24. detach

warning: catastrophic thinking.

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CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

DETACH

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Seeing Claire after more than three months was... different.

For starters, she had grown her hair out.

What was once a short, buzzed head of dark hair was now a thick head of hair, the curls in her hair looking healthier than ever, and as if Dmitri couldn't have gone through more of a fucking reset in time, it was dyed a dark green, the same colour as the walls of her room, the tiny frog on her desk, the cardigan she was wearing.

It was as if Dmitri had missed out on a year of therapy, not just three months, with the way everything had changed since the last time.

"It's good to see you again, Dmitri," she greeted warmly, using that same tone of voice that she always did when she spoke to him, the non-judgemental, impassive but still kind tone. "How have things been with you?"

Teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek, Dmitri shot her a weak smile despite everything, before saying, "It's been okay. I'm alive, so... Some would call that a good sign."

One.

Claire just let out a laugh at that, she always laughed at his jokes, whether they were slightly dark or just absolutely ridiculous. "Is that so?" she asked, her fingers interlacing each other on the table, nail polish coating them, the same green as her walls, as everything in the fucking room.

"Your nail polish is nice," Dmitri mumbled, because what the fuck was he supposed to say? It had been literal months. And shit had only gotten worse since the time he decided that it would be a good idea to stop showing up to therapy and just ghost his therapist.

A small smile spread across her face, and she nodded. "Thank you, Dmitri. Yours is nice, too," she pointed out, her eyes falling on his hands which were doing anything but staying still.

Staring down at his own hands, Dmitri frowned at the way his purple nail polish had chipped off from when Eden had painted his nails, all the way back on Easter. Ten days ago.

"Thanks," he muttered in response, his entire body just aching from tension, from how long he had been stiff for.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what Tariq went through on an almost daily basis, with his constantly stiff muscles because of work, and because that was just how it was for him.

Tariq.

Hopefully he was still waiting outside for Dmitri like he had said he would, because Dmitri was almost a hundred percent sure that he would need him or someone after therapy.

"So, do you want to get right into it?" Claire started, she always let Dmitri lead the conversations, but right now, he didn't feel like leading, let alone talking.

He didn't feel like doing much of anything, really, not when he felt so fucking shit about every little thing, ranging from not showing up to therapy when he was privileged enough to have the access to it, to the incident two days ago, when Tariq had ended up staying the night because Dmitri was so exhausted from all the crying that he couldn't stay up to check on Juno.

"Uh—" was all he managed to say, his tongue nothing but another body part that refused to function even when he wanted it to.

Claire just smiled. When wasn't she smiling? "Okay," she relented, gaze not dropping from Dmitri. Jesus, I'm losing my mind. "How was your break from therapy?"

A break. That was what she was calling it. It was less of a break, more of an I'm too fucked up for therapy, so I'm just going to stop going kind of thing, if Dmitri thought about it.

Still, he just replied with a weak, "It was fine."

Two.

"Okay, that's—"

"Well, minus the increased panic attacks even though I don't fucking have anxiety, the depressive episodes that seem to be hitting harder than usual, Juno injuring herself, and me fucking— sorry, messing practically everything up."

If Claire was shocked at his minor outburst, she didn't show it. She never did.

She just nodded and said, "You can swear."

Sometimes, he forgot that he could swear. Being a teacher for over a year, he had conditioned himself into not swearing around people who weren't his age, and it just stuck.

"Okay. Me fucking everything up," he corrected.

Claire hummed. "Juno injured herself?"

That wasn't a day that Dmitri wanted to ever talk about again, even though it happened just two days ago.

Seeing anyone or anything he cared about in pain never failed to make him cry. Seeing the absolute fucking light of his life in pain? That wasn't something that Dmitri ever wanted to witness again.

"She's fine now," he affirmed, the tightness in his throat not as distressing anymore, because naturally, he could talk about everything other than himself.

The whole reason he was at therapy was to talk about himself, and now, he couldn't even do that.

"And how is Eden?" Claire ventured, she always, always knew that Eden was Dmitri's soft spot. That he would do anything for Eden and Juno, including talk about them at therapy.

"Good," Dmitri muttered, his whole body on fire, flames filling up the entire room. But all he could do was try to breathe through the smoke, and hope that he wouldn't choke. "She and Tariq have—"

He choked.

Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes for a second. Don't talk about Tariq. Don't bring Tariq into therapy.

"Tariq?" Claire asked, curiosity lacing her tone.

Of course she would be curious, it had been so long since he had brought up a name that wasn't Eden, Trinh or Juno during therapy.

"Eden," he corrected. Don't talk about Tariq. We aren't talking about Tariq during therapy. He doesn't deserve to be included in the part where I tell people about my fucked self. "Eden has been really great. She helps me out with shit when Tariq isn't—"

Again.

Before today, he hadn't even realised exactly how often he and Tariq spent time together.

Claire smiled. Why? "Tariq was your ex-boyfriend, right?" she asked. How did she even know that? "You've mentioned him once or twice. And he was the one who called me the other day," she added, her hands still placed on the table. How is she not uncomfortable? I'm fucking sweating.

"Wish I had that kind of memory," Dmitri laughed out despite his nervousness. "Depression memory makes me forget everythin', I literally don't even know what the fuck I ate for breakfast."

"Well, at least you ate breakfast. That's an improvement," Claire said, shrugging her shoulders, and just for a second, Dmitri felt okay. Like he could genuinely do therapy.

But almost as soon as the feeling came, it left.

"Sorry—" Dmitri started, itching to stand up, just leave the room because the fire had spread now, and he had two options: let the fire engulf him, or leave.

Of course, he chose the easy way out.

"Can I— sorry, can I leave?" This is too much. This is too new, it doesn't feel natural. "I need to leave, sorry."

"Of course you can, but—"

Not even waiting for a response from Claire, he stood up, stumbling out of the room and walking all the way back to where Tariq was waiting for him, his eyes closed as his leg bounced up and down, probably to the music that was playing in his ears.

Two very big lies in the span of twenty minutes of therapy was just disappointing, to be honest.

Almost as if he could sense Dmitri's presence, Tariq's eyes blinked open, an instant frown pulling his lips down when he saw Dmitri.

"It's early," was the first thing he said as he pulled his earphones out of his ears. "Is everything—"

"I need to leave," he muttered, the racing of his heart, and his constant shifting between reality and the past a dead giveaway of what was about to happen next. "Tariq. Tariq, just— say my name."

Tariq frowned, and quite frankly, Dmitri wasn't even sure if he was following him out of the building. All he knew was that he needed to leave the therapist's office, for a reason he couldn't even understand.

"Uh—" Tariq began, eyebrows furrowing together. "What?"

"Say my name. I— I need to be grounded, I don't... I don't feel like I'm— like I'm here. Does that—"

"It makes sense," Tariq murmured, pausing in the middle of the hallways of the clinic. Then, he added a soft, "Dmitri. It makes sense, Dmitri."

Sometimes, just someone saying his name was enough to remind himself that he wasn't completely out of control yet. That was all he needed.

Still, it didn't stop the stupid fucking spiral that he was falling into.

Once they were back in the car, he pressed his head against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut to block out everything. Every single thought that was racing through his head.

"Can you—" He began, breath catching in his throat. You're asking too much. "Tariq, please tell me that it's okay that I couldn't do therapy today. Please. Even if it's not, just lie to me, tell me that it is."

Tariq just grabbed his hands which were obsessively picking at the nail polish on them and held them. I should feel something. Just held them, as he murmured, "Dmitri. Of course it's okay. And I promise, this isn't even a lie. It's genuinely okay to not be able to talk in therapy, it's been, what? Months since you last went? It's okay to choke up, it's fine. You're fine."

Again, that was all he needed to hear.

"Do you want me to drive?" Tariq asked, but Dmitri shot that idea down as soon as he brought it up, with a quick—

"Absolutely not."

Letting out a soft laugh, Tariq shook his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Just because I'm scared of driving doesn't mean I can't drive," he defended, and with a roll of his eyes, he plugged his phone into the aux cord and the sound of Hozier's voice filled the air, effectively calming him down.

As Tariq hummed along to the music, slightly off-key but somehow comforting, Dmitri drove, trying his best to not let his mind wander to a much darker place.

"I can't believe people actually call me Tariq," Tariq suddenly mused, his voice brimming with amused shock. "Like— people call me Tariq. That's so fucking weird to think about. My name. Tariq Riaz. The fuck kind of name is that?"

"A hot one."

It was nice that Tariq was trying to distract him. It was definitely appreciated, because he definitely needed a distraction.

Tariq just snorted at that, shaking his head at Dmitri before saying, "No, but like— you get what I'm saying, right?"

Shifting his gaze from the road to Tariq, just for a moment, Dmitri gave him an amused smile, one that stayed on her lips for barely a second. "I literally don't," he said, rolling his eyes at the dramatic gasp that left Tariq's mouth.

Of course, Tariq took that as his opportunity to say, "Okay, I'll explain!"

"Please don't."

There was no way Tariq didn't know that that was a joke. Dmitri couldn't have made it more obvious to him that listening to him talk about the most random shit had turned out to be the highlights of his days, these days.

"So," Tariq began as he shot Dmitri a pointed stare. Okay, he took it as a joke. Good. "My name is Tariq. People call me Tariq."

"Revolutionary."

"Don't interrupt my flow, bitch," Tariq huffed out, drumming his fingers against his thigh, his eyes shining, they always got so happy when he was talking about shit like this. "The fact that people call me Tariq is so fucking weird. Everything is so weird, like, the fact that you call me Tariq is so wild."

Dmitri couldn't even help the smile that spread across his face, the weight in his chest reducing, even if it was by a single hair, and the thoughts that were plaguing him leaving for a split second.

"Would you like it if I called you something else, then?"

Tariq just smiled. "Oh, yeah."

Ignoring the fact that Tariq's smile was so incredibly captivating to look at, Dmitri hummed and said, "What?"

"Daddy."

Jesus. "I will murder you in your sleep."

"Oh, so we're sleeping together now?"

Oh my god. Barking out a single laugh, Dmitri shook his head, holding back his laughs because he didn't want to give Tariq the satisfaction of seeing him laugh at his ridiculous jokes.

So, all he said was, "Shut the fuck up. You had the perfect opportunity to say something wholesome, like Ri or something, but no. Why would you?"

Smile shifting into a smirk, Tariq shrugged his shoulders, the amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Why would I, indeed," he agreed, adjusting the volume of the next song that was playing, lowering it. "You walked right into that one, and you know it."

"Even if I didn't, you'd find a way to make it sexual," Dmitri muttered, a spike of alarm raising in his chest when Tariq didn't reply, coughing into his arm instead, holding a finger up as he did.

Often, he would find himself having to remind himself that Tariq just had a permanent sore throat, a permanent cold. That out of the three hundred and sixty five days in the year, he had a sore throat for a good two-thirds of the days. That he didn't have to worry about something like a cough.

Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "All good?"

Once he was done with his coughing fit, Tariq nodded as he cleared his throat. "All good," he affirmed, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a cough drop, popping it into his mouth.

"Anyway," Tariq said, filling the small silence that gripped them for a minute with a smile and a laugh. And Dmitri immediately knew that he was okay.

"Listen to me have my existential crisis," he instructed. "It's so weird to me that people— well, people apart from you— call me by my name. Imagine that. People call you Dmitri. Your name is Dmitri, there's nothing else that people call you. Like, that's your name. It's so wild to me that... we exist. Y'know?"

Dmitri hummed. Even though he couldn't really wrap his brain around what Tariq was saying, it was nice. Hearing him just talk. More than nice, it was calming. Comforting.

But as natural as the waves at night, the comfort ebbed away.

Well, it didn't just ebb. It crashed away, all at once, the storm after the calm taking place in front of Dmitri's eyes as he neared his house.

Because standing in front of his house were two people he had hoped he would never have to see again, their last interaction resulting in threats of conversion therapy coated in honeyed words, opportunities for a cure.

"Are those your—"

"Yeah," Dmitri muttered, parking his car and turning his head to face Tariq. "What do I do?" he asked, gaze flitting to his parents, they hadn't noticed him park his car yet.

Tariq didn't say anything for a moment, and then, he said everything.

"Okay, clearly you need to get home, and they're blocking your door. If they say anything to you, ignore them and go inside. And just close the door on them. They can't do anything if they're on the other side of the door. Well, they can't do much if they're inside your house either, but they can say shit that's... harmful. To put it lightly. So, try not to interact, and we'll just go inside. Yeah?"

Don't interact, don't interact. "Yeah," Dmitri echoed, stepping out of his car and moving towards his house, the only thing that was even motivating him to get back inside being Juno, and the fact that she was alone at home.

"Ah, Dmitri, I was wondering why you weren't answering the door!" was the first thing his mom said to him, her sickeningly sweet smile morphing into a vile grimace when her eyes landed on Tariq. "Why is the f—"

Mouth not co-operating with his mind which was practically yelling at him to just ignore his parents and go inside his house, Dmitri spoke.

He spoke because even if he wasn't, Tariq was sensitive to slurs like that, and there was no fucking way he was about to let him hear that.

So, he said, "Please shut up," before adding a more lewd, "Just... Shut the fuck up. Fuck off."

Letting out the most dramatic gasp at that, his dad shook his head, eyes wide with rage. These people are out of their fucking minds. "We just came to see how were you doing."

If it were anyone else, literally anyone else, Dmitri would have believed that.

"Doing great, now fuck off," he muttered, pushing past them so that he could unlock his door, Tariq close behind him, close enough such that he could smell the pain reliever ointment on his body.

Of course, his parents didn't fuck off.

"Dmitri... Your grandfather's anniversary was four days ago," his dad began, as if bringing up that memory wasn't going to make him choke up. "We just want to make sure you don't— ah, how do I put it? You don't choose the cowardly way out, again."

Not this again.

Voice hoarse, Dmitri just said, "What?" I hate this. God, I fucking hate this.

Then, his mom said the worst thing that anyone could have said to him.

She always said insensitive shit. Always called him lazy, a coward, irresponsible, delusional.

He could handle that. That was okay. That never hurt.

"People have it worse than you, Dmitri. You don't see them doing the things that you do, because they aren't selfish. They aren't cowards."

This wasn't okay. At all.

And Dmitri went into auto-pilot.

Someone's hands were on his own, probably Tariq's, pulling the house keys out of them. Unlocking the door. Pushing him into the house. Turning around to say something to his parents, Dmitri couldn't hear a word of what he was saying. Entering the house. Placing his hands on Dmitri's lower arms, holding him still, he hadn't even realised he was shaking as much as he was until Tariq's hands were on his.

"Dmitri," Tariq murmured, and that was when everything snapped back into focus, the wetness in his eyes shards of glass stabbing into them, almost spilling over, until he said, "You're okay. You're fine. I'm sorry, your parents are terrible. Not one word of what they said is true, okay? I'm sorry."

"I don't..." Dmitri trailed off, forcing his eyes to co-operate with him and just focus on Tariq, that was the least he could do when the whole world was spinning around him. "I'm not... Fuck, that was..."

Too much. Finish the sentence.

"I'm going to..." Feebly pointing towards his bedroom's door, Dmitri shook his head, the fog settling in his brain.

Deciding that he wasn't going to be able to get a whole sentence out, he just shook his head again, and muttered a quiet, "Sorry."

Then, he walked into his room, mechanically removing his shoes and climbing into bed.

Eyes closed, he just sat there.

He didn't know for how long he sat there, unmoving and lifeless. He knew that Eden had come home from work, that Trinh was home, too, that Tariq was in bed with him, that Juno was on his lap.

He knew. But he couldn't do anything about it.

His trauma had been triggered yet again, this happened every year, and this was always the result. Him shutting down completely, not being able to talk to anyone.

Tariq was there. He was sure of that much. Even though he could barely see, could barely think in coherent sentences, he knew that Tariq was trying to talk to him, trying to talk him out of whatever the fuck was going on at that moment, with words like—

"Hey, Dmitri, eyes on me, okay? What do you see?" and "It's okay if you can't talk right now, just try to feel my hands and describe them to me, yeah?".

Still, Dmitri couldn't reply. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything.

But maybe it was okay. Maybe it was better this way.

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+3410

AN: i promise, i would never give my characters a sad ending. things WILL get better for dmitri and for everyone else, too <3

thank u all for reading❤️ have a good day everyone🥰