28. heal

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

HEAL

—

It was an odd change— going from not attending a single therapy session in over two months to attending two sessions in one month.

As hard as Dmitri knew it would be to do it, he also knew that he had to see Claire soon enough, because his mental health was quite literally in shambles, and he needed someone to help him.

Not to fix it for him, just to guide him as he did it for himself. Or that was what Tariq had told him.

He had always intended on revisiting therapy at some point since he knew that he had to, but earlier, he had never been able to muster the courage to actually book an appointment for the second time, after the first time had ended so badly.

Hopefully, he wasn't going to storm out in a frenzied fit in the middle of this session, too.

And as much as he wanted to commend himself on going to therapy, on taking the initiative to actually call Claire up and utter the words, Hey, Claire. Is there any way I could get another shot at this?, he knew that it wasn't all him.

Tariq had forced him to make the call, had practically held his hand for him while he called Claire to tell her that he was fucked in the brain.

If Tariq could hear his thoughts, that last thought would have warranted him a smack on his head. One hundred percent.

As always, Tariq had stuck around. Throughout.

Even when Dmitri kept pushing him away, telling him that he didn't want, didn't need Tariq to care about him when he didn't even care about himself. Even then.

If there was a way he could go back in time and take back all the things that he had said to Tariq, to everyone in those past few weeks, he would. God, he would.

The rational side of him knew that it wasn't his fault, not really. But at the same time, he also knew that while his depression explained his actions, it didn't always excuse it.

Nobody deserved to have listened to the things that he had said to them, ranging from Can you please, please fuck off?, to Holy fuck, just get the fuck off my back, I don't need you here right now.

While most of the events that had taken place over the past three days were a blur, one thing that stuck out was Eden crying.

He had made Eden cry with something that he had said, he couldn't even remember it now, but it was poisonous enough to make her cry.

That was his biggest regret. Making Eden cry was the last thing that he wanted to do. The absolute last thing.

"Okay, Dmitri," Claire started, snapping him out of his thoughts with a gentle smile, the smile lines of forty years blatant on her face. "Where do you want to start?"

Breathing out a small but nervous laugh, Dmitri let his gaze shift around the room. Of course, nothing had changed. After all, it had only been a little over ten days since he last saw her, it just felt like much, much longer.

His depressive episodes always felt like they were longer than they actually were, more tiring. Probably because he was spending all his energy fighting the urge to cry, curl up into a ball and never leave his room, or all of those things at the same time.

"Claire, I can assure you that I haven't got a single clue of what I'm doing," he laughed out, shaking his head, eyes falling on the coffee stain on the arm of the plush chair she was sitting on. "I don't know how to start, so much has been happening. It's wild."

A short laugh and a nod later, she nodded. "Okay. That's fair. How have the past few days been? It doesn't have to be mental health related, just— life related. Tell me about anything," she urged.

Dmitri had to think about that for a moment, really think about it.

What had happened over the past few days? Everything was a complete fucking blur to him.

So, that was exactly what he was going to tell Claire.

That life was a blur and nothing really made sense to him as of late. That the only thing that stuck out was his depression and the feeling of his chest being ripped apart every time he took a breath.

Until, involuntarily, he said, "Juno's been really good lately. Like— she doesn't cry that much, she even responded to her name yesterday. She's only been responding to shit like baby and sweetheart. That's my fault I guess. I call her everything but her name."

Claire smiled at that, humming to herself. "That's good. It's nice to hear about her growth from you, Dmitri. She's how old, now?"

"Nearly two," he replied, already more enthusiastic since he was talking about Juno. "Turning two on the sixteenth. Of May. We share a birthday."

That was the only thing good about his birthday. The fact that he shared it with Juno. He wasn't even sure when her actual birthday was, considering he had adopted her, but it was a lot nicer to share their birthdays. A lot better for his mental health, too.

Celebrating Juno's life was a good distraction from everything that went down in his mind on that day.

"Anything else?" Claire coaxed, Dmitri's mind drawing up a blank as soon as she said those words. "Anything else that happened recently?"

But even through the blankness in his mind, one thing stuck out.

"Tariq and I cooked lunch yesterday."

Claire smiled. Again. "That sounds like it could have been fun," she said, probably, no, definitely expecting him to go on.

So, he did, by saying, "It's wild how like— he does it so easily. Helping me. I'm not saying that he automatically makes me less depressed, shit doesn't work like that. Mental illness doesn't work like that. But it's just— he just knows how to help me. He knows when he should be more forceful because nothing will get me to move but force, and when he should be kinder with words, because I'm extra sensitive on certain days. He knows exactly how I work, and that's so scary."

Letting out a soft laugh, Claire nodded, adjusting her glasses on her face. "Why is it scary?" she asked.

If someone asked him that question two days ago, he wouldn't have had an answer. But now that he had actually thought about it, he could finally give her and himself an answer.

"Because things feel too normal. And they're not supposed to."

"Why?"

Dmitri frowned. "You tell me, you're the therapist."

A small, amused smile spread across her face, and she shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. "I can't read minds, Dmitri. That's now how therapy works. I can help you, but not when—"

"They're not supposed to feel normal when I'm fucking falling apart. I can't have normalcy when my brain doesn't feel like it's normal," he admitted, a spark burning within his chest, only getting brighter with each word. "I need my brain to be normal before my life is normal."

"Why can't those two go hand in hand? Why does one thing have to happen for the next to happen? Why can't your brain work with your life?"

Snorting, Dmitri shook his head. "Because I'm depressed, Claire."

That was enough to make Claire let out a chuckle, too, her white teeth flashing as she laughed, contrasting her dark skin. "I know that, Dmitri. I was the one who diagnosed you. I'm just asking you why you want one thing to be fixed, as you would put it, so badly, before good things happen? Before normal things happen?"

Fuck.

She had gotten him there, and she fucking knew it, too.

Of course, she wasn't allowed to show any emotion, but when Dmitri had been going to therapy regularly, he had learnt how to read her. And right at that moment, she was proud of herself for cracking him.

"I don't know," he mumbled, running his hand down his face. "Fuck, I don't know. Please don't make me try to figure it out myself, because I genuinely don't know this time. Sorry."

Smiling softly, Claire nodded, handing him a stress ball from her collection of items on her desk. She only did that when they were going to talk about something serious, as a sort of warning, just to prepare him.

"No need to apologise," she offered up, still smiling. "As you said, I'm the therapist. Now, we get to work."

—

Holy fuck, Dmitri was exhausted once therapy was done.

Sure, he didn't cry, but he had used so much of his brain power, gone into parts of his brain that he didn't even know he had, just to figure out why he felt the way he felt, and that not everything was the depression talking.

Sometimes, it was just him. And apparently, that was okay.

"How was it?" Tariq asked once he was out, raising his head from his phone. "Half expected you to walk out of here in like— twenty minutes. Glad to see you lasted the whole hour this time."

"Ha ha," Dmitri stated dryly, rolling his eyes as he continued to walk, Tariq following closely behind him. "It was fine. We talked about you. Very juicy information."

Tariq laughed, shoving his earphones into the pockets of his jeans and shaking his head. "If you think I'm curious, you're absolutely right. But also, as long as you don't want to punch me now, I think we're still good. Right?"

Humming, Dmitri made his way back to the car, beginning his drive to the place that Tariq had been talking about on their ride to therapy, just to serve as a distraction from his nervousness.

"Therapy was... interesting," Dmitri said as he drove, tapping his fingers along to the music that Tariq was playing. "Very odd. I got fucking homework, so that's wild."

Voice standing out from the music, Tariq said, "Homework?" with an incredulous but genuine laugh. "What's the bet you'll leave it till the last fucking day, and beg me to help you?"

"Honestly? I might, since you understand my brain better than I understand it," Dmitri pointed out.

Letting out a huff at that, Tariq rolled his eyes, scrolling through his phone. Finally, he stopped scrolling, finger pausing on something on the screen.

"What is it?"

"People give me so much money," he muttered, continuing his scrolling. "Like, I know that it's because I'm consistent with my shit and because I keep getting promoted by other creators, but do I deserve it? I don't fucking know, man. Shit's wild. Like, it's just my dick. Well, my whole body, but anyway."

Dmitri frowned. "Do you think you deserve it?"

This wasn't the conversation that he expected to be having, but if it was what they were talking about, then Dmitri had to mentally prep himself to talk about Tariq and his body.

"I mean— I guess? Like, this is my body that we're talking about," he stated, like that wasn't obvious. "And I try my best to keep it in top shape or whatever, I do the stupid fucking workouts on the internet, I put in my effort. And more. Like, this isn't the same as performers and everything, but it is sex work. And it is tough to do. But at the same time, is my content worth the support? Who the fuck knows?"

Before Dmitri could go any further with a reply, Tariq continued with a laugh and a shake of his head. "It's fine. I produce content, I do what I enjoy doing, that's what matters," he affirmed, not before adding a small, "Right?"

"Right," Dmitri echoed, pulling over in one of the parking spots near the restaurant, a slightly shady looking one, but he trusted Tariq's judgement more than he trusted his own.

As soon as Tariq's eyes landed on the restaurant, though, his eyes lit up and he was out of the car and pulling Dmitri's hand, holy shit, he was pulling Dmitri's hand, dragging him into the restaurant.

"What's the big deal about this place?" Dmitri breathed out, taking in the place, which just looked like any other ordinary restaurant, with plain blue walls, and patterned blue tabletops.

"Nothing, I just really fucking enjoy the fries in this place," Tariq defended, calling the waiter and instantly ordering fries and a salad for himself.

Not once in a million years would Dmitri have seen Tariq eat a salad before this. Not once.

"Stop looking at me like that," Tariq muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Spinach is good for like— increasing iron and shit, and we all know about my steadily dropping iron levels. Didn't come here to get judged."

Shaking his head at Tariq's dramatics, Dmitri placed his own order, nothing big since he was still fucking nauseated from therapy. Or maybe that was just the regular, daily nausea that he dealt with.

Then, he glanced at Tariq, who was looking at something on his phone, before looking back up at him and shooting him a small, apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "I'm literally hooked to my phone, it's a whole problem."

"I don't really mind," Dmitri brushed off, because that was the exact same thing that he did, mostly to avoid conversation in public spaces.

Before he had told Eden that he despised speaking to people he didn't know, it was common for her to constantly force him to go out with her and her friends from college, claiming that she needed company.

So, since Dmitri could never say no to anyone, especially Eden, he used to go with her but never interact with anyone, and just stay on his phone the entire time, because he didn't know how to interact with people he didn't already know— a curse for him whenever he went on stupid fucking blind dates with people, ones that always ended in them exchanging numbers and doing nothing else with it.

"I don't care if you don't mind, I do," Tariq stated, and that was the end of that conversation, Tariq's voice enough to make Dmitri stop himself from fighting back.

Sighing, Dmitri's eyes began to travel around the restaurant, finally settling on the jukebox, the yellows and greens on it looking more familiar than ever. Wait, is this—?

"Holy fuck," was the only thing that Dmitri said, his eyes still focused on the fucking jukebox, only slightly more rusted than it used to be years ago, still not working, but there for the aesthetic purpose. "How the fuck did I not realise that this is the same fucking place we used to eat at every time we went out?"

Tariq shrugged, an amused smile dancing on his lips. "Honestly? No clue. Was our relationship really that forgettable?"

The opposite, actually. "I'm just gonna blame this on depression memory and move on, because frankly, this is fuckin' embarrassing," he muttered in response, because there was no way he was about to admit that their relationship was anything but forgettable.

Letting out a laugh, louder than his usual laughs, Tariq hummed, nodding. "Well, to be fair, they've changed the place up a lot. And you probably forgot about this place after college and shit, so... Not entirely on you."

Right when Dmitri was about to reply, their server came by with Tariq's fries— now, Dmitri could remember just how much he loved those fries— and the rest of their food.

Fuck yeah, food! Dmitri cheered in his head, and then, Holy fuck. I'm excited about food. This is new.

"Try not to eat it all in one breath," he said to Tariq, watching as he squirted a dollop of ketchup onto his plate, something that Dmitri had always chastised him for, because who the fuck liked ketchup?

Tariq just grinned, pushing the plate of fries in Dmitri's direction and saying, "Take it. Eat one fry."

"Absolutely fucking not," Dmitri dryly stated, taking a bite out of his own sandwich. Fuck, food has never tasted better.

Lips pulling downward into a playful frown, Tariq grabbed the fork that Dmitri wasn't using, and began to poke his arm, kept poking him with a repeated, "Oy. Do it. You know you secretly enjoy my ketchup and fries. Do it. For me."

That was all it took for Dmitri to relent, and he reached over, dipped his fry in the disgusting fucking ketchup, and popped it into his mouth, not even bothering to cover up his disgust as he did.

"Dramatic ass," Tariq muttered, but continued to eat his salad, occassionally offering it to him as well.

And as much as Dmitri wanted to offer him his own food, he knew that Tariq wouldn't accept, one, because he was prone to infections, and sharing food with people wasn't something that he could do without getting some sort of infection from someone, and two, because he rarely ever ate food that wasn't the standard definition of healthy, claiming that he didn't need to add a risk of heart disease to his list of problems.

"Okay, but really," Dmitri began once he was done with his food. "How did I not know I was driving here? Like— the location is still the same, right?" Am I losing my mind?

Tariq shrugged, still eating, he was always a slow eater. "I mean— you were gone for what? Three years? Three and a half? So—" Then, he paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Wait. Where the fuck did you even go for college?"

"Chicago." Wiping his hands on a tissue, he continued, "It wasn't a very good uni, but it was something. Enough for me to get a job back here once I was done."

Ah-ing at that, Tariq nodded. "Chicago. Very far away from here."

Dmitri just shot him a wry smile. "You've seen my family. I would've gone farther away if I had actually gotten into any other universities."

The fact that his family was the main reason behind him even going to college, just so that he could escape them and live independently, was slightly sad if he really thought about it.

Some people went back home to their families for the holidays. But not him. He just stayed in his dorm, all through the year, except Christmas when everyone was forced to go back home.

Even then, he would just book a hotel, hop from hotel to hotel, because anything was better than facing his parents. Anything.

That included using every penny of his money to book hotels to stay in during the winter break, since he didn't want to be a bother to his friends from college, no matter how much he tried to convince the  that he could just stay with his family, that he didn't have to book hotels every time they were sent back home.

"Yeah," Tariq hummed. "Yeah, I have. I don't think you're going to be seeing them around that much anymore, though."

Shock causing his body to freeze up, Dmitri stared at Tariq, rummaging through all the folders in his mind, just to understand what the fuck Tariq meant by that statement. Holy shit, did he—

"I didn't fucking kill your parents, Dmitri, no need to get that far ahead," Tariq muttered, reaching up to push a stray hair out of his face. "As much as I wish I did," he added as an afterthought.

"Well, what the fuck does I don't think you're going to be seeing them around anymore mean, then?"

Tariq just stopped everything for a moment, squinting his eyes at Dmitri, before saying, "You don't remember?"

Oh god. "Huh?"

"I cursed your parents out." He did what? "On that day that you— that they came to your place with no fucking warning. I cursed them out. Told them that they were pieces of shit. That they didn't deserve to be your parents, the usual. Trust me, they were horrified. You won't be seeing them any time soon."

When the fuck did this even happen? "Literally, all I remember is seeing them, they said something to me— I remember what they said, I just don't want to say it—, and then, I was praying in my room," Dmitri rambled, his brain aching from how much he was pressuring it into remembering.

"Oy. Don't worry your brain so much," Tariq instructed, kicking him under their table. "You were completely out of it that day, and seeing your parents just separated your mind from your body even more. Not your fault."

Deciding to just listen to Tariq for once, Dmitri let it go. "But— they could still contact me. They have my number."

At that, Tariq gave him the most exasperated look he could have possibly given him. Then, he said, "Just block them all. Your siblings, your parents— block them."

"But they're my—"

"Your family?" Tariq laughed softly, and with a shake of his head, he said, "Dmitri, Eden's your family. Trinh's your family. These people aren't your family if all they do is convince you that you're a sin. Block them."

It really fucking sucked when Tariq was right. What sucked even more than that was when Tariq was right and being nice to him.

"It's just—"

"Dmitri, no," Tariq interrupted, voice firm, apart from the slight hoarseness to it. "Block them. Do you believe that they could change?"

He didn't even have to think about it before he said, "Fuck no."

Tariq breathed out a laugh. "Exactly. Block them, and I promise you, shit will get better from there."

So, Dmitri took his phone out of his pocket and opened up the Contacts app on his phone, fingers hovering over his mom's contact.

Do it. I can do it. I can do—

Teeth sinking down into his bottom lip, he pressed the block button, and quicker than lightning, he was blocking the rest of his family, his dad, his siblings, and even the extended cousins who always ganged up on him during Thanksgiving. Everyone.

And fuck, he had never felt more free.

"Good job," Tariq murmured, Dmitri's head snapping up to meet his eyes. "Proud of you."

"Yeah," Dmitri echoed, shoving his phone back into his pocket, and giving Tariq a weak, but real smile. "I'm proud of me, too."

—

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AN: it feels so close to the end bc there are only 12 chapters left, but at the same time, there's SO much more to go hehehe

thank u all for reading 🥰🥰 how has everyone's day been?? lmk if u want !!💓 byeeeeee🥰