Chapter 9

"Are you still having…" Dr. Kern pauses, as if he's choosing his words carefully, "…bad dreams lately?" 

Dylan can almost hear the doctor's unspoken words. 'Dreams bad enough to make you run out of your room and throw yourself out of the balcony.' He shakes his head, just a slight shift from left to right. That should be enough to get his response across.

His eyes are locked on the pendulum at the center of the coffee table and he wonders if the doctor uses it to hypnotize other patients. It's mesmerizing, makes him feel sleepy, like his mind is drifting off to the clouds.

"Are you sure?" The incredulity in Dr. Kern's tone sounds like nails scratching ove a chalkboard.

Dylan hands clench on his lap, fists digging into the fabric of his jeans. He hates it when the doctor speaks like Dylan is some fucking pathological liar whose brain he needs to dissect to physically extract the truth out of him. Dr. Kern is an asshole. Dylan takes comfort on that knowledge and nods his head in a silent 'fucking yes, I'm sure.'

"I believe you," Dr. Kern says and—

What?

His head snaps up to meet the doctor's eyes because that's something new. Normally, Dr. Kern acts like a sorry excuse for a psychologist whom Dylan believes doesn't live up to the etiquette of his practice. But there's something comforting about the doctor's presence today. That alone makes the hair at the back of his neck bristle.

"I'm just worried. You've never shown any signs of REM behavior disorder before." The doctor quickly adds, "Rapid eye movement behavior disorder," when Dylan's brows furrow. "The test results show you've never had one in the past two weeks." 

Dr. Kern had placed him under sleep study after the incident two weeks ago, so Dylan figures that's the 'test' the doctor is referring to. 

He wants to tell Dr. Kern about this dream he had last weekend but Dylan worries he'll be placed under another series of tests and he has had enough to last him a lifetime, so no thanks. He just wants to be left alone in peace.

The doctor stares at him like he's trying to decipher some freaking code written all over Dylan's face, his expression balancing between worry and doubt. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Dylan?" 

Fuck. Dylan wonders how transparent he can be. Or maybe… maybe Dr. Kern is some mind reader shit pretending not to know what Dylan's thinking.

The initial instinct is to be defensive so Dylan starts to shake his head. But then he thinks, Whatever the hell, and parts his mouth to speak, words untangling around his mind. 

"I had a dream." As soon as the words leave Dylan's mouth, the scene from the dream starts playing like some fucking movie in his head. "I was chasing a shadow and I was too afraid to lose it. So I jumped as a desperate attempt to catch it."

Dr. Kern's expression turns impassive. He doesn't say anything about Dylan's dream, just asks, "What do you think that dream is trying to tell you, Dylan?"

Fuck, how would he know? Dylan doesn't say anything, doesn't give Dr. Kern the satisfaction of an answer. The doctor continues to talk but his voice is reduced to nothing but a buzz in Dylan's ears. 

An hour passes. Or maybe just half. Dylan's mind drifts away from the session, lingering in the familiar, empty space.

When Dr. Kern says, "Maybe we should try to get you to a family therapy," Dylan snaps back to reality.

He glares at the doctor. "Family therapy?"

There's a guarded look that passes over Dr. Kern's face. "A session with your family. They want to do what they can to help you, Dylan."

"No fucking way." Guilt crawls its way into Dylan's chest when he imagines how worried his mom probably is, how not knowing what Dylan's going through is probably killing her inside. But Dylan can't let her see him like this. He's not sure if he'll be able to bear the pity or worry or disappointment that he might see in his mother's eyes. Guilt claws at his heart. She's had too much to bear — his father and Sean's deaths. And now him.

It suddenly becomes cold in Dr. Kern's office.

"If you don't want to do it for yourself, at least do it for your mother." The rationality in the doctor's words hacks through Dylan's conscience.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Of course, he'll do anything for his mother. But not this. He can't drag her down with him.

*

Dylan saw him for the fourth time. He refused to acknowledge that this guy was the reason that had him coming back to the coffee shop, but….

"Nice to see you back here," the guy said, his eyes a striking ocean blue and Dylan felt like he was drowning in the depth of the guy's gaze. "I missed you yesterday."

"I uh—" Dylan raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Excuse me?"

The smile that took shape on the guy's lips made Dylan's heart flip. "I've seen you around here every afternoon since Monday. I just thought you'd come here regularly."

"Oh." Was this guy flirting with him? Not that Dylan minded. It was just he had never done this — this flirting thing since…

Dylan pushed the thought out of his head. "I had to work late yesterday," he explained, lifting the cup of coffee against his lips to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The guy holds out his hand and says, "I'm Saxon, by the way. Saxon Luskee." 

"Dylan. Friggs." A shiver crawled up Dylan's arm when he shook Saxon's hand. He realized that he’d held on longer than he should have when Saxon cleared his throat.

"Well. Enjoy your coffee and scones, Dylan." 

Saxon was about to take a step away from his table when Dylan said, "Wait," unable to stop the words from jumping out of his mouth. "What time do you get off from work?"

The dimples in Saxon's cheeks appeared when his smile widened. "In a couple of hours."

Dylan's insides twisted in knots. "Can we um… maybe hang out after?"

Saxon shrugged. "Sure."