13. therapy

THIRTEEN

therapy

Sunday, March 16th

Isaiah was struggling. It wasn't a surprise, as he always seemed to be having a crisis. This one involved August (as most did), but this time August was mad at him, so it made everything so much worse.

Isaiah thought that maybe, possibly, he'd gotten over it by morning. So, he sent him a text:

Isaiah: hey, august. I have a question

And August responded with:

August: bitch.

So, Isaiah took that as the confirmation that he was still pissed. He sighed and rubbed the middle of his forehead, trying to decide what he should do. Should he still ask to take him to his appointment? Or should he just leave it alone?

But I don't want him to get hurt. He pierced his bottom lip with his teeth in frustration. Isaiah was good at being a pain, so that's what he chose.

Isaiah: don't forget I still have your address. I'm taking you to your appt you have no choice

August: weird flex but ok, stalker

Isaiah: August, stop being an ass. you're mad for such a dumb reason - if I don't want to tell you, I don't have to.

August: alright. you can take me ig.

Isaiah: yes, your highness

August: 🖕🏼

And despite August's blatant annoyance, Isaiah still couldn't help but like him. It was beyond irritating. How did people deal with that shit? Isaiah wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ram his head against his to knock some sense into him. But he also wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ki—

Isaiah let out a sigh. He buried his face in his pillow and groaned, kicked his feet at the mattress below him, and groaned some more. Maybe he was acting like a toddler throwing a mini tantrum, but he didn't care. He had every right to be frustrated.

He wondered if August could ever like him back. Was it possible at all? He wished he was Doctor Strange so he could see the outcomes and know how likely the best one was.

Isaiah knew he'd be overanalyzing all of their interactions from now on. He was just that stupid. He pinched himself; he needed to stop being so self-deprecating. But he couldn't help it. He was hopeless.

His phone buzzed.

August: come by around 1:15. the place is kind of far and i just wanna be careful. and i'm sorry by the way, really. believe it or not, i really enjoy having you around and i guess i just felt idk sad that you keep pushing me away at the most random times. it's confusing.

Completely and utterly hopeless.

___

Isaiah arrived at August's house around 1:15, just as he'd suggested. He climbed up the steps and rapped his knuckles against the door twice, and Isaiah immediately heard a loud thump in response. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he heard, "One second!"

He fidgeted on his doorstep. "One second," August repeated loudly from the other side. "I'm almost—shit. I—fuck, fuck! What the fuck?"

Isaiah blinked. Had August always been this much of a mess? If so, he hid it well. He leaned against the wall, eyes trained on his feet as he waited. He heard himself thinking, I hope he's not hurt. He flexed his fingers against his pants. Was he hurt?

The door swung open. "I'm fine," August said breathily. His cheeks were pink - a splotchy pink. Isaiah bit back a smile. "I was trying to find my shirt." He pressed his hand against his forehead. "Fuck. I'm out of breath."

"From what?" Isaiah asked. "Finding a shirt?"

"Shut up, I felt rushed."

"All I did was knock."

"Shut it."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"What? No," August replied, shaking his head. "I was being irrational. I'm sorry."

"I could literally feel how forced that was."

"It wasn't forced, Speed Racer."

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling Ashton told him that nickname. "Sure it wasn't, Gunner."

"Ugh," muttered August as he followed Isaiah to his car. "That followed me here? Gross."

"What? You don't like it?" Isaiah asked, watching as August climbed into the car slowly. Isaiah bit his lip. Should he have asked if he needed help? August plopped down with a sigh. Too late now.

August shrugged. "Not really," he admitted. "It was cool for a while, but it got boring. Besides, people hated me back at my old school, so they kind of just made it sound negative instead of positive."

"How so?" Isaiah blurted out before he could stop himself. "Wait, you don't have to answer that. I'm sorry."

August chuckled and leaned his head back against the seat. Isaiah glanced over, watched his Adam's apple bob as he spoke, then quickly focused on the road again. He's so attractive, it actually hurts. Isaiah could think stuff like that so easily, but the thought of saying he found a guy attractive out loud? He couldn't even fathom being able to do that. Being able to be so comfortable.

"It's fine," August said. He inhaled deeply. "People found out that I'd been with a guy before." He paused. Isaiah felt his heart pound against his ribcage, and he could feel his whole body thrumming at his words. Was he...? He internally smacked himself. He shouldn't be thinking about that stuff when August was talking about something so serious. He listened.

"And, as expected, they didn't like that," August continued, voice sounding small, completely unlike his usual self. "I'm not even gay either. I'm bisexual. But they loved to focus on the fact that I happened to like guys too and made a big deal about it. Gunner was originally used to describe how fast I pitched. Then it turned into a joke about how fast I pitch."

Isaiah furrowed his brows in confusion. "What? I don't get it."

August cackled loudly, pressing his palm over his eyes. "I—oh my God. Catcher and pitcher? Pitcher, as in I do the fucking, dumbass. I top. I'm the 'man' in the relationship. I fuck the fucked. I—"

"Okay!" Isaiah exclaimed, reaching over to smack August's shoulder. "I get it! Shut up, oh my God. I'll never be able to think of baseball the same way again."

August chuckled, then pointed at a sign ahead of them. "Turn there," he said, laughter heard in his voice. "And then left. It's the building at the end. It takes so long for my therapist to call for me. Another reason why I wanted to leave so early. Hopefully I can get in sooner."

Isaiah cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay."

August glanced at him once they'd gotten out and made their way to the front entrance. He smiled. "Don't tell me you're still embarrassed."

"I—I'm not."

"Oh, sure," August joked. He reached out to pat his cheek, and Isaiah didn't know if it was just his imagination or not, but he felt his touch linger before he pulled it away. "You're so unaware of things. I don't know why, but I expected you to know those terms, considering your friends."

Isaiah frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think Marcus is considered your friend anymore, but he was the type of straight guy to know all about that gay shit," August explained, shaking his head in amusement. "Straight guys are obsessed with it for some reason. Steve just knows everything, it's kind of scary. And Ashton is just Ashton. He's too curious for his own good."

Isaiah's lips twitched. "You know a lot about my friends. What about me?"

August stopped and met his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, observed him closely, then shrugged. "You're not just a closed book. You're a book that has a lock and needs a key. And I don't think you even know where that key is."

Isaiah faltered. He believed August knew a lot more about Isaiah than he thought he did.

___

Isaiah sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours. August had, in fact, been able to get in sooner. He was called in around 1:45, and it was nearing 2:30 already. He slumped down in his seat and folded the corner of the magazine he was aimlessly flipping through out of boredom. He felt bad for Morgan, who always had to sit for this long, alone.

He was uncomfortable, needless to say. Especially since some woman's kid had a serious staring problem. He was probably around five, and his big brown eyes were zeroed in on Isaiah for the whole hour he was sitting there. At least, that's what it felt like. He didn't know a toddler could be so intimidating.

So when August finally came back out, Isaiah jumped up with relief. August raised an eyebrow at him and followed him out, hands shoved inside his pockets.

"How'd it go?" Isaiah asked, putting his hands in his pockets, too.

August hummed. "Fine."

He frowned. "Fine? That's all?"

"I don't want to talk about it," August mumbled, sighing softly. Isaiah nodded in understanding, and the drive to August's house was filled with tense silence. The blond just stared out the window, fingers rubbing circles on what was left of his amputated leg. His head bumped against the window every now and then, but he didn't react. Isaiah wanted to ask if he was okay.

Isaiah soon found himself parked outside August's house. He watched the other boy silently, fidgeting when he lifted his head to meet his gaze. He smiled weakly. "Thanks, by the way."

"Oh. You're welcome." Isaiah realized he'd seen a lot of August, emotionally. He'd seen him angry, annoyed, happy, even sad. But he still didn't know him; he was like a stranger.

When August nodded and shut the door behind him, Isaiah thought of how red and puffy his eyes had looked.

___

A/N: poor august. ):

question: what are some of your favorite shows?