I got my lips pursed kissing the mascarons

Featherstone wanted to begin 'removing layers'. Gareth couldn't heal if he didn't come to grips with the damage done. That was fucking hilarious. Heal. If Gareth had possessed any confidence or the slightest sense of self-worth he might have actually laughed. Heal. From shit that was worse than the living hell he could already remember? It really didn't matter who was to blame if those fucking memories were permanently in your head.

He mentioned to Dr. Azzawi that he felt that things were being rushed. She agreed. Until she had a talk with Featherstone. Then it changed to 'If it becomes too uncomfortable, tell him.' and that was a betrayal that hurt him badly. She knew he was incapable of being assertive. She knew. She had tried to reassure him by pointing out that Featherstone was one of the very best. Apparently nobody understood that Gareth O'Shea had justifiable reasons to be afraid. He had a horribly clear memory of his tenth birthday. Of spending the day being gang raped by his grandfather and his friends. Of being forced to have sex with a dog.

If he remembered that, just what exactly was there in his past that he couldn't face? How or why would anybody want to find that out?

.

"Zeus, how is any of this going to fucking heal me?" Gareth asked as they drove towards a dreaded session. Only his meds kept him from just collapsing entirely. "I'm not seeing how finding out even worse shit was done to me is going to make me less anxious or depressed!"

"He's an expert. He knows what he's doing. I mean there's clearly a reason to it." Zeus said but didn't sound entirely confident either. "Maybe it's necessary to, you know, give you new tools. For coping."

Gareth accepted defeat. He was already a burden to his partner. He had a thousand and one quirks. He was triggered by so many things that he literally couldn't keep track. Zeus was patient beyond all reason and incredibly generous with his compassion and love. He deserved better than Gareth was currently capable of giving. It would be selfish on his part to not take steps to become who Zeus deserved.

.

"We need to address some of these things that trigger negative reactions but for which you seem to have no explanation." Featherstone told him as they prepared for an absolutely bizarre 'field trip'. "I'll be right there. It will be safe. We will face this together."

Gareth didn't say just how stupid that statement was. Featherstone didn't have a physical aversion to the smell of diesel exhaust, grease, and oil. He wasn't the one who would feel nausea. He wasn't the one who would vomit if they stayed around the smell for long. Gareth already knew how to deal with this 'issue'. He stayed the fuck away from truck stops and rest areas.

So here they were getting ready to go to the 76th Street Diner. But not to the part Gareth was comfortable in. No, of course not. They would be going out back, into the truck parking area. It was a chilly September day. Trucks would be idling. It was going to be bad. That wasn't a self-defeating or counter-productive mindset. It was acknowledging reality.

He went along against his will. But most of his life worked that way. He had gone through the 'excercises' meant to balance him during the drive over. He grew increasingly upset as they drew nearer to the diner. By the time they were pulling into the lot he was mentally paralyzed. His mind knew nothing but dread. He didn't have fight or flight instincts. Neither had ever been viable. Instead he was frozen inside. Knowing there was no escape.

Not a single coping skill helped him when he stepped out of the car. His heart was already hammering and his bowels were cramping. Nevertheless he obeyed directions. Because that was HIS survival tactic. Do nothing to antagonize. Submit and hope there would be less pain that way.

Then he saw The Man. An ordinary trucker. Lanky, in jeans with a leather vest. Dirty hair in a ponytail and scruffy beard. Gareth didn't feel his bladder release its contents. The trucker looked his way and Gareth collapsed like he'd been poleaxed as he was hit by the worst panic attack of his life. His vision became bright flashes and blurred colors, there was a ringing in his ears, he began hyperventilating, and curled into a ball upon the dirty pavement. His muscles contracted so tightly he could feel his bones creak from the strain.

He was dying this time, he was finally dying and all the pain would finally end. He was going to Hell and and there would be a whole new set of pain there and he didn't care. He was going to Hell where he belonged. God must have finally grown tired of inflicting misery on Gareth O'Shea. He had never been a good boy. He had always been evil and filthy and foul. He had been doomed all along. He had never stood a chance.

He heard himself screaming and wondered how he had the breath for it. He could also hear his mother laughing. Laughing and laughing and laughing because although Gareth O'Shea begged God for mercy a thousand times there never was any. His mother was what God had given to him so that he would never forget just how bad he truly was and she loved his suffering just as much as she hated her only child.

.

Featherstone was fired by Zeus after Gareth was admitted to the psychiatric unit again. Having undergone a trauma induced psychotic break. And this one was far worse because this time a door had opened and what it let through was an ugliness that nobody should ever have to face.

He was trapped in a nightmare facing a monster far worse than his grandfather. He was there with the monster that had prepared him for, and given him to, his grandfather. He was there with the beast that had tortured him relentlessly in every possible way.