Davin Alighieri needs a Virgil figure. (dieverwandlung) wrote in last_night, @ 2009-11-18 18:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | !group, !log, davin andrews, dr. aaron "samuels" leeley, r, raphael eckhart, virginia andrews |
Who: Davin, Virginia, Aaron, & Rafe.
What: Sometimes, Davin makes good choices. Whether or not this is one of those times is Very Seriously Debatable.
When: Wednesday night.
Where: Aaron & Gin's.
Rating: Rish.
Status: Completed?
Medication. Lexapro, to be specific. Doctor Matt wanted to put him on Lexapro, because there hadn't been truly visible improvement, and Davin had not only agreed, but he'd gone and cried about it. For all he'd tried to hold back, to just suck it up and keep it down until he gotten to the safe sanctity of Bella's interior, nothing had worked. Breathing had failed him; it had kept hitching up in his throat. Trying to meditate on something, anything, had failed him; everything he'd meditated on had just gone at his insides with a serrated edge. Davin wasn't stupid, and he wasn't in denial. He knew that there hadn't been any improvement in his condition. If anything, the fear of it deteriorating and crumbling under the pressure or something had him paralyzed. The journal in his messenger bag made the whole thing feel heavier. Maybe he hadn't shown it to Doctor Matt, but as Davin and his diminishing bottle of mango rum wandered through the aimless Ann Arbor streets like Dante in his dark wood, the suspicion that maybe he should have started nagging at him. He paid Doctor Matt to help him, and it was rather hard to do that with only half the information, if that. Very rarely had Davin ever lied to his psychiatrist. Every time he had, it had been about whether or not he was fine on any given day. But he knew that didn't mean he'd been entirely truthful. The more rum he had in him, the heavier his journal seemed to weigh on his shoulder, reminding him of this fact. All those pages knew better than Doctor Matt what Davin had been going through, and, at that, only Rafe and Virginia knew close enough to what went on in Davin's little black Moleskine. It would be better to show someone, anyone, everything he'd written. Getting them down hadn't purged the feelings from him, they'd only gotten worse, and Rafe and Doctor Matt deserved to know. Realistically, Davin knew that he was being ridiculous. But, still, the prescription in his pocket stung him somewhere deep and painful, and all that he could think was that, in getting it handed to him (and moreso in agreeing to take it), he'd personally failed somehow. The thought made Davin stop in mid-course through the Diag and redirect his course. He darted to the shadowy side of Mason-Angell Hall and as he threw back a good, long swig, he could've sworn that the grass still smelled like he and Mark had fucked on it just twenty seconds previously. Whatever Davin thought he was doing, he'd forgotten it through the course of the night. After his appointment and before he'd started drinking, he'd texted Rafe, Dart, and Mousetrap to say that he'd be home late. He'd lost track of how long he'd been wandering or when he'd started stumbling around the way he was; it had been dark when he'd left Doctor Matt's office. In his pocket, he had the lighter he'd confiscated from an undergrad who'd been trying to set off the sprinklers in the MLB, and as he rounded a corner into some mildly unfamiliar stretch of suburbs. ...He knew the name of the neighborhood, at least, and he rather remembered Gin saying that she and Aaron lived around here. Stopping by some house, Davin crossed one arm over his stomach and shrunk in around himself, kicking back more than he'd had in a single go all night. By now, he barely noticed the burn, light as it was, in the back of his throat. His entire body seemed to tremble, even as he took his follow-up sips and tried to draw his coat closer around him for protection from the cold, and wind, and misting drizzle that had started up. Something felt like lead bricks in his bag, and since his journal wasn't it, there was only one option. His thesis. It had to be his thesis. His Frankenstein's monster of a novel and its accompanying paper. Miranda had taken it from him to read it, but then she'd given it back and, even worse, she'd had the mocking audacity to tell him it had been good. Davin took out the collection of bound 8.5 x 11" sheets and their protective plastic cover from the Office Max in White Plains. He took out the lighter. Slowly, he edged them together. He clicked the lighter once; it didn't light. Twice. It didn't light. Three times... He tried, but let it fall to the sidewalk. Davin was weak. He couldn't do this by himself. Vaguely, cradling the papers and his rum to his chest, he took off down the sidewalk and thought about his options. Sid — would just be exasperated with him (admittedly, with good reason) and wouldn't go through with it besides. Anaïs — involved going home and probably just would've laughed him out of the room. Mom and Dad — he couldn't go and see them now; they already knew that he was the weak branch on the tree. Alex — probably fucking his boyfriend. Ew. Davin didn't want to see them going at it like rabid wombats. Looking across the street, he recognized Gin's car sitting in front of one of the houses. …He didn't deserve to talk to her, and besides that, he didn't want to. He'd done her enough damage five days before, at Sid and Anaïs's birthday party. At least, this time, he wouldn't hang around well past his welcome. It was simple: hand over the thesis, ask her to please set it on fire, apologize for being a demanding, horrible, difficult brother, and leave. After that, it could be more difficult, but he'd end up at home eventually. Shuffling up to the door, Kilgore practically fell into ringing the doorbell. Knees wobbling and entire body shivering, he straightened himself up. He could do this. As with many things, he had to. Virginia had been curled up on the sofa, reading when the doorbell chimed. She'd spent most of the last five days holed up in her office, throwing herself fully into work. Aaron had been gently, but very firmly, clear that she was not going to abuse herself again. While the actual likelihood of her driving herself to the brink of collapse again was incredibly low - Virginia had no real wish to repeat her performance - she was still nowhere near her best shape. Eating was a definite chore that she performed simply from the intellectual understanding that she should, rather than a desire to feed herself. And even with her dutiful cooperation, there were several meals that she'd simply forgotten to have. It wasn't that she was trying to starve or punish herself. She simply wasn't processing the ordeal with her baby brother well, and she'd needed to mentally retreat from it for a while. So she'd dived into work, devoting her energy to the one thing she knew she could do well, and it was just so easy to let the rest of the world fall away as inconsequential. Easy, and a relief as well. Even now, days later, she was still not back to herself. At dinner, she had been distracted, eating some of what was put in front of her and maintaining a very distant sort of conversation, anxious to go back to her notes. But when the meal had ended, Aaron had stopped her and said that he'd like it if she'd come out and spend an evening with him, that she needed a break. Virginia had known she was being unfair, and his request made her feel guilty for ignoring him the way she had. She'd agreed and set her work aside in favor of one of the books on the perpetual "to read" pile and settled in for a quiet evening off. Some might have said that having her sit and read in the same room was hardly better than having her working in the next, but she was making an effort. However Aaron felt about it, he hadn't pushed her further. So, they'd settled in for the evening absorbed in their own activities, only to have it interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Virginia certainly hadn't been expecting anyone, at any rate. She looked around for Aaron, to ask him if he knew what was going on, but he had stepped out of the room for a moment -- he'd said why, but she couldn't remember. After a moment, she supposed she had to do the responsible thing and see who it was. Coaxing Demosthenes off of her lap, and setting her book and notebook aside, she stood and made her way to the door. Whoever it was was going to have to live with her not looking her best -- she was dressed in old pants and one of her knitted pullovers, since she had hardly been expecting to face the world. She couldn't see well through the peep hole, so she simply swung the door wide...to face the very last person she'd expected to appear on her doorstep. She stood, unable to fathom why Kilgore was on her porch. "Kil-" Virginia stopped herself and swallowed. Aaron had talked to her about this. If she was going to help him at all, she needed to stop fighting him on details like his name. She didn't like the idea, for many reasons, but Aaron had a point. "Davin. Why...what's going on?" "I'm drunk," Davin announced flatly, his arms unconsciously tightening around the binding and the bottle of rum. "…Intoxicated, anyway, I spaced it out, I might not be drunk. …And you're not calling me Kilgore?" But that wasn't here or there, really. He was just stalling. God, what was wrong with him, stalling like this? He'd come here to get this over with, stalling just prolonged things for Gin and neither of them needed for things to get prolonged for Gin. She wasn't dressed as perfectly as usual, she was probably having a bad night, and she'd need him to go away. Probably several people needed that, but Gin was the most important one right now. Taking the bottle in one hand, Davin proffered his thesis with the other. "It's my senior thesis," he explained, each syllable making him feel worse. "From when I did my undergrad. Miranda wanted to read it, and she gave it back today, which was really, really not the best series of events for me, but anyway I tried to get rid of it and I couldn't so... burn it? Please? I couldn't do it myself and I don't know why, but I need it to go away, so... please." "I..." Virginia tried to formulate and answer and couldn't. Maybe she hadn't been eating as much as she had thought. Nothing was making any sense. She tried to review the situation. Kilgore was on her porch of his own free will after they'd had the worst falling-out she could have imagined. And he was drunk. And...he wanted her to burn his senior thesis for him. Well, one of those three things made some vague sort of sense. She furrowed her brow and stepped out of the doorway. The cold was not the place to be handling...whatever was going on. "Come in. It's freezing." ...She was inviting him in. ...Wait. ...She was inviting him in? Davin furrowed his own brow, wrinkling his nose up into some twisted version of one of his characteristic kitten faces. He wasn't rightly sure which one. But, either way, his outstretched arm trembled, and, resolutely, he shook his head. She had to know what she was getting into in asking him in, and he'd already done enough damage to her last Friday. "No... no, Gin, I can't, just..." He waggled the thesis at her. Going inside was a bad idea; he needed to leave before he went and hurt her again. "Davin." Aaron came up behind Virginia, touching her lightly on the shoulder before looking at Kilgore. He took the thesis from Kilgore's hand and gently pressed it into Virginia's hands, before turning his attention properly to Kilgore. "Come inside, please." Thank God for Virginia's boyfriend. Maybe she was a little too close to the situation to really just let Davin say his piece and leave, or maybe she was just going to go girl crazy on him, which, all things considered, was understandable, since he'd gone and made a mess of her before. But Aaron was clearly sensible, and though Davin didn't smile — he tried; it took too much energy — he still felt relief to some degree. "No, no, it's... it's okay, I promise," he assured Aaron (and Gin, sort of, in that she was there too), holding his hand up still and trying to slowly back away. "I said my piece, and just... just make sure she burns it, please? Please?" "No," Aaron said firmly. "You're very drunk, Davin, and I want you to come inside, have some water, and lie down. I will come right over there and pick you up if I have to." Ginny stood, looking up between the two men. As much as she appreciated Aaron's support - she really didn't think she'd be able to help her brother on her own - she didn't know how well he'd respond to being directed. Especially when drunk. Pressing the manuscript to her chest and crossing her arms, she spoke quietly. "Please. Just come inside." ...Shit. They were both going to be against him on this one, weren't they? Gin, Kilgore was mostly afraid of for intellectual and metaphysical reasons, but Aaron... well, there were definitely good reasons to be afraid of the weight behind Aaron's threat. Mostly because Kilgore lacked any. "Okay," he sighed, lowering his hand. "I — someone needs to — no, wait, I'll just… I'll tell him, but I'm… Rafe needs to know, I'm sort of pushing the outer limits of 'I'll be home late'." "I'll call him," Aaron said, stepping out onto the porch to usher Kilgore inside. "I can assure him that you're fine, if rather drunk, and that'll be much more reassuring than hearing it from you in your current state." Davin nodded — he was Davin right? Of course he was Davin. He hadn't done anything to deserve being a Kilgore yet; why had he been referring to himself as Kilgore? — and followed Aaron into the house. "...Thank you," he said softly, looking at his shoes, fingers unconsciously tightening on the neck of his bottle of rum. If Virginia knew one thing about her family, it was that they tended to like their alcohol. She didn't miss the way her brother was gripping the rather alarmingly close to empty bottle. Shifting the papers to one arm, she reached out her hand. "Can I have the rum?" "It's mango," Davin informed her matter-of-factly, nodding and holding out the bottle. He wasn't sure when it had gone and gotten quite so empty — really. Why was the rum gone? — but either way… "It's great stuff, really. You barely notice the burn. I don't know, I don't really want the rest of it anyway." Virginia carefully took the bottle from him, not bothering to answer his recommendation. She didn't really like rum, and had no intention of drinking his. As tempting as it sounded, she rather doubted that matching Kilgore's drunken state would actually be helpful. "I'll get you some water." Davin nodded. ...Water sounded good. It was better than making him eat, at any rate, and it would mean he'd feel better in the morning. Unsteady on his feet, he looked at her but briefly, just long enough to mutter a small, earnest, "Thanks, Gin," before looking at the floor again. As Virginia headed to the kitchen, Aaron put a hand at the small of Kilgore's back to gently guide him. "Come on," he said calmly. "Let's get you sitting down on the couch, okay?" Davin nodded again, feeling like a banging screen door. As he let Aaron lead him to the sofa, Davin just tried to be focused on something. Anything would've been nice. Rafe was good to focus on. ...Except for the fact that this whole thing was going to be upsetting for Rafe. God, was Davin just on a roll tonight, or what? He'd upset Gin, he was imposing on Aaron (and Gin, but Aaron was the relevant one, since he was right here), and he was going to upset Rafe too. Maybe he should've just cut to the end and drunk-dialed Mom. But... that was a bad idea. Davin knew it was a bad idea, and toeing off his shoes, he sat on the sofa and drew his legs up onto the sofa, as close to his chest as he could manage. With a sigh, he wriggled his phone out of his pocket and held it out for Aaron. "I — Rafe's the number two on speed dial," he said quietly, leaning his head on his knee. "Thank you." "I'll be right back," Aaron promised, taking the phone and squeezing Kilgore's shoulder lightly. "Gin will be in with your water in a minute." This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in front of Kilgore, all things considered, especially since Kilgore would probably try to talk him out of what he was going to ask. Being miserable, unfortunately, was one of Davin's skills. And, as always, he was dragging people down with him — really, he didn't have any right to be here, and now that he was alone, he could have just left… but, on the one hand, Gin and Aaron expected him not to move. For another thing, Rafe was going to expect him to be here. And on yet another note, Aaron had his phone. And, on the fourth or fifth or whatever hand, there was a cat. A big, fluffy, calico cat, looking up at Davin like he owed her something. Humming, he shifted his legs a bit and stretched out a hand. He let her sniff him first, and when she started rubbing against his hand, he sighed and started gently scritching her behind the ears. "Hi, sweetheart," he whispered. "Aren't you gorgeous…" Virginia had debated on what to do with the last of Kilgore's rum for a bit. She didn't think anyone besides him would really want it, and she didn't really feel like she should give it back to him, but it felt rude to pour his alcohol down the drain. Eventually, she'd stuck it in the fridge. They could deal with it later. Walking back into the room, water glass in one hand, bottle of ibuprofen in the other, papers tucked into the crook of her arm, Virginia caught sight of her cat being her usual self. She set the pills and water on the coffee table, saying, "Demosthenes can be very demanding. Feel free to push her away." "She's cut from the same cloth as Athena, then," Davin muttered pensively, continuing to let the cat enjoy temporary possession of his hand. Cats were lovely creatures. And they were helpful, even though, really, Davin supposed that it wasn't as though they lounged around, thinking that they wanted to have magical antidepressant powers. Which was a re-depressing thought, and not only made Davin withdraw his hand from the cat's head but also made him knock his forehead on his knees. "My shrink brought up the 'meds' word today," he groused quietly, taking up the pills and the glass of water. Ibuprofen. The last time someone had brought him these had been when he'd crashed in on Alex. Whatever. Davin didn't hesitate in taking them, at any rate. Or in draining the glass of water; once it was empty, he put it back on the table. "I just... I mean, I'm not surprised, but I made it seven years. And now they're... it's just..." Thumping the back of his head against the sofa, Davin sighed discontentedly. After talking with Aaron, Virginia couldn't have said she was surprised to hear that Kilgore's therapist wanted to try medication. What was surprising, though, was that he was discussing it with her. She still didn't understand why he had shown up in the first place. "Oh," was all she could think to say. She carefully placed Kilgore's thesis on the coffee table before returning to her favorite spot on the other sofa. "What...how did that go?" What kind of question was that? ...Well, a reasonable one, strictly speaking. Technically. Not that it particularly mattered. She was going to think what she wanted anyway, and she'd probably just (correctly) assume that he'd gone and fucked things up again. "About as well as anything I go ever does," Davin told her, dry irony sticking out where, normally, he might have been just plain sarcastic. "I tried to act like everything was fine. He called me on my shit. We talked about Lexapro. I cried like a bitch. The session ended. I bought rum." As unexpected as his visit had been, at least Kilgore's attitude was familiar. Virginia wasn't at all happy to hear his little speech, and it was leagues more worrying than hearing him insult his writing, but she took a perverse sort of comfort in the familiarity of his self-loathing. Virginia didn't like surprises, and she'd take whatever landmarks she could get in this unfamiliar territory. Some part of her felt nothing short of awful for clutching to his misery as consolation. That was absolutely unacceptable behavior for a sister. Well, she already knew she was a failure there. As she watched Demosthenes sulk and then but her head against Kilgore's hand, Virginia sighed very softly. "I'm sorry." "It's okay," Davin sighed, resuming his petting of the cat. Cats were good; they had a history of being decent to him — and sure, maybe they judged him, but it wasn't their fault that he probably deserved it. And she was letting him stroke her fur, and, eventually, she rubbed up against his legs. At least some lifeforms liked allowing him to feel vaguely decent. "Or any way, it's not your fault. It's more mine than anyone else's. Even Mom's." Regardless of how comforting blaming Elaine would have been, Davin had to admit: it wasn't her fault that he'd been born broken. "Doctor Matt's been better than certain predecessors of his about this and anyone else probably would've just handed me enough Prozac to knock out Hercules and gone about their merry, so... at least there's that." Not that it was worth much, but he had to find something to appreciate where he could. Virginia let out a quiet, miserable little ghost of a laugh. Here he was, not blaming her or Mom or anyone, but taking responsibility for his problems, just like she'd told him to. 'Be careful what you wish for' indeed. Here he was, Ginny's very own monkey's paw. She knew Kilgore wouldn't take her broken little chuckle well, but it was either that or cry, and she simply wasn't going to cry in front of him. She reached out and snagged the blanket that was draped across the back of the couch, curling into a small cocoon, as if she could insulate the bad effects she had on her brother. "It's good that you can see a bright side." "I kind of have to," Davin informed her. ...She'd just laughed at him? Maybe at his thing about Hercules. It was probably at that; maybe he was just being unintentionally witty. Anyway, she had a blanket, and he had her cat continuing to rub on his legs. Going quiet for a moment, Davin gently picked the cat up and let her settle down in his lap; once she had, he took right to rubbing her stomach. "I mean... it doesn't help. Not always. And seeing it's hard, remembering it's hard, it's all just... difficult. ...But not trying to see it's even worse, and I have to have something to fall back on." Virginia tried to think of something to say, but she still didn't really understand what was going on, and she hated proceeding with inadequate information. So...she supposed she needed to try and get her bearings. She wanted to simply flat-out ask what he wanted from her, why he'd appeared on her doorstep like a rum-soaked phone book. She tried to reign herself in. "...do you need something?" With a sigh, Davin shook his head and leaned it down on his knees again. "I'm fine," he whispered. "...Relatively speaking to the situation, anyway. ...I really just wanted to give you the thesis and leave. I'm — I — sorry. Should've just left." His thesis. He was hung up on his thesis for some reason. Since his leaving was simply not going to happen and he didn't seem to be trying to fight that, Virginia could move on to this very puzzling question. "You want me to burn your thesis." It wasn't a question, but it was a request for more information. "Yes," Davin said quite plainly, vaguely wondering why he needed to elucidate this. Gin was the smart one, and, moreover, he hadn't really been that sketchy about what he wanted done with it. "I hate having it, I hate looking at it, it is the Thing That Should Not Be." Which was a horrendous insult to all of the hypothetical Lovecraftian beasties lurking wherever they saw fit to lurk. Virginia wondered if that meant he was blaming his mental state on the wiles of his newly-imbued manuscript. Or maybe that still fell to her, as he had cast her as Hastur in this mythos. Which...lead to a very interesting point. Why her? Why, not even a week after she'd ripped him to shreds, was he turning to her for assistance? She couldn't help looking to his reference for a clue. In that light, it made a certain sense. She was, as recent events illustrated, quite good at spreading destruction in his life. Why not utilize her talents? Her gaze turned inward as she reached her conclusion. How resourceful of her brother to capitalize on her monstrosity. Fight fire with fire. Or, at least, hatred with like. "So," she stated flatly, "I am your King in Yellow." The hue of cowardice; how very appropriate. ...Huh? Davin lifted his head up off his knees, just a bit. Just enough to turn it right-side up and blink at her in silence for a moment. "Wha- what, no?" he spluttered eventually. Closing his eyes and pausing his petting the cat to move his hands in vague directions before his face, Davin launched into a mildly epic tangent: "What no, no, Gin, you're not my King in Yellow; you're my Jane Fairfax. Alex is the Big Bad Wolf, and Anaïs is the Wicked Witch of the West because she never outgrew that movie and I'm supposed to be the friend of Dorothy, and Sid... Sid is like my Romulus, only I don't think he'd kill me for jumping over the walls but maybe I'm wrong? ...And Dad is Fyodor Pavlovich, and Mom... Mom is a lot of things. Sometimes Baba Yaga, sometimes Mother Courage... right now, I'm thinking she's more like Grendel's mother, but more in like... in like, the John Gardener Grendel sense than in, like, the Beowulf sense, which isn't to say I can't see her slaughtering a mead hall full of Danes and whatnot, because I totally can, but maybe not right now." Finally calming down and taking a moment to breathe — to really, truly breathe — Davin opened his eyes and looked at his sister. ...No, seriously, he was a monster for at least half the stuff he pulled on her, if not all of it. Trembling somewhat, he concluded softly, "You're not my King in Yellow. You're just the only person I trust to get rid of it." Virginia wondered how Kilgore's therapist got through their sessions without footnotes. She didn't think there were many people outside of the literature world who would have caught that volley of references. But she was an Andrews, and Kilgore was speaking her language. Perhaps she should have focused more on the practical question of what she was being asked to do, but she was too caught up in wading through what he had just told her. She could hardly pass up so many clues. Thinking over the list, she was struck at how adversarially he saw most of the family. The majority of those characters were anti-heroes, antagonists, or even clear-cut villains. Sid as Romulus being the rather obvious exception, which was hardly surprising (On a side note, why was Kilgore not turning to him in this hour of need? That was something she would have to come back to.) Virginia was far from shocked to hear her brother cast his family in such a light. The interesting parts were the details. Skipping herself for the moment, Virginia made her way down the list. Uncle Alex as the Big Bad Wolf made sense. Of all of the parallels, that was the simplest and most archetypal. Even so, the wolf in fairy tales was a complex figure. In some versions, he was the clever trickster, in others a cruel and violent beast. Always, he was carnal and ruled by desire. Given Kilgore's loud and numerous descriptions of his uncle as an alcoholic ephebophile, Virginia rather felt the description was an apt one. But, looking further, in psychological readings of such tales, an encounter with the wolf led to self-realization and development from facing and conquering the dark and terrifying portions of the world and of the self. What, Virginia wondered, was Alex teaching Kilgore about himself? She had a sneaking suspicion that, as they were both intelligent gay men and creative authors, the Jungian approach to this story might be more than a little appropriate. Anaïs, on the other hand...while the Big Bad Wolf was a common archetype, this appeared to be the simplest of all of Kilgore's choices. She didn't think he was referencing Maguire's Elpheba. In fact, she didn't think he'd been paying much attention to the character of the Wicked Witch at all in this choice, but rather to current context. He'd done some of the work for her here. Oz was an obvious choice for their sister, who had been obsessed with Baum's allegory her entire life. He'd also made mention of the homosexual "claim" on the work - something Virginia found to be slightly ridiculous, but that was neither here nor there. Given that Kilgore and Anaïs had been fighting their entire lives, and that Kilgore's sexuality had been a recurring topic ever since he'd been outed, making a battleground of Oz made sense. The question here was...if Anaïs was the witch, what were the silver slippers? Sid as Romulus was an intriguing choice. In one light, Romulus and Remus were two brothers against the world, surviving the murderous intentions of their family to rise to greatness. Kilgore and Sid had always gotten along so well in the face of the family's vicious back-biting. It made sense that Kilgore would see them as companions in a world of danger and wild beasts. But Remus had not made it to the end of the tale. Remus had not founded Rome. Was Kilgore afraid that Siddhartha would climb to heights of success, leaving Kilgore to, at best, disappear in a storm or, at worst, be willfully destroyed? Their father as Fyodor Pavlovich was an analogy that Virginia had heard before. Mitchell had even been known to call his youngest son "Ivan Fyodorovich" in response. The details didn't line up well, but the general outline of their father as a rude, self-indulgent vulgarian who was overfond of his vodka made for an uneasy but undeniable sort of fit. Even Virginia had a difficult time talking to her father about anything other than the purely academic, although she didn't see him as a irredeemable scumbag, either. Perhaps there was some hope to be found in the fact that while Kilgore pictured his father as a truly objectionable person, Fyodor Pavlovich was not actually evil. But then there was Baba Yaga as their mother. Eater of children in a chicken-legged house. However, when taken with the other two comparisons, Virginia had the feeling that Kilgore was not making the mistake of Orson Scott Card and ignoring the fact that in some tales, the Russian folkloric figure was not a villain, but the wise old woman. Still dangerous, but not evil. In fact, Mother Courage, Baba Yaga, and Gardener's take on Grendel's mother were all possessed of some sort of redeeming feature. None of them were people that one would invite over for tea and cookies, or even look at the wrong way, and all of them did morally unsound things, but at least none of them were beyond hope. Virginia found herself being rather surprised to hear Kilgore describe his parents in such a (relatively) positive light. And then there was Virginia herself. From H.P. Lovecraft's Hastur to Austen's Jane Fairfax was quite a leap. So...she was not an avatar of destruction and madness in Kilgore's eyes after all. Just the frigid, impossibly perfect nemesis that made the protagonist feel threatened and inadequate. She supposed she should take what she could get. At least Jane Fairfax hadn't driven people mad and killed them. Which really only left Kilgore in this scenario. All of these choices were only relevant when taken in relationship to Kilgore. So, what, exactly, had her brother just told him about himself? He was floating somewhere between Emma, Little Red Riding Hood (or any number of other fairy tale ingenues, including those of the porcine variety), one of the Oz characters - probably the scarecrow or the lion if she were to take a guess, Remus, Ivan Fyodorovich, and...Elaine presented an entire directory of character possibilities including Grendel and Matreshka. All together, what did this spell? Inadequacy. Monsters, empty headed children, the lesser of two brothers, a hallucinating madman in moral crisis...The cowardly lion was not the only one of these characters crying out for something painfully lacking - he just happened to be upfront about it. Finally having reached, if not a conclusion, a hypothesis, Virginia couldn't have said she was happy with her findings. She could only hope that he would go the way of Little Red instead of Grendel. She hoped he would make it back out of the woods in one piece, whatever kind of journey he was on. "I'm the only one you could trust to get rid of it," she said in a rather empty tone after noticing that she had been quiet for far too long. "Out of all of those people, you chose Jane Fairfax to burn a book? I would have thought she would be the last choice on the list for this task." "Fuck the metaphors," Davin told her, shaking his head. "Not Jane Fairfax. You. You, Virginia Katherine Andrews. You are the only one I trust to get rid of it." Which, possibly, made even less sense than the explanation via comparing everyone to their fictional doubles. Sighing, Davin ran a hand back through his hair. Which he still needed to go get cut. Which only hadn't happened because he never felt like going to address it. "I don't trust Sid, because I know he wouldn't do it. And he'd just be exasperated with me. Which I understand, and you probably are too, and I get it, I do, but..." Davin's voice broke off before he could properly continue, the force of his memories trampling his head like a damn stampede. "...I keep wanting to try to rely on him less," he confessed. "Because of all the shit that all of us have to deal with, he definitely has it the worst, and he shouldn't need to go storming out on dinner with Mom and Alex for me, just because they decided to criticize me, which I should just be used to, because they do it all the time... and he's always been there. Being the cool older brother and cleaning up my messes and all, but I — Gin, I'm twenty-five; he shouldn't need to hold my fucking hand through everything, and he's sick, I shouldn't expect him to." …Was he really going to start crying? Really? Why, why, why did he always have to start crying? Pausing, Davin rubbed the cat's stomach again, trying to breathe deeply and calm down and not cry. "And then Anaïs would just be a bitch about it, and Mom and Dad don't need to know what they think of me's been true all along, and I don't need them to know that, and... and Alex... I don't know, I probably wouldn't have gotten this far with Alex, he's probably fucking his boyfriend right now." Davin shrugged. None of this really mattered anyway. Aaron returned to the living room just then, handing Kilgore's phone back to him -- and followed by Rafe, who was looking understandably concerned. Rafe immediately went over to Davin, sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and Aaron said quietly, "Davin, do you feel up to talking to me for a few minutes?" Reflexively, Davin leaned into Rafe's embrace and had to wonder what the hell was going on here. When, exactly, had he wandered through a looking glass and into backwards land? He and Gin weren't exactly sniping at each other, but they also weren't having one of their typically awkward conversations, even with the long silence from her ... And Aaron had called Rafe, which was fine and well, but now Rafe was here ... And the whole atmosphere felt too much like getting pulled into the principal's office for a 'chat'... Raising one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, he acquiesced, "...Okay?" Virginia had been trying to think of some sort of reasonable reply to her brother, which, in all likelihood would have been "But...why?" when Aaron had returned from wherever he had been. Apparently, it had been acquiring Rafe. Although Virginia really would not normally have wanted to have her drunken brother's boyfriend show up without notice, she was at the moment simply glad for a very large subject change. She looked up from her huddle of blanket at Aaron, trying to figure out what it was she was supposed to be doing. "Do you want to go and take care of Davin's thesis, Gin?" Aaron asked, giving her an out. All right, so he didn't really expect her to burn it; more likely, she'd actually read it. That was fine. He needed to talk to Kilgore. Virginia nodded and rose, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders. Picking up the papers from the coffee table, she glanced at the new arrival. "Hello, Rafe," she told him, just so that she wasn't running off without acknowledging his presence before looking back at Kilgore. "I'll...take care of it for you," she said. Not burn it. Virginia Andrews did not burn books. But she'd keep it for him, in case he changed his mind. Finally, she turned back to Aaron a last time. She was going to owe him for this week. A lot. Giving him an apologetic look, she murmured, "I'll be upstairs." Watching Gin go didn't hurt, exactly, but something about the whole situation just felt odd. Shuffling on his seat, keeping one hand on the cat and holding onto Rafe's arm with the other, Davin looked down at the sofa between his legs. ...Whatever Aaron wanted to talk about wasn't going to be good; he was sure of it. "So... talking?" he prompted softly. "...This all got out of hand, I'm sorry. I didn't expect you two to ask me in, and I had really, really intended to just go home instead of... encroaching." "You're not encroaching," Aaron said firmly. "And I really did want to talk to you, sooner rather than later. ...Davin, I know you're seeing Dr. Moriarty, but I have to ask, are you telling him everything? With the way you're looking, I... really do have cause to be concerned." "...No," Davin admitted in a whisper, shaking his head. Even without carrying his bag on his shoulder, he felt the guilty weight of his journal on his chest. "...I don't lie to him," he clarified. Because, really, he didn't lie to Doctor Matt, except saying he was fine when this wasn't necessarily the case. And Aaron and Rafe had to be clear on that. "But there... everything isn't without lacunae." Rafe kept his arm around Davin, gently stroking his hair, but he stayed quiet. Virginia's boyfriend seemed to have somewhere he was going with this. "I'm worried about your eating habits," Aaron said gently. "I know you're probably not doing it on purpose; I wouldn't be surprised if it was unconscious. But you're bordering on anorexic, if you're not there already, Davin. I'm not saying it's your fault, but there are some strategies and supplements I'd like to talk to you about. Once your weight is at a healthier level, you'll have more energy, and that will start helping you feel better emotionally." Davin leaned toward Rafe's hand while listening to Aaron go on. And he was listening — he was more than aware of the fact that, even if Aaron said he wasn't encroaching, Davin still had no space to be making this much of a nuisance of himself. Pulling Rafe out to an unfamiliar house in the middle of the night was just the tip of the iceberg of ridiculous, uncalled for things he'd gotten up to tonight. Making Aaron go out of his way to take care of someone to whom he had no relation, who had rarely been kind to him and who'd even been outright disrespectful, considering Davin's choice of nicknames for him… "I'm not anorexic," he offered flatly, when it felt as though he'd been too quiet for too long. He didn't go out of his way not to eat (most of the time); he just avoided it when he didn't feel like it (which happened all too often). Besides that, and he knew that thinking this was wrong, but… girls had eating disorders. He wasn't a girl. "Technically, you are," Aaron replied. "Anorexia, medically speaking, is a lack of appetite. Am I right in assuming that you aren't eating because you're just not hungry and thus don't think about food, rather than actively avoiding it most of the time?" "...Oh," Davin said, gently rubbing his hand on Rafe's wrist as though his boyfriend were his good look charm. In a sense, he might have been. "I thought you meant — I — sorry, I didn't know there was a difference. …But, yes." Aaron was pretty well spot-on. "I get that reaction a lot, in men." Aaron sighed. "Anorexia nervosa -- and bulemia nervosa, and eating disorders in general -- are in higher concentration amongst women, that much is true. But they're by no means a gender-specific disorder. Regardless, anorexia as a medical term certainly applies, and there are things we can do to combat its effects. Right now, your body is probably in starvation mode; it thinks that there's a famine going on, and it's used to being hungry, so you don't realise that you are hungry. Meanwhile, your body is consuming fat stores to keep going, and will start on muscle when it runs out of those. That's why you've been feeling as tired as I think you must have been; your body only has enough energy to do the basics of survival, not to keep you feeling well." ...Why did Aaron have to go around and make sense? Leaning his head further against Rafe's shoulder, Davin nodded and paid attention like there was going to be a test on this later. "...I've been tired," he agreed flatly. "Coffee helps." But, for as much as Davin drank, it probably should have been helping more. "Coffee would provide a short-term benefit, but at the moment, your body doesn't have enough fuel to keep working properly," Aaron said. "I can prescribe you some supplements to take, and some energy drinks that will help with your energy and electrolyte levels, and if you like, I can have a chat with Dr. Moriarty and we can work out a regimen that will make remembering to eat easier for you. I'm not going to expect three square meals a day right away, but you do need to start eating more than you have been. Once you start to feel physically better, it'll be easier to deal with the emotional things as well." Davin nodded again, and really, at this point, he just didn't see the point in trying to argue. One of the three people in this room had a medical degree, and it was decidedly not the one who'd been born Kilgore Trout. Aaron was, however, indirectly asking him to make a choice, and that was a mildly terrifying notion. Mildly. "...Talking with Doctor Matt's probably a good idea," he agreed quietly. "...And whatever happens has to be, I — it has to get worked around, well. ...Lexapro?" "Lexapro is probably a good idea, at least to start with," Aaron agreed. "It'll give you a safety net for the worst periods, mood-wise. And Davin, I know this is going to be difficult, but you need to tell people when you need help. Rafe, or Dr. Moriarty, or me. There is no shame in being sick, and you are sick. We want to help you get better." Preaching. They were going to start in on the preaching. Granted, Davin was vaguely certain that Aaron didn't mean to come off as preachy. Really, he supposed that no doctor ever meant to come off as preachy… it just kind of happened, sometimes. Like right now for instance. "It's not a matter of shame, it's just — I — I don't…" Davin sighed, took a few breaths, and tried again. "…Does anybody else have to know? I mean… my friends, I can tell, I was going to anyway. You two and Doctor Matt, I can talk to. I don't want to tell my brother or my advisor, but I'm going to, but… there are other people." People like Mitchell. And Elaine. And Anaïs. And Alex. And the surviving grandparents. "You don't have to tell anyone you don't want to," Aaron said. "But Davin, I think it would be a very good idea if you let me talk to your parents. They can't help if they don't know what's wrong, and if they don't know that they're a part of the cause, they can't do anything to try to stop. And don't try to tell me they aren't," he said firmly. "I'm not blind." Davin shook his head and told Aaron, "I wasn't going to." …But that didn't mean that telling Mom and Dad would be a good idea. It couldn't be a good idea. In fact, it had to be a horrible idea. "I just… I don't think you understand? I mean… they're part of the problem, but telling them's not going to do anything. I didn't want them to know I'm gay; why would I want them to know about this?" 'This' here having the definition of 'the conclusive proof that every last negative thing they thought about their youngest son was right.' "It's not a matter of what you want," Aaron said, implacably. "It's a matter of what's going to help. And believe me, I can make them understand that they are a part of the problem and that they will change. You can't honestly tell me that you're going to be able to get better, properly better, without them making some changes." "Well, I doubt it, but they aren't going to," Davin informed him, not meaning to be nearly so snappy. He knew he didn't have room to go and get snippy when Aaron was going well out of his way to be helpful… but, at the same time, Aaron didn't understand. He was dating Gin; his view of Mom and Dad had to be just as horridly skewed as Davin's admittedly was. "So... forgive me for not really seeing the point all that much?" "Davin, I've convinced a three-a-day smoker to go cold turkey and stay off the cigarettes, I've convinced three anorexics to get into therapy and start eating again, and I've convinced a paranoid schizophrenic to let me look at the cut in her hair without her accusing me of trying to put a microchip into her brain. I think I can handle your parents. Besides," he added, "I convinced Gin to call you Davin, didn't I?" Davin would have been ready with a retort had Aaron not decided to go and make a very reasonable point. It was worth pointing out that Aaron wasn't dealing with smokers, or anorexics, or paranoid schizophrenics here; he was dealing with Mitchell and Elaine, two of the single most horribly intransigent people on the face of the planet. …and then Aaron had to go and be reasonable about it. For a long moment, Davin just arched an eyebrow at Aaron and gave him an appraising look, and, with a sigh, he slumped further against Rafe. "Okay," he agreed. "Do you want lilies at the funeral or something else?" "You're being melodramatic," Aaron pointed out, although he was smiling a little. "Let me worry about your parents. You, right now, need to get some rest, and we can discuss supplements and energy drinks tomorrow, when you're feeling a little better. You two can crash in the guest bedroom for the night." "It's what I do," Davin offered with a shrug. And it was what he did. Almost everyone he knew had called him melodramatic or a drama queen or some variant thereof or some combination thereof before. …And, had Rafe not been there, Davin would have been sorely tempted to make a melodramatic fuss over taking the guest bedroom when, really, he was fine sleeping on the couch (having crashed on several sofas before, he could very much appreciate the fact that at least Aaron and Gin's couch was nice) … but Rafe was here, and fitting the two of them on the sofa would be difficult. Nodding, Davin brushed his fingers up and down Rafe's forearm. "Thanks, Aaron. ...where is said guest room?" "This way," Aaron said, getting up to lead the way to the downstairs guest bedroom, tucked underneath the stairs at the back of the house. "I'll bring you some water, too, and another couple of aspirin for the morning." Davin followed close to Aaron, keeping a hand in Rafe's as they went down the corridors toward the guest room. He was feeling somewhat steadier on his feet than he had before, but compared to how he would've been sober, he was still a bit wobbly. So was the half-smile he tried to put on out of gratitude... but, in all fairness, a real smile would've required energy, and it felt too far off to just walk up and put on. "Thanks," he told Aaron again, giving Rafe's hand a gentle squeeze. Thank something Davin didn't have to spend the night in an unfamiliar bed alone. "It's all right," Aaron said, giving him a gentle smile and fetching a glass of water and two aspirin. "Try to get some rest. I'll be around in the morning." Rafe stayed close to Davin, squeezing his hand. He wasn't sure exactly what to do, but being there seemed to be helping. Having Rafe there was helping — it was helpful for several reasons, and yet, Davin couldn't entirely avoid feeling awful for having dragged Rafe out here in the middle of the night. Making a soft little noise, Davin guided them over to the bed and sat down; once he was seated, he gently nuzzled against Rafe and murmured, "I'm so sorry." "It's okay," Rafe said softly, wrapping his arms around Davin. "You need me here. I don't mind." "Yeah, I do," Davin agreed, bringing one hand down to rest on Rafe's hip. "…I was going to come home eventually," he added. "I got here by accident and I didn't want to stay that long… but I sort of didn't actually factor Gin and Aaron into how things were going to go, I guess." "They seem kind of stubborn," Rafe said, gently urging Davin down onto the bed. "Lie down. You need to rest, and I'll be right here the whole time." "Runs in the family," Davin said with a small quirk of the lips that, had his mood been better and had he had the energy, could have been a smile. Following Rafe's coaxing, he laid down and started trying to get comfortable. Once he'd found a good spot, Davin took Rafe's hand again. "Hey," he said gently. "I love you." "I love you," Rafe said, lying down beside Davin and snuggling against him. It seemed like cuddles would help. "I'm going to be here for you no matter what, you know that, right?" Cuddles did help, and Davin gently nuzzled into Rafe immediately. Cuddles were relaxing, and calming, and as he rested a hand on the small of Rafe's back, Davin nodded. "I know it. Sometimes I have a stupid moment and forget, but I always remember it quickly. ...I'm really happy you're in my life," he concluded softly. "I'll be in your life for as long as you want me," Rafe said, pressing a light kiss to Davin's temple. "You should try to sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning, and we can work on a gameplan." "Iiii... love you long time," Davin told Rafe, utterly failing to keep a straight face, even if he still didn't completely smile. He'd wanted to keep a straight face, because he meant what he was saying... but his atrocious drunk-tired-being ridiculous-grammar wasn't lost on him. Rubbing Rafe's back gently, Davin settled in and closed his eyes. "Night, Rafe." Rafe snorted softly, kissing Davin again. "Love you too, Da Nang," he said lightly, settling down next to him. "Sleep well." The last time Davin had drunkenly crashed at a family member's place — at anyone's place but his own — he'd slept fitfully and been woken up to the clanging sounds of Alex purposefully causing a ruckus in the kitchen. Maybe this time wasn't without dreaming, which was always an interesting process for Davin, just by its very nature, but at least, this time, Davin found himself roused from nocturnal hallucinations about moths and calamari and a werewolf Hannibal Lecter not by any noise but, instead, his own body. He roused briefly, and looked around the guest room, only to decide that, no, he wasn't really ready to get up yet. After getting up enough to take the two aspirin still sitting on the bedside table and drink most of the water sitting next to them, Davin snuggled up next to Rafe again and, for the moment, just went back to sleep. |