Talker's Redemption
“Fifty-ish, graying, paunchy, with a balding head and a ponytail, Dr. Sutherland looked like he’d smoked plenty of weed in his misspent youth, and kept that happy, jovial buzz for the last thirty years. Tate found himself loathing the guy. He loathed his deep, gravelly voice. He loathed the man’s misshapen neutral-colored cardigan sweaters and slogan-bearing T-shirts underneath. He hated the brightly spangled tinsel that decorated his office for the holidays and at this moment, more than anythi...ng in the world besides his own skin, he hated the guy’s over-perceptive hazel eyes. “So, Tate….” “Could’ya call me Talker, Doc? I like Talker. You know, ’cause it’s not just a name, it’s like, a function, you know, like a noun and an adjective and a name and a….” Brian’s hand, always somewhere steady on his body during these sessions, tightened on his knee, and Talker subsided. He was talking too much. Blathering. Going on, because he was uncomfortable. Brian knew it, because Brian loved him, and took care of him, and listened to him, and knew all his most painful of painful things, and when Brian told him that he needed to focus, he listened. Whether he wanted to or not. “Okay,”MoreLess
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