say you'll haunt me , ciaran & matthew

[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

today was the day you tried to shut me down ,

Ciaran had been told the day before about his new schedule, he’d have counselling and therapy sessions three times a week instead of two, until further notice. The seventeen year old was totally unaware for the need of change. Perhaps he’d not been responding as much as they’d like him to with Mr Thomas, but, who could blame him, the man was petrifying. That’s one thing Ciaran didn’t understand about this place. Stanfield, it was frightening if you really thought about it. You were basically locked up with a bunch of proclaimed nutters and drug addicts and you had nowhere else to run. It scared the life out of Ciaran at times. He was young, shy, naïve and believed to the highest extent that he didn’t belong here.

All he’d ever done was try to end his never-ending flashbacks and thoughts about Tyler. The pills and the alcohol were a mistake.

The staff seemed to be mixed, you had one extreme to the other – and it confused Ciaran. The lunch lady, now she was lovely, Ciaran liked her. She always commented on his smile and gave him extra potatoes. Then you had the psychotic Doctor’s and crazy nurses. It was like something out of Alice and Wonderland; more like Malice. He’d never thought it’d be like the old, creepy asylum movies.

Ciaran was prone to exaggerating, and in all honesty Stanfield wasn’t that bad. He couldn’t complain, and gosh would he never – he had a room, he got fed, he was allowed television and computer time on good behaviour, his Mum tried to ring him as often as she could – and, Ciaran couldn’t deny that there were some genuinely nice people here. He’d already started to feel like he was making progress with friends.

The schedule lay on the small wooden desk beside his bed – Ciaran grabbed it. ‘Tuesday, session one, half past one till three’. One and a half hours of talking, that was difficult for someone so quiet. Mr Valentine. He sounded nice enough, from the name. Convincing himself that he would be Ciaran made his way to the therapy rooms, which to him, looked a lot like plain office-like apartments.

Room 24. The door in front stood shut. Should he knock? Or was it already open. After a few minutes hesitation Ciaran gently tapped on the wood and pushed the door open. ‘Um, u-I’m sorry if I’m late …’ – his voice barely rose from a whisper, and he silently cursed at his inability to act normal as he looked up from the worn carpet.

[HARLOW ZANE YOUNG]

After Matthew ate his lunch, he started getting ready for a session he had with a new patient of his. Apparently he switched over from another therapist -- Mr. Thomas. Everyone was switching over from him. Matthew had to admit, the guy was pretty scary. And he was sure that he was just fired, as well. And he didn't know if he could handle all these patients. He wondered if they even liked him. They probably thought he was just bullshit and didn't care at all. Hopefully .. Matt looked at the file on his desk. Hopefully, Ciaran didn't think he did not care. He had a feeling this patient would be a good one. Again, Matt was just hoping right now.

Matthew thought it was going to be harder for him here at Stanfield. All the memories. And the struggle to be liked by his patients. He knew that wasn't the part about his job he should be paying attention to, but he didn't want to end up like any other therapists. Eaten. Killed. Disliked. Ha. That sounded very unappealing to Matt right now. He was only twenty-one. He was in their position once. He hated this place, he thought his family hated him for sending him here, and he realized in the end they were just trying to help. Of course that wasn't the case for some others. Matthew didn't really mind Stanfield. It wasn't that bad.

Matthew was lost in his thoughts and didn't notice there was a shadow from the figure standing outside his door. It was cracked open slightly. He looked up though, when he heard a tap and the door opened. Matthew, smiled, looking at the time. "Don't worry; you're right on time, Ciaran. Take a seat." He stood up and pointed to the extremely comfy looking couch across from the chair where Matthew would sit. "I was looking forward to meeting with you. I'm Mister Valentine." He explained, sitting in his chair and waiting for Ciaran to sit so they could get started.

[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

the only hope for me is you ,

From first glance Ciaran was a little relieved. The young man in-front of him, assumingly Mr Valentine, looked barely twenty and at least friendly. That’s what Ciaran was hoping for. All he wanted was someone that wouldn’t insist his daydreaming, stop fantasizing and call him a liar. The complete opposite of Mr Thomas would be quite nice; anything away from that man would make Ciaran relax. His replacement looked promising, and that, was a very good start.

Shutting the door behind him Ciaran shuffled in, pushing his faded faux blonde hair out of his eyes. The hair dye had been Shannon’s idea, his older sister, and he wasn’t going to deny that it looked awful. All he can remember was crying after she’d stopped the shower and burst into laughter. It was awful. And Ciaran, who was pretty much scared of anything and everything most of the time, didn’t dare risk dying his hair a darker colour. What if it turned green!? Far from pretty. For now, he was stuck with the blonde, until it grew out, or at least looked better with age.

Thankfully he wasn’t late, what a relief. Ciaran did not have a good record when it came to time-keeping. His dyscalculia made sure of that – he could barely read a watch and working out how to read the analogue clocks in the dormitories took him more than forever. He managed a small smile and took a seat on the new looking couch, ‘Oh-oh well that’s good- I thought I was going to get the wrong office too … and that wouldn’t of been very good- I don’t like the number 23 ... it smells funny’.

A faint blush tainted his cheeks, and he frowned – what was he even talking about? Not sure how to respond to the counsellor’s introduction Ciaran nodded. The coach wasn’t as comfortable as it looked – the smell of new leather and the cold, shiny feel the material had – it reminded C too much of home. ‘You look too young to be a therapist’ he commented, stating only what was on his mind at the time – in all honesty the seventeen year old couldn’t stop gawping at Mr Valentine’s surprisingly good looks. ‘…What are we going to talk about?’ he mumbled, thinking he better change the subject – just in case he got punished for staring. With a shy blink he let his straightened fringe fall in front of his face again, ‘…you're not going to yell?’

[NESSIEBEAR]

Matthew took a long, hard look at his new patient. Ciaran Stratford. He seemed normal from first glance. The boy was very good looking -- he had to admit. One think Matt actually did like about him was his hair and his eyes. Maybe not a fan of the color so much, but his eyes were intriguing. They showed that there was more to him than just a face. Matthew liked that. He laughed and shook his head. "I completely agree. But then again, that's Mr. Thomas' room." He joked around with Ciaran. "Plus, you can never miss my office. It's home-ish, right?" He winked and leaned back in his chair, slipping his a pair of glasses off. They were starting to hurt him now and he really didn't need them.

Although everything was going smoothly so far, Matthew could tell he might have made Ciaran a little uncomfortable or confused with his words. Except the blush said even more. "You look to young to be a therapist" He heard Ciaran say and it made him snort. "I'm only twenty-one, yes, but I'm not too young. I did go to college, you know. I got a degree." He was only teasing the teen and he hoped that Ciaran could tell from his tone of voice. Otherwise he's pretty much screwed for the rest of the session. From his last therapist, he heard the boy was quiet. He seemed fine to Matthew. Maybe he could just get him to talk like this for the rest of the hour and twenty-five minutes they have.

Matthew smiled at Ciaran's next question. "Well.. I figured we'd introduce ourselves a little. I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me. It's only fair that if I get to know you, that you get to know me." He explained, setting down his notebook and Ciaran's file. He was actually quite shocked by what the younger boy said next. "No. I would never yell at you. There's absolutely no reason too. That's not even being civilized. Unless you want me to act like a monkey?" Matt chuckled, crossing his legs. "Why don't you start off by telling me a little about yourself?"

[CIARAN DYLAN STRATFORD]

well darling you are the only exception ,

Ciaran picked at his nails – a habit he’d yet to get rid of. At least he’d managed to finally stop biting them, after years and years of his mother nagging him. Apparently there was more dirt under your finger nails than around the toilet seat – Ciaran hadn’t been sure if she was lying about that, and he still wasn’t. But, it had helped him stop attacking his poor nails with his teeth. He wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to be here. Mr Valentine did not strike Ciaran to be one of those frightful therapists – he seemed like an ordinary guy. Perhaps teacher like, yet, maybe a substitute, that all the girls had crushes on. Blinking away from his thoughts, not realising he was staring yet again Ciaran spoke, ‘we have a sofa like this’ he shrugged, by we meaning his family back home. He shrugged, the office was far more home-like than Mr Thomas’ that was clear.

Ignoring the urge to ask if he wore glasses for reading or for normal vision Ciaran smiled – he had always thought that twenty one was a bit young to be a counsellor. Or did they not need to go to University – Ciaran was clueless. ‘I didn’t mean- mean to like … call you young?’ he stumbled for words, not making sense. He frowned, frustrated with himself. For some reason the seventeen year old now believed he’d insulted the other man. His snort making the youngster scrunch up his nose in confusion.

Introductions? Ciaran didn’t really do them. His name was Ciaran and that was all anyone really needed to know. He wasn’t very interesting; at least he didn’t find himself very interesting. He was seventeen, born in July and came from a wealthy family that spent too much time shopping. They’d sent him here, thinking he’d get better – and he was just getting worse. That is exactly what Ciaran thought. Not knowing what to say about himself, other than his name, and not wanting to bore Matthew with useless facts, he shrugged again.

No yelling – that was something Ciaran liked to here. He didn’t like it at all when people raised their voices, it often started an argument and arguments weren’t necessary. It usually meant anger, irritation, annoyance – Ciaran was used to causing all those things. ‘I like monkeys’ he laughed, ‘my sister got chased by one at the zoo once-‘. He dropped his gaze – why did he feel happier talking to this guy, surely, he was just doing his job, nothing else. Ciaran didn’t want to talk about himself. There was so many questions he wanted to ask, not answer. Why did you want to be a therapist? What do you think of Stanfield? Have you read my file? Are you married? Do you like monkeys too?

‘I’m not really that great because everyone leaves me’.