Page 24 of Disgrace

Maybe that wasn’t exactly the right word to use, but it was all John felt like offering at the moment. Packing up his few things to leave Clearview had felt a lot like when he left prison almost a year ago. Different circumstances, sure, but the emotions and how he felt them were still very much the same in a lot of ways.

Relief as he pulled the few photographs off the wall, and anxiety as he exited out of the bars that had kept him locked up for years. Anticipation, too, at the idea of freedom, but knowing he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

This time had been months.

It also wasn’t prison.

Yet, those same emotions plagued him. Those same worries about the outside, life, and even his family were forefront in his mind. Like little needles sticking in his brain, and staying like that for far longer than he wanted them to.

No matter what he did, he could not remove that strange sensation. At the same time, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to, either. Although uncomfortable, it was still comforting in its familiarity.

No, Clearview hadn’t been a prison. Leaving the place was still very much a variable unknown to John.

Funny how it still felt the same.

Leonard pulled out a form from the inside pocket of his white lab coat, and waved it in the air to catch John’s attention. “Your probation is all set again. Of course, we had to pull some strings when you were first admitted as to not break your probation.”

“Yeah, thanks again for that.”

“No thanks needed.”

Leonard handed over the form, and John opened it up. Looking the document over, it seemed that Leonard had finally been listed as John’s official registered therapist for the unforeseeable future. Well, for after his release from Clearview.

The form listed approximate appointment dates, and Leonard’s signature was heavy and bold on the bottom of the paper. A sign of the doctor’s agreement to follow the letter of the law where John’s probation was concerned, and report him to the probation office should he stop attending his appointments.

“Would you really report me?” John asked. “If I didn’t show up to my appointments, I mean.”

Leonard chuckled. “Should I, John?”

He looked over at the therapist. The man simply raised a thick, white eyebrow in response, waiting for John’s answer. Leonard was too good at this shit, but frankly, John was more grateful to this man than anyone could possibly know.

“Thank you for giving my parents an answer all those years ago,” John murmured. “I imagine it can’t be easy to tell someone that their kid is—”

“Not crazy. Not in need of a cure to be curable. Don’t say those things.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then what?”

John smirked. “I was just going to say bipolar, actually.”

Leonard nodded, and the man’s gaze turned pensive for a moment. “I know you may have felt like I sentenced you to something you did not want back then, John, but I hope in a way that you found relief in having the right answer, too.”

“I did—it took a while.”

“Sometimes it does for those with bipolar.”

“But thank you.”

Leonard waved a hand high, and settled back into the bench. “No thanks needed.”

“You didn’t answer my question, by the way. I’m emotionally unstable sometimes, but not dumb or stupid.”

The older man laughed hard and loud, and his sharp gaze cut to John in a flash. “Which question—whether I would report you or not for missing appointments with me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you didn’t answer me, John. Should I report you?”