Got Yourself A Gun

 

 “Let me tell you one thing,” Node mumbles out, barely perceptible to Sorata across the coffee-table-length distance. “Those pills you prescribed? They aren’t workin’.”

Sorata takes in his patient again, his face schooled to be impassive. He raises his brows, and takes note of how fidgety Node is today, probably trying to ease up on the chain smoking in Sorata’s office. It’s a nice gesture, and Sorata wants to thank Node for making an attempt, but he knows Node will take it too far and think of the appreciation as something more.

“You don’t got anything to say to this?”

“It takes weeks for the medication to properly work in your system and show results,” Sorata starts after a pause. “It’s not that uncommon for it to extend out toward months of integration.”

Node reacts to this loudly and callously, as he does with most things that don’t appease him immediately. He swipes at the air as if there was a fly nearby that insulted him. “Why couldn’t you just write out some benzos for me? Something-- something quick. I’m drowning out here.”

Sorata’s eyebrows raise again, and Node rolls his eyes at seeing this gesture, then sinks further into his spot in the chair across from Sorata, turning sulky.

“You say you’re drowning. Do you think this is due to your work responsibilities, or your family?”

“Both. I’m always telling you, it’s both. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“You seemed ready to discuss this,” Sorata notes. Node can’t sink any further into the chair, so he rests his hairy, wiry arms along his torso, hands coming to cover along his lap, his fingers weaving together and idling slowly and nervously.

“Well, yeah, if I get some benzos out of this, I might talk about it,” Node says. Sorata shakes his head, and watches a wry grin spread across Node’s face. Like this, he looks downright unholy, as troubling as the news makes him out to be. Sorata knows better than to give in and look away when Node’s got his eyes trained on him like this, but it’s tough. He can practically feel Node’s intentions with a stare like this. He’s hungry beyond anything Sorata can help him uncover and cope with.

“I can’t give you any other prescriptions until we make sure this one works for you.”

“Or doesn’t work,” Node says.

“Of course,” Sorata adds. He cuts straight to it, knowing Node wants him to take charge, to steer him toward some semblance of peace by the time they finish this session. It gives them both something to be distracted by. “Last time you were here, you said your-- your wife, was agitated with you, due to your work.”

“Mm,” Node rumbles, loud and low, threatening to vibrate the floor underneath them both. Sorata has to lean on the chair, elbow resting and providing his hand to cradle his chin, to keep himself balanced in many ways. For some reason, Node talking about his family pisses him off, and then shames him for thinking as much. Sorata tilts his head away from his fingers to speak clearly.

“So…? What’s that about?”

“What’d’you mean,” Node says, clipped.

“If you maybe explain the particulars, we can figure out why this is a source of stress for you,” Sorata tries to gently explain. He knows Node is playing dumb, hoping to get out of talking about his life, or any emotional detail. Of course he enjoys trying to incite Sorata with lewd or grotesque stories, but those are few and far between, as if Node is purposely starting and stopping to tease Sorata with glimpses of what he has been invited to be a part of, but has yet to accept.

There’s a heavy-hanging moment of silence as Node just stares at him from across the way, assessing, probably, that grin slowly turning into a frown, before he fidgets and glances off, speaking to the walls of Sorata’s practice.
“She thinks she’s a part of my business, though she should know better,” Node starts, growing quieter again. Sorata’s body betrays his impartial bystander status by his stomach flipping excitedly over how disgusted Node reacts toward his own wife. “Tries to tell me what to do… She acts like they’re suggestions, but they’re not-- she never shuts the fuck up about this shit. I’ve never laid a hand on this woman. She’s been with me since we were still growin’ hair down there, okay? I know her. But I don’t, at the same time. And I don’t want to. You know? So when she acts like she really gets me, and my work, better’n I get all of it myself, it makes me so fuckin’ pissed.”

“You feel violent thoughts toward her?” Sorata asks with his pinky finger playing along his lower lip.

“I guess,” Node says with a shrug. He looks weary, now, glancing back at Sorata, eyeing his posture, before looking away to the spot he had been focusing on earlier. “But it’s… My good friends. They laugh her off instead of, you know, uh, pushing her away. Not-- not literally. Just… She shouldn’t be involved. An’ sometimes they try and work in her advice, you know, when she’s not around, but we’re talking business, or whatever. It’s shit. Shit behavior.”

‘Good friends’ was a codeword Node made up to work around the doctor-patient privilege being seceded for illegal activities. Sorata had a feeling the other few psychiatrists that took up the mantle of being a therapist for a mafioso had the same line of translatable words, but something about it was exciting to him, rather than frustrating, or frightening. Even in his pain, Node was an interesting man, who valiantly attempted to keep his pride and intrigue. Immature, yes, but that was a part of the charm, Sorata liked to think. It was something entirely new to him, and, selfishly, Sorata enjoyed decoding the puzzle of his enigmatic codewords versus what he heard about Node’s mob in the news.

“The violent thoughts might be a knee-jerk reaction toward being threatened at having the same status as your wife, with your friends.”

This seemed to be like a slap in the face to Node, his reaction instant. He sat up, nearing the edge of his seat, and squinted his eyes at Sorata. “You think I’m being treated like a goddamn woman?”

“No-- that’s, that’s not what I said, Node,” Sorata started, eyes going wide. He sat up, too, and uncrossed his legs. This seemed to calm Node a bit, distracted at looking down, ogling without shame. Sorata only felt a bit guilty for doing this, adrenaline in his system fluttering into action at being subtly threatened. “I was-- I was just thinking that the intersection between your business and your family might have felt too close, with everyone feeling like they’re conspiring against you, together.”

“Fucking spit it out. I don’t fucking understand,” Node grouses out, quieter again.

“We discussed- in one of our first meetings- how your bipolar disorder can manifest a warped sense of reality with those close to you. It could be manifested in both aspects of your life. It’s… It’s really very common for people with bipolar to assume the worst out of their friends and family’s intentions.”

“Madonne,” Node whines out, and eases back into his chair to look up at, presumably, God. “What if this mental illness shit isn’t real and you just made it up to make me look bad.”

“I don’t think you look bad for having a mental illness,” Sorata says, then quickly raises his hand to silence any sort of come-ons that Node was ready to toss out, his head tilted back to view Sorata once more. “Or, you don’t look any less like the man you are for it. You would be surprised at how many people, worldwide, are undiagnosed, and unhappy with themselves. I think you made the right choice to-- to try and figure this out.”

“Then tell me why you’re insulting me to my face, that these pills don’t work, my wife is busting my balls, and I’m still unhappy,” Node laments. “What’s this doing for me?”

Sorata steels his expression, ignoring the threatening urge to openly display pity for Node. “I know trust is a difficult thing for you to come by. Sometimes, in the normal working world, all we have to cope is having those closest to us trust us, and vice versa.”

Node gives Sorata a piercing glance, and Sorata’s heart kickstarts like Node had just threatened him again.

“So…” Node is still looking at Sorata, but his stare turns less intense, and more like he’s toying with Sorata. There’s a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re telling me that... You’re all I got?”

“Well,” Sorata starts with a nervous laugh, as if he backed himself into this corner. Node’s grin grows for this, and Sorata has to look down at his lap. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but, I am happy to be your mental health confidant.”

“You have a nice laugh,” Node says sweetly, deep and calm, dodging the other aspects of the conversation he wanted little to do with.

Sorata tucks at the loose strands of hair near his ear, and wishes for anything he could will away the threatening warmth of blushing coming to his cheeks.
“You’ve said that before, but thank you.”