The Home

Abby puttered around her small office. It was five to the hour and her first 'patient' was to arrive soon. The room was set up as best as she'd hoped – with a comfortable chair on either side of the modest desk, a full bookshelf behind her, a warm but subdued yellow on the walls, the patient's seat nearest the door, and herself backed neatly into a corner. Oy, she thought, if only I had access to a quick escape too.

Still, it was the best she could do with the small space. She thought it was at least welcoming enough to lure residents in and intimate enough to make them feel safe to share. She desperately hoped her first appointment would involve less teeth-pulling than the group sessions had, but she wasn't foolish enough to be entirely optimistic.

As she waited, she flipped open the small tape recorder on the corner of her desk. Though some had moved on to more modern means to record their sessions – cell phones being pretty much the go-to – Abby still preferred the tangibility of a good old fashioned cassette. Hers was ready to go and already neatly labeled – she was just double-checking – so she tucked it neatly back into the recorder and pressed it shut.

Three more minutes until the resident arrived – if they were to be on time. Abby tapped her thumb nervously against the edge of her desk, leg shaking beneath her. She turned open the pages of her mostly empty spiral notebook – the inside cover also neatly labeled with the resident's name, where it would be out of sight at first glance. Then she closed it, pushing it to the right side of her desk so she could fold her hands delicately in front of her, but that felt unnatural. She pushed her chair back, bumping into the built-in bookcase, and stretched her legs.

Perhaps I should stand, she thought, Maybe hold a book? She tried it. That too felt unnatural. Why would I stand while I read?

She walked around the desk and perched on the edge, one leg dangling near the patient's chair, the other barely touching the carpeted ground. Her balance was precarious this way. I'd make a damn fool of myself if I toppled off this table just as the patient walked in.

She quickly stood again.



Alexander paced outside the room, debating if he wanted to go in or not. On the one hand, he probably needed to get quite a lot of things off his shoulders. On the other, he was rather disinterested in talking about his problems. What good was it to acknowledge he had a drinking problem? Everyone knew that. That was what he was here for. He didn't need to tell anyone about any of his other problems.

He paced in front of the door for so long that he was officially late by the time he actually entered the room. Abby was fiddling with her desk, looking both unsure and uncomfortable. He watched her for a second, eyebrows lifted in amusement until she finally noticed him.

"Fashionably late," was all he said as he walked into the room, "just like my arrival to the Home." He sent her a cheeky smile. "You'll get used to it. Anywho, where's the lounge couch? Don't therapists offices' normally have those?"

"Nope. No lounging here." Abby turned to fully face the man who'd entered the office so confidently. "Good morning, Aita," she greeted him with a warm smile and gestured towards the chair. "If you're ready, please have a seat or, if you'd like, take a look around." Abby walked over to her side of the desk and sat. "I know the office is a bit snug, but it'll have to do."

"Well, where am I gonna lay when I'm blubbering about my alcoholism?" He glanced around the office, unsure of what to say. It wasn't often he was speechless. He moved around the room like he knew what he was doing, looking through the books behind Abby. "So what, how is this going to work?"

Abby turned in her chair, leaning back to look at Alex. "You'll talk. I'll listen. Sometimes I'll ask questions. It'll be relatively painless...physically." At his expression, Abby laughed. "I'm kidding! It really won't be so bad, Mr. Aita, and we can take a break or stop for the day whenever you need to. Why don't we start with something easy, huh? Tell me something about yourself. A memory. Good or bad. Important or inconsequential."

Like he didn't have enough mental pain, right? Alex gave Abby an incredulous look and pulled a book off the shelf, flipping through it. "A memory huh?" He tried to think of something. Anything. His mind was blank, like his brain had forgotten how to work. His eyes stared blankly at the page as he tried to dig for something to give her.

"I wasn't very old. A couple of years, maybe. I didn't have any friends in the village, all of them are far older than I. They even talk like they lived in the mid-1100's, if you even know what that means." He flipped through the book some more. "The rule was, I wasn't allowed to leave the village until I was old enough to hide my ears for long enough periods of time. But I couldn't stand being around them so much, when all they did was talk down to me."

He moved to sit in the chair in front of Abby's desk. He was actually reading the book as he spoke to her. "I left anyway. There was this kid who lived relatively close to the edge of my forest. I saw him playing with a ball, kicking it around with his feet. I approached him and he taught me how to play. He asked me about my ears once, but I just told him it was a birth defect. He didn't ask again."

"This boy," Abby started, "how long did you know him?"

Alex shrugged. "Years don't mean anything to elves. We don't keep track of them." He flipped the page of his book. "I don't know. He hadn't hit human puberty yet before he -" Alex stopped short, eyes flashing up to Abby. She seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying. "Before he left."

"He left," Abby repeated. She nodded, leaning back into her seat and watching Alex closely. Honestly, she was surprised he shared as much as he had and while she wanted to hear more, she wasn't sure if she should push or move on. It was clear they'd reached a soft spot.

"Do you want to talk about that? About him leaving?"

"No," Alex snapped. "There's nothing left to talk about." Lie. Alex shook his head, trying to push that out of his mind. His skin felt like it was crawling, like he had trails of black ink flowing through his veins, corroding him from the inside out. Hatred bubbled inside of him and he took a deep breath, standing. "I've got to go." He didn't give Abby another look, leaving with the book clutched tight in his hand.

Staring at the empty space where Alex sat just seconds before, Abby softly asked, "Did he just steal my book?"