Chapter Text
Jujutsu Institute, psychiatric rehabilitation clinic
31/06/2007, 02:47 p.m
— Your therapy sessions will take place three times a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. As we progress with treatment, they may reduce to twice or once a week until you’re discharged. Does 4:00 pm sounds good for you?
Suguru Geto heard these words without really paying attention, distractedly playing with a loose thread on his shirt.
He hated every second of this.
— Do I have a choice? — he replied irritably, crossing his arms and glaring at his new psychiatrist.
The man chuckled lightly, jotting something down in his notebook.
— I’m just talking about the time, Geto. If you prefer, I can switch you to the morning shift, but it would have to be before 9 a.m becaus—
— Four’s fine. Okay. — He clearly didn’t care. — Can I go now?
Dr. Masamichi was an experienced psychiatrist who had worked with hundreds of teenagers like Suguru. He knew that behind that scowl and sharp words was a scared, vulnerable boy, far from his family and friends.
The institute wasn’t an asylum, but most people didn’t understand the difference. That’s why the psychiatrist needed to make it clear the boy didn’t need to be so resistant.
— I’m here to help you, Suguru.
— I don’t want help. I just wanted to fucking die.
— But you didn’t die. — The man offered a reassuring smile. — And I can’t wait for the day you realize that was a good thing.
Suguru fell silent. He would never see his suicide attempt that way, he actually saw it with a lot of frustration. He felt useless, unable to succeed at the one decision he’d made with 100% certainty in all his life.
Before, he’d considered himself just a failure, but now, in addition to being a failure, he was also sick.
"I hope they do lobotomies around here"
The tension in his jaw revealed the discomfort of being there. Masamichi didn’t miss it.
— How long do I have to put up with this crap?
— Until you stop being suicidal.
The boy laughed sarcastically.
— I’ll be here forever.
— Great! That way, we’ll keep each other company! Maybe we’ll even become friends. What do you think?
Suguru didn’t respond, staring at him with boredom and not believing a single words. As if a renowned psychiatrist would really want to be friends with an 18-year-old suicidal teen. He was just saying that because it was his job. He's beeing paid for that.
"I bet the day I’m discharged, you’ll cry with relief for never having to see me again."
— Well — Masamichi continued, realizing his patient was too absort in his own thoughts —, I think we’re done for now. Your parents are already aware of how your treatment will proceed and what medications you’ll take. Here’s your weekly schedule. — He slid an activity schedule across the desk until it was in front of Suguru. — I included some activities that might help with your depression. We have group discussions, outdoor activities, and even animal therapy. At the far end of the garden, there’s a small farm. Stop by sometime to see the rabbits and the sheep.
— Sure — Suguru replied flatly as he took the paper.
Playing farmer was definitely not a priority at a time like this.
He was already heading toward the exit when he heard his name called again.
— Oh, Suguru!
— What? — He turned around with a scowl.
— One of my patients will show you around the place, to help you get familiar with what will be your new home.
"New home."
It didn’t feel like a new home.
Then again, what was it like to feel at home?
Come to think of it, he’d never felt like he truly had one.
Suguru didn’t respond.
— I already called him; he’s waiting for you outside. — Masamichi folded his hands on the desk. — You can finally go now.
Suguru headed for the door again, but before leaving, he looked at the doctor and said:
— You should get new glasses. Those are really fucking ugly.
The doctor kept his friendly smile as he watched the boy leave, waiting a moment before letting out a long, tired sigh.
— I just love working with teenagers.