Page 2 of Sweet Thing

Simeon pondered on his internal dialogue. Yes, that man had tried to destroy Simeon and all that he’d loved. Sim hoped his demon was now gone now, beaten back into the darkest recesses of his psyche and that is where Simeon wanted him to stay.

Sim preened before his departure, running his fingers through his silky, long black hair. He’d been considering getting his hair cut, new me, new look, but he was strangely reluctant to let go of the length. Simeon was about to begin the journey of rediscovering himself; he knew it would not be an easy road. He tied his hair into a tail and then left the bathroom.

Sim collected the two small cases containing everything he’d needed for the three-month inpatient stay and without a backward glance, he left the room.

****

Simeon strode with an easy, long-legged gait down the corridor to the clinic reception area. The feeling of being in a hotel continued here, with plush carpets, side tables with fresh flowers and walls decorated with art. Simeon dropped his bags at reception desk and told the nurse he was to see Dr. Schroeder. The Dr. was buzzed and opened his office door across from the desk.

“Ah, come in Simeon, please, take a seat”, he greeted, standing back and beckoning Sim into his office.

Dr. Schroeder was in his late forties, with a full head of dark hair. He had the chiseled appearance of an older man’s Mail Order catalog model. During their sessions, when his mind wandered, Sim often imagined Dr. Schroeder standing in a vest and tightie-whities, with his hands on his hips and a studious grin.

Simeon took a deep breath to settle his nerves and entered the office. Again, there was nothing clinical about the office. It was decked out with contemporary furniture and art was displayed on the walls. A series of large sash windows looked out into the sylvan grounds of the clinic and drew cleansing daylight into the room. Sim made for the brown sofa, loaded with scatter cushions. He sat, and Dr. Schroeder took to his leather wingback chair opposite. The Dr. reached to the side table on which his tablet computer lay. He picked it up and began tapping on the screen.

“This is a wonderful day, no? How are you feeling Simeon?” He asked, with a heavily Swiss-accented, but gentle voice.

“Umm… Okay, I guess. A little nervous, but… well.”

“Have there been any episodes in the past twenty-four hours, panic attacks, cravings, challenging feelings?”

“No, I’ve been calm… relaxed. I feel good.” Sim’s mind rewound to the memory of Karl’s cum pulsing down his throat minutes before. His mouth twitched, aching to smile.

“That’s wonderful Simeon. Now, you understand that this is our final session and you will be discharged into the care of Dr. Neuhaus and your father?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“We have been very happy with the way you have responded to the treatment. Although there have been several setbacks, you have already begun to confront some very difficult personal issues.” The Dr. opened Simeon’s computer file and was silent for a moment as he scrolled through the medical notes. Simeon sat with his hands in his lap, his heart thudding with nerves.

“Tell me, what do you understand of your diagnosis?” Dr. Schroeder asked.

“Umm… I have an Addictive Personality Disorder”, Simeon replied softly.

“And what does that mean?”

“Issues with impulse control, addictive behaviors.”

“Correct, but it is more complicated than that. People who experience addictive personality disorders typically act on impulses and cannot deal with delayed gratification. You are very sensitive to emotional stress, and you have trouble handling situations you find frustrating, even if the event is for a very short duration.” The Dr. paused for breath; he glanced down at the tablet screen and then continued his appraisal.

“When you feel insecure and stressed, your mind has difficulty coping, so it reverts to unhealthy behaviors to blank out difficult feelings. In the past, you have chosen drugs, alcohol, and the internet. You understand now that you cannot revert to those behaviors anymore.”

“I know. I know I have a problem. I’m very lucky that I don’t have HIV or Hepatitis”, Simeon huffed petulantly in a sing song voice.

“That’s not the only issue,” The Dr. said seriously. “Simeon, you are only twenty-four years old, but you have the liver of a fifty-year-old.”

Simeon’s hand covered his mouth as he gasped. It was the first time he had heard this phrase The liver of a fifty-year-old.

“Any more alcohol will kill you,” The Dr. continued. “I cannot be any clearer than that. Your body has fared remarkably well, considering the abuse you have put it through, but this cannot continue. You have been given a second chance at life, Simeon. You have the choice to embrace it or destroy it.”

Sim’s eyes began to water as the weight of the Dr.’s words anchored in his heart and swirled in his head. He thought about the bad dreams he’d had in his first few weeks at the clinic. Of his Papa and Pieter standing at his graveside, shaking their heads in disappointment. The image had haunted him.

“Dr. Schroeder, I know I have many people who care for me. I don’t want to let anyone down again.”

“Simeon, you have to want to be well for yourself, not for anyone else. I believe you have every chance of living a long, healthy life, as long as you continue to open yourself to the treatment. Dr. Neuhaus will be living with you for the next three months to ease your return to normal life. We will continue with therapy sessions and devise a daily routine to give you some structure”, he explained.

Initially, Simeon thought the rigid routine of the clinic would bring out his notorious rebellious streak, but he’d found the institution strangely comforting. He looked forward to knowing he had to get up at seven a.m. run, and then spend an hour in the gym before a shower and breakfast. His meals were healthy and delivered on time. Choices were limited, and instead of feeling constricted by the rules, Sim submitted to them and took comfort in the mundane routine. He feared the real world now, the world in which there were innumerable choices and anything could happen. The world in which he could not partake in so many of the pleasurable distractions that he’d abused to escape his feelings. There would be no clubbing, no bars, no pills, and no booze. Simeon’s internet usage would be limited and monitored. He wanted to get better; he wanted to make amends and wanted to prove to himself that he was indeed worthy of this second chance at life—and of being loved.

****