.”

My fears had been correct. It was Casey. She was laying in a hospital bed somewhere, probably feeling really bad. My heart was racing, and so was my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder- could I have done something to prevent it? If only I’d been nicer…

God, I felt like absolute shit. How could I have talked to a student like that? And not to mention a student that had clearly been going through so much… all the warning signs had gone right over my head. I’m a psychology professor; I should be the expert at understanding human behaviours and thought processes. But then another thought occurred to me- perhaps she hadn’t been showing any of those signs. Perhaps she had kept it well-hidden for a reason. It hurt me to think that maybe, just maybe, she had been in pain for so long, she felt the best way to deal with it would be to conceal it, act like everything's okay, and not bother anybody anymore. What if her wanting to hear my story was like a final cry for help? How could I have missed that?

“Mr. Taylor, are you alright?” one student, a young man probably in his mid twenties, called out with concern.

My face must have looked pretty terrifying, because all the students were watching me with worried eyes. I don’t know how long I was out of it, lost in my thoughts wondering how I messed up so badly. When I finally snapped out of it, I knew I had to escape. The room was suffocating me.

“You can read the slides online,” I managed to say, gathering my things and rushing out of the lecture hall in panic.

I took a seat on a nearby bench, trying to focus on my breathing. But it was incredibly difficult to remain calm- swarms of students were bustling by, silently judging me and getting into my personal space bubble. And out of the thousands of people that attended this university, one person in this gigantic student body had the ability to shake me to my core… one person that I hardly knew possessed the capacity to make me question everything.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful mindfulness exercises, I got up and speed-walked to the Dean’s office, where the short man in his late fifties sat at his desk sipping a coffee, pretending to be very busy. I stood in the doorway, breathing heavily from all the commotion, and he looked at me with wide eyes.

“Isaac Taylor,” he said, ��what can I do for you? You look… out of sorts.”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “Look, Michael… I need you to tell me if you know anything about what’s going on with Casey Peters. I am sure you’ve heard about her… recent struggles?”

Michael sighed and looked down at his desk sadly. “Ah, yes… I can’t say I have met the young lady, but I have heard some of your fellow psych professors chatting about her. A few days prior to her attempting… suicide, the professors were discussing how well she was already doing in her classes. Her very first quizzes she was getting perfects on, easily. A bright young lady, for sure.”

When Michael said the word suicide, he had to pause before he used it… and when he said it, it seemed a struggle- like pulling teeth. Like the word was far too embarrassing, or dark, or upsetting. I guess it was one of those “loaded” words that people can’t seem to spit out, like rape, or gay or depressed. Things that people didn’t talk often enough about. Well, look what happens when you don’t.

“No, I… I mean, yes, she does seem very bright. But what I need to know is, what hospital is she staying at? Is she still there? Can I go see her? I’m very worried that I upset her, and I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Isaac, relax,” Michael said to me, which did absolutely nothing to relax me. “Casey is fine. Her suicide attempt was unsuccessful. She is being cared for.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t have gotten to that point at all!” I yelled, beyond frustrated. I stepped forward; I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my forehead. “Listen, you need to tell me whereabouts she is so that I can pay her a visit. It’s very important to me.”

I suppose I looked pretty serious, because Michael hurriedly gave me the address, and before I knew it I was fleeing the campus on my way to see Casey. I was so anxious I don’t even recall the car ride over- just one giant blur; I may as well have been driving in the rain with broken windshield wipers. I couldn’t decide whether it was my greatest weakness or my greatest strength that I cared so fucking much.

Casey was laying in her hospital bed, pale-faced and eyes glazed over with what I imagined was great sadness. Her fiery red hair was a mess, it looked in dire need of brushing, and her shoulders were slouched. She looked exhausted. For what seemed to be the longest time, I watched her in the doorway, frozen, unable to figure out what to do or say next. How could I possibly say anything that would make her feel better? I couldn’t. I was no miracle worker, just an amateur psychology professor with apparently no ability to use that psychology knowledge in real life.

“Come in,” she said weakly.

I hated hospitals. Well, who liked them? I guess what I’m saying is, I really hated them. I almost had a fear of them- just visiting a hospital or even going to a doctor’s appointment made me sick to my stomach and lightheaded. But I had to be strong for Casey- I couldn’t be fainting now. I stepped into the room, and the robotic beep of the machines had me feeling woozy.

“I am so, so sorry,” was what I finally said to her.

“Why?” Casey asked me, looking at me with genuine curiosity.

“I’m sorry I didn’t sit down to talk with you, and I’m sorry that I got frustrated and snapped at you. I should have been more sensitive. So… I’m sorry.”

Casey shrugged. “I took a bottle of pills. I freaked out. I decided to throw them up… I felt like I was making a mistake. None of this is your fault, or anybody else’s. Please don’t feel bad.”

“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said. “Casey, I’m really worried about you. Do you have family you can talk to about what you’re going through? Friends? Someone…”

“I am fine, Mr. Taylor,” she snapped. “Seriously. I… think this was my wake-up call. I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to stop. So I have to figure out how to make the pain stop without dying. I’m going to get help here.”

I watched her, trying to figure out her eye movements and her facial expression, but then I stopped myself and just tried to focus on the conversation at hand. I tried to listen.

“That’s good you’re going to get help now,” I said. “I want you to know that anytime you need someone to talk to, my door is always open, okay? And I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but you can most certainly hear my story anytime you’d like.”

Casey smiled faintly. “You know how you said October of 2010 was the worst you’ve ever been? Well, last night was the worst I’d ever been. But I think that’s what it took for me to open up my eyes.”

End

[birlcholtz]

for the better

read it on Ao3 (part of the Zimbits Airport AU-verse) (I would recommend reading this on Ao3, actually, because of the formatting, but it’s here too for convenience) (also let me know if the link doesn’t work? bc i’m not 100% sure about it)

Jack’s been planning this day for a long time now. He even made a Twitter account for it, two months ago, and tweeted occasionally to build up a following (it was easier once he got that little check mark thing next to his handle). He has a few thousand followers, which is enough to get the message out, and he even has his tweet drafted.

The first draft of it was ‘hello everyone, I just wanted you to know that I am bisexual.’ Tater had taken one look at that and vetoed it. With every extra revision Jack suggested (adding an exclamation point, saying ‘you all’ instead of ‘you,’ et cetera, et cetera, et cetera), Tater had still shaken his head. So Jack took it to Georgia.

“I mean... it’s okay,” George had said, furrowing her brow at the screen. “It’s a little terse, though.”

“But I don’t need to say anything else to get the point across, do I?”

“Well, no. But it’s still very detached.”

Still, after a lot of reworking (and, okay, George does scrap that entire thing and make him start from scratch), they come up with something acceptable. Something that Jack might even say is good.

And then it all gets ruined at the last moment.

Monday morning at around ten o’clock (he’s been given the day off from practice to sort everything out), Jack opens up his Twitter account, intending to post the string of tweets that he and George have planned out, but the first thing he sees is a tweet from Kent.

Kent V. Parson @kparse

tired of all the marriage proposals from women, so i’m just gonna say it: i am both gay af and not taking offers of marriage at this time

Kent V. Parson @kparse

#sorrynotsorry for stealing ur thunder @jlzimmermann

Jack sighs and texts Georgia before composing a tweet as well.

Jack Zimmermann @jlzimmermann

disappointed in @kparse for ruining my announcement

Jack Zimmermann @jlzimmermann

he *did* already know i was going to come out as bi today, so this is quite rude

And then he leaves it like that and texts Georgia that he’s already gone ahead with the plan. She still hasn’t replied to the first one, so she’s probably either working out or so exasperated with him that she’s just decided not to reply. He also silences his phone, then texts Bitty, who’s back at Samwell.

Jack: I did it.

Bitty: congratulations!! <3 on twitter?

Jack: Yeah.

Bitty: you seem kind of put out?

Jack: Kent Parson came out before I did.

Bitty: hold on i’m going on twitter rn

Jack waits for a little while, long enough for Bitty to plausibly have read both Kent’s and his tweets, and then sends a text back.

Jack: Very rude of him. Now I can’t even be the first out player in the NHL.

Jack: That’s probably why he did it, to be honest. He likes being first.

Bitty: it might also work well for u, though

Bitty: take away some of the backlash maybe?

Jack: That’s true, but it doesn’t mean I can’t still be annoyed at him.

Bitty: yeah ofc, i would be too

Bitty: anyway i gtg to class so i’ll ttyl, take care of urself today ok?

Jack: Yeah.

Bitty: text me if u need anything, have a good day <3

Jack: You too <3

Bitty: :)

Georgia calls him about half an hour later and outlines the steps that the Falconers’ management are going to take, then promises to text him when they’ve released their statement and makes him promise to take care of himself today, just like Bitty. She also requests that he leave the apartment as little as possible, preferably not at all, so reporters don’t try to corner him in public. No sooner has she said goodbye and hung up than Jack hears knocking on his door. A glance through the peephole reveals it to be Snowy, Tater, and a case of beer, and he opens the door.

“Good job today, Zimmboni,” Tater says as soon as the door opens, shoving the beer into Snowy’s hands so that he can hug Jack. “Poots said to tell you he is proud. He is with trainer, pinched nerve. He will be here soon.”

“Everyone else is scrimmaging, or at least they were when we left,” Snowy adds as Tater releases Jack and steps past him into the apartment. “I don’t know if they saw us leaving and decided to let it go or genuinely didn’t notice.”

“They’re welcome to come over too once practice is over,” Jack says, stepping back to let Snowy in and then shutting the door. “But not before they’ve showered. Also, they should bring their own beer. I don’t have enough.”

Snowy nods. “I’ll text them.” He pulls out his phone and texts the rest of the Falconers, but then checks on something else and bursts out laughing.

“What?”

“Parson started a hashtag.”

“A hashtag?”

“Yup. A fucking hashtag.” Snowy shows Jack his phone screen.

Kent V. Parson @kparse

@jlzimmermann It had to be done. #StealJacksThunder

“Great,” Jack sighs.

“But that’s not all.”

“There’s more?”

Tater pokes his head out of the kitchen. “You are talking about hashtag, yes? Many people are using it.”

“Like who?” Jack asks. “And what are they doing with it?”

“Rob Jeffries from the Schooners did,” Snowy says before Tater can answer. “Jack, just check Twitter for yourself. There’s way too many of these for me to tell you all of them.”

Jack does.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles.

Rob Jeffries @rjeffriesnhl

@jlzimmermann Sorry, man. I’m bi too #StealJacksThunder

Las Vegas Aces @lasvegasaces

Proud of @kparse for starting his own hashtag. The Aces organization supports players no matter their orientation #StealJacksThunder

Aleks Olsen @aleksolsen

maybe not first out LGBTQ+ NHL player in league, but am first on Oilers & officially first out aro/ace NHL player #StealJacksThunder

Providence Falconers @pvdfalconers

The Falconers organization stands with & supports our LGBTQ+ players. Congrats @jlzimmermann for starting this whole thing

Las Vegas Aces @lasvegasaces

@pvdfalconers Excuse you, @kparse came out first

Providence Falconers @pvdfalconers

@lasvegasaces Excuse *you*, it was @jlzimmermann ‘s idea. Don’t try to #StealJacksThunder on our watch!

Besides the team Twitter accounts bickering with each other, it just goes on and on and on— NHL players deciding, on the spur of the moment, to come out on Twitter, and all of them using that same hashtag. The one that makes Jack almost drop his phone, though, is a string of tweets from someone he knows very well.

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

Extremely proud of my son @jlzimmermann for having the courage to show the world who he is. Cannot fully express how happy I am for him

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

There were LGBTQ+ players when I was in the NHL, there always have & always will be & now we are free to be ourselves

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

& say what you like @kparse but @jlzimmermann started this, u just made a hashtag :P

Bob Zimmermann @mrbadbob

I’m almost done I just have one more thing to say, and that is: sorry, son, I’m pansexual #StealJacksThunder

Jack looks up slowly, aware that both Snowy and Tater are staring at him. “My dad just came out as pan on Twitter. And he used the goddamn hashtag.”

“I love your dad,” Snowy says as Tater howls with laughter. “Oh, that reminds me.” He taps at his phone, and when he turns it off and puts it back in his pocket Jack checks his own— sure enough, Snowy has mentioned him in a tweet.

Aiden Snow @asnowynhl

@jlzimmermann im gay #StealJacksThunder #sorryjack

“God damn it, Snowy.” Jack doesn’t mention that as far as he knew, Snowy wasn’t out to anyone— him included— before just now. Maybe saying it through a screen is easier for him.

“At least I apologized in the tweet,” Snowy says. “Let’s open that beer, I suddenly have a need for one.”

They do pretty much nothing for the rest of the late morning and afternoon. Poots arrives about an hour after Snowy and Tater did, and the rest of the team barrels in through the door at around four, which is before practice was supposed to end. Jack doesn’t ask. They have, in fact, showered and brought their own alcohol. Jack turns on the TV and somehow finds his way to a TV show about hunting sasquatches, which works well as background noise, and every so often someone pulls out their phone and announces the latest NHL or ex-NHL player to have come out via Twitter. It’s an impressive list.

When there’s another knock on the door a little after six-thirty, Jack looks around, confused. Practically the entire roster is here, except Socks, who’s got a mild concussion and is staying home. Regardless, he gets up to answer it.

“Jack!” Bitty cries once the door opens, practically glomming onto him like a koala and wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck. “I saw the hashtag, and all the players, and your dad— how are you doing?”

“Okay, considering,” Jack says, holding Bitty up with one hand while he closes the door with the other. “I’ve only been looking at the hashtag, haven’t checked any of my mentions.”

“That’s probably smart,” Bitty says. “You can put me down.”

“Do you want me to put you down?”

Bitty considers. “Not really, but my arms are going to start hurting if I keep dangling off of you like this.”

Jack swings Bitty’s legs up so he’s in bridal style. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Fine, Zimmboni,” Tater shouts from the living room.

“How do you know I’m committing a fineable offense?” Jack yells back.

“Is obvious. Bitty is here.”

“Fair enough.”

Just then, a sasquatch-y howl emits from the other room— probably the TV. Bitty raises one eyebrow. “What on earth was that?”

“We’re watching a TV show on locating Bigfoot,” Jack says by way of explanation. “It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and the reenactments are awful but it’s a pretty good distraction.”

“We? How many people do you— don’t tell me, the entire Falconers roster.”

“Yeah. Except Socks— Sokolov. He’s staying home because of a concussion.”

“I must say I never took you for a partier, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, smiling up at him. “We’re just learning more and more about each other every day, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah. Friday evening I learned your deepest, darkest secrets, Saturday I learned how good of a baker you are, Sunday I learned your favorite color, and here we are now. Seems to me we’re doing things in reverse order.”

“Who said there had to be an order?”

“That’s true.”

Bitty nods towards the living room. “Let’s go that way. I want to see this sasquatch-hunting TV show.”

“As you wish.”