*********

Chapter 23 - PC Therapy.

“Okay, Brian, you and Justin have an appointment first thing tomorrow morning with Ruby Olmstead, PsyD.” Cynthia advised as she placed the pink message slip on the corner of Brian’s desk Tuesday evening right as Brian was about to pack up and leave for the day.

“You sure about this lady?” Brian picked up the message and looked at the appointment info and address for the Psychologist they’d been referred to. “I got the impression from that doc we saw that PC shrinks aren’t exactly kosher. Although, I’m not sure he was believable either. But Justin’s screwed up enough already. I don’t want someone totally incompetent or with some PC agenda messing with his head any further.”

“As far as I can tell, this one’s the real thing,” Cynthia reassured. “I asked around to all my APC contacts. She has a surprisingly good reputation even though she’s been officially sanctioned by the State Psych Board a half a dozen times. According to the people I talked to, they were pretty much all reprimands for treating PCs outside the PCRA regs. But, on top of being an activist, folks say she’s actually good at her job too. So, I think this is your woman.”

Brian certainly hoped so. He was pretty much at his wit’s end dealing with the moody little shit. Okay, so he understood why the boy had problems, and he wasn’t going to hassle him for that. But Brian really didn’t know what to do. Justin was still refusing to talk to him and, since the night before, he had even reverted to the ‘Don’t Touch Me’ thing. Brian still had no clue what had happened to change things so drastically. He’d asked Michael and Emmett and both had assured him that Justin had been sitting quietly at the table the entire time he’d been in the bathroom with that trick. Nobody had come up to him either. So, what it was that had spooked the kid was a total mystery.

“Just one more thing, Brian. If anyone asks, the appointment is for you, not Justin. Dr. Olmstead technically isn’t allowed to treat PCs. But there’s nothing that says you can’t bring your PC with you to YOUR shrink,” Cynthia winked at her boss, who’d always been vocal about his distrust of psychiatric professionals.

“Great! I’m sure, once she’s finished with Justin, she can help me with this Narcissistic Personality problem I’ve got . . .” Brian kidded her right back, “. . . with my overbearing Personal Assistant who thinks she knows everything.”

Cynthia only laughed and blew him a kiss from the doorway before waving good night.

Brian decided to follow her example and get the hell out of the office. He’d actually had a productive couple of days and was ahead of his workload for a change. It helped that he had his own private art department working from home and that Justin’s work was so much better than what he was used to getting from the VanGuard crew. Instead of a project taking a week because he had to send it back two or three or times, it was done correctly the first time and that was that. Not only did it make Brian look good to his boss and colleagues but he was able to work on a lot more accounts. Which he was hoping would help with his financial worries.

When he arrived at the loft, he found his personal artist ensconced in the usual place on the couch. Brian shook his head. The boy really did need to do something other than sit and draw all day on that fucking couch. He’d have to think on that. Maybe the shrink could help come up with some alternatives. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Hey.” Brian plopped down on the sofa himself and smiled comically at the kid. “So, how was your day, dear?”

Justin offered up his work product from the day for Brian’s review without even cracking a smile. Brian took the pile of boards, shuffled through them briefly without really caring, and then tossed them all unceremoniously aside. He didn’t want to sit around and talk about work. Why did Justin have to be so fucking serious all the time? Didn’t this kid know how to have fun? He seriously needed to learn how to relax. Maybe even laugh a little.

“So, heard any good jokes lately?” Brian asked and then laughed at himself for acting like such a stupid goober. Since when did he try and make conversation? Or tell stupid jokes. The things this annoying little twat was driving him to were ludicrous. “Yeah, me neither,” he capitulated when the youth simply stared at him without a word. “So, no jokes . . . Hmmm. Does anything make you laugh? I mean, there’s got to be something you find at least vaguely humorous?” Justin looked away, his face remaining stoic.

“Shit! You are totally infuriating. You know that, right? I’m asking for one - ONE - little chuckle. Just to prove you actually remember how to laugh. So, what’s it going to take? Videos of fat rednecks doing stupid shit? Cute animals and babies? Laurel and Hardy movies? What?” That last option got the barest hint of a smile out of the boy, which was just enough to encourage Brian to continue. “Well, I don’t do slapstick, so you can just give up on that fantasy. I’m not going to slip on bananas or walk into doors or anything. And nothing that would mess up my hair either.”

Brian watched as the younger man turned his head further to the left so that Brian couldn’t see his expression at all. Maybe so the boy could hide the fact that Brian had finally found something that amused him? If so, Brian was making some real progress. But how to capitalize on it? He looked around him but didn’t see anything else that might further the conversation. The only things within his reach were the kid’s sketchpad, pencil and a pillow that had fallen off the couch onto the floor at his feet. There wasn’t anything funny about that sketchpad full of disturbing drawings, that’s for sure. But, the pillow . . . Brian weighed the possibilities and decided to go for it.

Snaking one hand down he stealthily picked up the pillow, holding it in his right hand a little low down so it was partially hidden by his knee. “Justin!” He said the name emphatically, almost as if ordering the boy to give his attention. And it worked. Justin immediately turned to his right, facing Brian directly.

Which is when Brian lifted the pillow and smacked the boy upside the head with it.

It didn’t make Justin laugh. The boy looked at Brian as if his owner had gone crazy - a little angry for being hit and a lot confused about what the hell was going on. Which DID make Brian laugh. Hard.

Maybe it was just a reaction to all the tension they’d been dealing with non-stop for more than a week now. Maybe Brian really had lost his marbles. Who knew? But, right then, Brian found that shocked and baffled look on the boy’s face to be utterly hilarious. And he couldn’t have stopped himself from laughing if he’d tried. So he chuckled. And laughed. And maybe even giggled. And the boy just stared at him as if he was certifiably insane.

So Brian hit him with the pillow again.

Justin, apparently, did not like getting swacked with a pillow by a cackling demented nutcase. He grabbed the pillow out of Brian’s hands and, in an unthinking fit of pique, he hit the guffawing man back. Brian just laughed harder and fell back so that he was lying there on his back, totally unprotected, and giggling like a fiend. Of course, Justin rightfully took offense at being laughed at that way and hit Brian again. Brian held up his hands to protect his face - or maybe it was to protect his hair, because, well, it was Brian - but he was really laughing too hard at that point to effectively hold the boy off. Justin simply changed his aim a bit and swung from a different angle so that he could hit him more efficiently.

Brian did the only thing a boisterously laughing person could do to protect himself and hugged the pillow-slugger to his chest. Justin struggled to free himself, but Brian wasn’t letting go. If anything, he held on tighter, digging his fingers into the boy’s ribs in an attempt to improve his grip. Justin was a squirmer, though. He was wiggling around like a buttered eel. Brian’s fingers slipped and grappled for a hold. Justin’s shirt got pushed up as they wrestled so that the big hands brushed directly over rib cage, belly, sides and finally ended up sliding along the boy’s spine, down the length of his back until they came to a spot just above the swell of the kid’s ass . . .

*Hehehehe*

Music to Brian’s ears! The kid actually laughed aloud, bucking and squirming even more as the older man found Justin’s secret ticklish spot and mercilessly dug his fingers in until the boy was breathless with laughter and floundering around even more energetically while he tried to get away from the tormenting fingers.

“Stop. Stop! STOP! *Hahaha* STOP!” the kid demanded when it seemed likely that he was never going to be able to escape the wicked tickle attack. “STOP! Please.”

Brian paused in his tickle torture and thought for a moment. “Fine. But you have to do two things for me, okay?” The still-winded boy screwed up his face as if this concession was horribly onerous, but nodded. “First, you have to smile for me,” Brian demanded. “I want a real smile too, not one of those half-assed ones you try to hide.” The corners of the boy’s mouth twisted up a little bit but it wasn’t enough for Brian. “Nope. That’s not it. I can tell that’s not your real smile. Come on. Give it to me or I’ll start in with the tickling again.”

Justin seemed about to demure again, but Brian flexed his fingers just a hairsbreadth - enough to brush against that ultra-sensitive spot once more - causing Justin to gasp. “Stop!” he demanded again and Brian lifted one brow questioningly but kept his fingers poised for another assault. The boy rolled his eyes,  shook his head at the ridiculous heights of silliness and sighed. But then smiled. A REAL smile. His lips pulled back in a grin that showed his brilliant white teeth and gave his eyes a sparkle that Brian didn’t think he’d ever seen before. It was a smile that brought to mind that old cliche about ‘being blinded’ because that look literally lit up the room around them.

“That’s much better, Sunshine.” Brian smiled back, the endearment just seeming to pop into his head without permission but being so perfect for this shiny, happy boy, that he couldn’t stop himself from uttering it. “Much better.”

Justin tried to look away then, but Brian wouldn’t let him. He grabbed onto the boy’s chin and held him firmly in place. Unable to look anywhere but at Brian, the youth stared into the older man’s hazel eyes - really, openly, looking at them - and maybe seeing the man behind the eyes for the first time too.

“Okay. Now, for my second request, Sunshine,” Brian went on, hoping that he’d get equally good results as he had with his first stipulation. “Tell me what happened last night at the bar to make you pull away again. I want to know so I can stop it from happening again. I like you smiling and happy - not frowning and flinching everytime we touch.”

Justin bit his bottom lip and looked up at Brian even more confused. “Nothing happened,” he finally answered after a good two minutes of contemplation. Brian huffed and knit his brows, clearly thinking that the kid was just trying to avoid answering. “Really. NOTHING happened. I just . . . I didn’t like it. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like that.”

“Didn’t like what? Being at the bar with the guys?” Brian asked, cluelessly. “Why would that upset you, Justin? I don’t understand.”

Justin hesitated but then, after looking up into Brian’s eyes again and seeing the genuine honesty there, he tried again to answer. “I didn’t like you leaving me there at the table alone while you went off with that other guy. I don’t know why. I just didn’t.”

“Okay.” Brian gave in and let the boy go so he could sit up again. “I don’t get it, but it sounds like you don’t either, so . . .” Justin pushed himself up off Brian’s chest and sat there, straddling the larger man, still looking confused and contemplative. “Thank you for at least answering me, Sunshine. See, don’t you think this is much easier with actual words?” Justin smiled again, a little reservedly this time but still a real smile, and shook his head in the negative. “Twat!” was Brian’s affectionate response. “Fine. Be stubborn. It’s fine with me. I like stubborn little twats. You’re a challenge.” Brian smiled back, his grin almost as brilliant and unrestrained as his boy’s, before he pushed the kid off him and dumped the little blond off the couch. “Now, are you going to keep up this unprecedented streak of eloquence and tell me what you want for dinner or are you going to make me guess again?”

Just to be obstinate - and because he liked to give Brian that challenge he said he wanted - Justin simply sat on the couch and smiled, saying nothing. Brian ruffled the boy’s hair playfully but didn’t press him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t order dinner without the kid’s assistance.

And, he really DID like a good challenge.

********

“Good morning, Mr. Kinney. I’m Dr. Ruby Olmstead. Please have a seat.” The petite woman with mounds of unkempt mousey brown hair stood up from behind her desk as Brian and Justin entered her office and waved them over to the sitting area on the other side of the room.

Brian towed his unwilling PC after him and seated them both on the plush, overstuffed couch. Justin scooted over until he was practically hidden in the cushions next to the far armrest. Brian sat close to him, ready to give the boy whatever support he needed, but not so close that he would crowd him. They both looked up at the psychologist when she came over and took the armchair across from them.

Brian surveyed this doctor with more than a little of his normal skepticism. She didn’t look like what he imagined a shrink should. First of all, she was relatively young, or at least young-looking. Brian thought she was probably less than forty, which seemed impossible considering the list of all the woman’s credentials that Cynthia had shown him. She also didn’t look erudite or studious. She was homey looking but had a quirky little smile and a glint in her eye that spoke of mischief. Her plain dark blue pantsuit was professional and doctorly enough, but then the ‘Wizard of Oz’ sparkly red pumps she wore with it threw the whole look off. She reminded Brian more of a Hobbit with a capricious taste in clothing than a doctor.

“Dr. Petrie and I spoke briefly about this case, and I have all the medical records he sent over, but perhaps we should start with you telling me what you’d like to accomplish here, Mr. Kinney,” the doctor began, smiling at both men with an open and inviting look.

“It’s Brian, please. I hate being called ‘Mr. Kinney’ outside of work.”

“Fine. Brian, then. I prefer to go by my given name as well. You can call me ‘Ruby’ or, if you prefer, ‘Dr. Ruby’. And I assume this is Justin?” she looked over at the self-effacing blond boy trying to disappear into the couch cushions. “Do I have your permission to address your PC directly, Brian?”

“Of course. He’s the reason we’re here, so you damn well better be willing to talk to him,” Brian scoffed.

“I understand, but as his owner, doctors as well as other people are legally required to get your permission to speak to your PC. I think it also helps to have the PC know that you’re giving him permission to talk to me directly. I just like to get that out of the way right at the beginning. Okay?” The woman said with another of her understanding smiles. Brian nodded and squeezed Justin’s hand - which he was still holding, by the way - to let the boy know he was good with all this. “Good. So, Brian, Justin, tell me why you’re here and what you think I can help you with.”

Brian looked aside at the timid boy and waited a few moments to see if he would say anything. He didn’t think Justin would speak up that easily, but he wanted to give him the chance. When the kid remained mute, Brian took up the narrative himself.

“Well, if you’ve got the medical records, you should already know a lot of what’s going on. Justin was attacked by a former classmate, had his head bashed in and, according to Doc Petrie, is suffering from a lot of PTSD issues related to that.” Brian explained briefly, but when the doctor didn’t step in to carry on the conversation, he felt compelled to add more. “Bottom line, he's afraid. A lot. He doesn’t like crowds - or even people in general - he has panic attacks, nightmares, and basically can’t stand to be touched . . . Although he’s getting a bit better with the touching thing the past couple of days,” Brian held up their joined hands as evidence, smiling at the boy next to him at the same time. “Add to that how he's pretty much terrified of the very idea of sex, and you've got a good picture of what we're dealing with.” The doctor lifted an eyebrow at that stunning disclosure but didn't interrupt, so Brian didn't stop talking. “I just want him to learn to be a little less scared of everything. I don’t want him to be afraid of me. And I would like for him to feel like he can actually talk to me.”

“That sounds like a lot to deal with, Justin,” Dr. Olmstead addressed the boy, trying to give him an opening to voice his own opinions, without any luck.

“Did I mention that he also doesn’t really care for doctors much?” Brian added with a small huff of laughter.

“No. But that’s understandable, what with everything else. So, Justin, what do you think of all this? Are you frightened of all that stuff that Brian listed?” Dr. Ruby asked, again trying to engage the silent PC. Eventually Justin gave a guarded little nod of agreement, which the doctor seemed satisfied with. Turning towards Brian, she asked one more background question. “Does Justin talk at all?”

“Not much,” Brian conceded. “We’ve had exactly two conversations, neither of which lasted more than a minute total. He’s a bit stubborn, you see,” Brian smiled sideways at his PC. “But, we still manage to communicate pretty well even so - I’ve got him working on some stuff for me for work and when we need to discuss it he either points to stuff, pulls info up for me on the computer or just draws whatever it is he has questions about. It works pretty well. In fact, I was thinking about just this issue last night and I thought it might work for here too, so I had him bring along his sketchbook. Maybe, if he doesn’t feel ready to talk, he could just draw? He’s pretty fast and good too. Will that work, doc?”

Brian handed over the sketchbook that the boy had left sitting on a side table next to the couch. Ruby flipped through the pages quickly, noting the elaborate and detailed drawings. She didn’t miss the transition from the work-related drawings at the front of the book to the more disturbing personal sketches hidden at the back, pausing a bit longer on a few of those before handing the book back to it’s owner.

“I think that will work fine, Justin. At least for a start. Although, I hope that eventually you’ll find you can trust me enough to voice your thoughts more directly.” Justin didn’t look up. He kept his eyes focused on the book that was now resting on his lap, opened to a clean page. “Okay. Let’s get started then. I think I concur with Dr. Petrie’s diagnosis of PTSD, which is pretty common after the type of attack you suffered, Justin. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. But it can be very debilitating if it isn’t dealt with. However, I can’t just wave my magic psychologist’s wand and make it go away. I’ll help you all I can, but you’re the one who is going to have to do all the hard work. And I’d like to know that you want to from the start, or we’ll just be spinning our wheels. So, do you want to try this, Justin?”

The boy sat there unmoving and unspeaking for another long minute as he apparently thought through all the doctor was asking. Brian gripped the hand he was still holding even tighter, reaching over with his free hand to caress the back of Justin’s knuckles in an additional tiny, supportive gesture. The way that the kid was chewing at his bottom lip was indicative of the turmoil going on inside him. But neither Brian nor the doctor knew what the outcome of his deliberations would be.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Justin looked over at Brian, examining the other man as if he wanted to dissect him with his mere gaze. It wasn’t clear if he found his answer there, or if the lack of an answer from his Master was what prompted him to decide, but either way, he somehow got the courage to look up at the doctor directly and nod his acceptance of her proposal. He did want to try the therapy, for whatever good it would do.

“Excellent. That’s a good start, Justin,” the doctor smiled down at him, relaxing just a bit herself at this welcome admission and leaning back in her chair. “How about we go back to the beginning of all this then. I saw in your records that you experienced some memory loss as a result of the attack. Do you remember it at all?” Justin shook his head in the negative. “Do you remember your life from before?” Justin shrugged, nodded unemphatically and then shrugged again. “So, I take that to mean you remember some of your life from before the attack but maybe not all. Is that correct?” Justin nodded again. “Well, there’s not a lot in your file about this incident. It seems so random and unexpected. This boy you went to school with just attacked you after a school dance? I understand that you don’t remember the attack, but do you have any idea why this happened? Why this boy,” she looked through the file and found the name, “Chris Hobbs,” Justin flinched just hearing the name, “would have attacked you?”

Justin pulled the pencil out of the spiral binding at the top of his sketchpad and started to draw his explanation. Brian and Dr. Ruby exchanged expectant glances as they waited to see what the boy would show them. It didn’t take long. Justin was quick at his work. When he had a rudimentary drawing, he turned it around so that the doctor could see it right-way-up, and waited.

Brian leaned forward so he could see the picture as well. It wasn’t as detailed as most of the kid’s work, but it was more than adequate to depict the scene. Two boys - one of whom was clearly Justin - sitting next to each other with Justin’s hand on the other boy’s dick.

“I can see that this is you. Who’s the other young man?” Dr. Ruby asked, apparently unfazed by the graphic nature of the drawing.

“It’s Chris Hobbs. I recognize him from the newspaper articles about the bashing,” Brian answered for his boy.

“So, you and the boy who later attacked you were sexually intimate?” the doctor interpreted, getting a nod from Justin. “Then what happened, Justin?”

Another picture, drawn below the first, quickly emerged. This one showed Justin being slammed into a wall of lockers by Hobbs, whose hand was wrapped around the shorter boy’s neck. Justin had added a word bubble coming from Hobbs that read ‘Faggot!’. In the background of the picture were vague shapes and faces, showing that the scene had taken place in front of an audience, most of whom seemed to be laughing at the boy’s plight, without anyone helping.

“Afterwards, Hobbs had a change of heart and began bullying you?” Ruby asked and received another nod from the artist. Then he added a smaller word bubble, these words in lowercase and parentheses as if whispered, reading, ‘if you ever tell ANYONE about that day, I’ll fucking kill you’. “I see. He was worried that you would tell about the sexual encounter you two had and that he would be exposed as being a homosexual. That’s a pretty common reaction for someone just figuring out his sexuality. How did it progress to an actual attack though?”

Another quick drawing and Brian and Ruby found themselves staring at Justin sitting outside under a tree alongside a girl - both wearing what appeared to be school uniforms - with Justin whispering into the girl’s ear. The girl had an amazed look on her face and there was another speech bubble coming from her mouth. ‘No way! CHRIS HOBBS? He let you give him a hand job? I can’t believe it . . .’. It also showed, half hidden behind the tree where they were sitting, the face of a third youth, this boy listening in on the private conversation, with a shocked look on his face.

“So, someone overheard you telling a friend about your experience with Mr. Hobbs and, I assume, it got back to him? That makes more sense,” Dr. Ruby tried to clarify the chain of events. “What’s the next thing you remember?”

Justin flipped to a fresh page and started in on a new drawing. This one was more detailed and took him a bit longer. Which left plenty of time for Brian to sit and stew over the unwelcome knowledge that a fellow fag had been the one responsible for Justin’s condition. Fucking closeted loser. If it was possible for Brian to hate Hobbs any more, he did now.

Finally putting down his pencil, Justin revealed the new picture he’d drawn. It clearly showed a hospital room with him propped up in the bed, wires and a breathing tube all still in place, indicating that he hadn’t been awake for long. Hovering over him, looking larger than life and more menacing too, was Gary Sapperstein. You could see that Justin was pulling away from the man even while still constrained to the hospital bed by his condition. The words in the speech bubble coming from Sapperstein’s head were even more menacing. ‘You belong to ME now, boy! Your father didn’t want some pansy-assed embarrassment like you around so he sold you to me as a Personal Companion. You better get used to the idea because you and I are going to become real good friends. *Zapppp!*’ Brian didn’t fail to note the small electronic device in the Handler’s right hand or the gleeful look on the man’s face as he pressed the button on the Enforcer.

“I see . . .” Dr. Ruby seemed to scrutinize the picture for a long interval. “Who is this man?”

“That sadistic fucker is the Handler that trained Justin for the year or so from when he was contracted out until I bought him,” Brian explained. “And, as you can see from that drawing, the creep’s favorite method of training his PCs is using that torture device in his hand - his PC Enforcer - to electro-shock Justin and the others into compliance. Damned, sick, motherfucking bastard . . .” Brian couldn’t come up with enough curse words to vent all his hatred for the evil man and eventually tapered off into silence.

Justin was huddling in the corner of the couch again, stressed out anew by either the memories or Brian’s reaction, or maybe both. As soon as Brian realized that he was making things worse, he stopped, refocused on Justin, wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him in close for a dose of comfort. He also noted that Justin was holding his right hand in a cramped position against his stomach - a sure sign that The Claw was resurfacing. With his free hand, Brian began to massage the tense muscles, carefully working through the pain he knew he was causing just by touching it in that condition.

Meanwhile, the doctor said nothing as she quietly watched the interesting interplay between her newest patient and the man who was his legal owner. This was not at all the typical dynamic she saw between a PC owner and his companion. Even the ones she’d met that she considered to be compassionate and caring owners had never shown this level of benevolent concern for their PCs. This was something wholly different. In her professional opinion, this man - Brian Kinney - was already head over heels in love with the boy he was holding in his arms.

Which, considering the legal reality of Personal Companion ownership, could prove to be a very difficult thing for these two . . .