Playing His Own Games | ✔︎

chapter thirty-six | beautiful catastrophe

WARNING: Sexual scenes at the end of chapter.
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"Your touch is a beautiful catastrophe.
It sets my skin on fire,
floods my veins with blood,
makes my bones tremble
and leaves me struggling for breath."
*•*•*•*

Mason

I HAVEN'T BEEN HOME IN an entire week, devoting most my time accompanying Carrie at the hospital or crashing at Chase's place.

The rest of my days are typically spent trying to convince my psychiatrist that I'm fine, while she insists I should be admitted into a psychiatric hospital for a few days to establish a sense of stability and safety.

It's Saturday afternoon and, once again, I find myself sitting upright on a soft sofa, with the collar of my shirt scratching at my sweating neck and my eyes trained on one particular stain in the grey carpet. My fingers weave in and out of each other, grazing over the scars covering my knuckles.

After the medics had rolled Carrie out of the house in a stretcher, I sat in the ambulance with my chin tucked into my knees, trembling violently until we reached the hospital. From there, I was then taken into a seperate ward to be put under suicide watch. I begged and pleaded—fell on my fucking knees—to make sure they didn't contact my father. By that point Eleanor Wright, my psychiatrist, had entered and witnessed the whole situation singlehandedly. She got a general gist of what was happening.

"So, Mason, how are you feeling today?" Eleanor asks, shutting the door behind her as takes a seat opposite me, sitting her briefcase by her heel.

I give her my trademark shrug and say, for what feels like the hundredth time, "I feel fine."

Unconvinced, she clasps her hands together and leans forwards. "We both know that's not true."

"Then why ask me?" I snap, my eyes flashing dangerously.

"Mason, I can't prescribe you any medication or treatment without parental consent," she reminds me with a pained grimace. "You haven't been home in nearly over a week and from what I've gathered, nobody seems concerned of your absence."

"Eleanor, I should be paying hundreds of dollars to have these 'sessions' with you, but I haven't even reached into my wallet since I've gotten here," I tell her, desperate to escape this room.

"Mason, our sessions last the best part of ten minutes and these are different circumstances. I understand you, as an individual, are not financially stable enough to pay those bills and contacting your family could put your livelihood at risk.

"I care about your safety and wellbeing. Not a single life is invalid and I will stop at nothing to save and protect you. Human life is valuable and precious, Mason. As Bil Keane once said, 'Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future, but today is a gift. That's why it's called the present.' Hold onto that hope, onto that little strand of light and allow that to stop yourself from being held hostage within your mind. You have to push through the pain, Mase, as hard as that is. You have to keep moving, keeping pushing through and fighting with every breath in your lungs because you are worth fighting for."

Snapping my eyes shut, I cross my ankles and lean back into the couch, pushing away Eleanors words. If I open my ears to her suggestions, that means I have to try and I'm so fucking sick of trying. Why try when you will inevitably be swallowed up by a cloud of gloom and destruction? "Isn't this, like, illegal? A professional talking to an non paying client? Why aren't you referring me to social groups or something?"