Page 2 of Rather: The Therapist

“Take off his uniform and clock out for me. Don’t expect this period’s pay. He’s taking that and spending it on some legos in the toy section as compensation for the turmoil stares from inconsiderate fuckers like you cause him. See, though he’s not up to your standard, he’s a superb boy. He designed this entire fucking layout with a dull pencil he sharpened on the concrete because pencil sharpeners are triggering.

“And, after he finished with that nub, he arranged legos until his fingers began peeling, desperately needing to see his vision come to life. A vision that is providing for you, whoever you’re fucking and whoever you’re feeding. Before you judge another book by its cover, think about how you almost lost your life bout this one. Instead, it’s your job.”

I tapped the name tag on his shirt. “Have a nice night, Jerod.”

Fucking heathen. Imbecile. I scoffed, heading back to the table where Princeton’s stemming had begun to slow to a creep.

“You ready, son?”

I’d vomited words, a habit I picked up after Princeton’s diagnosis. It was hard, saying less while more thoughts rushed through others. Deading their ignorance with words to protect my son’s peace was thorns in my side when I’d much rather deaden the beat of their hearts. I’d sleep peacefully at night with one less fool in the world.

Princeton was a genius in his own right. It wasn’t debatable. Though he wasn’t frolicking around, blabbering, and active like the average three and a half year old, the intricacies of his brain were far from average. His mind didn’t function like theirs either. He was wise beyond his years.

His head lifted and fell rapidly. I tucked my piece in my waistline and stretched my hand for him to find. Dark ink on even darker skin peeped from underneath the white shirt and black suit, concealing its intensity. Small, cool fingers collapsed around mine, replenishing the parts of me that were gutted with each obstacle life deemed impossible for him.

Food sensitivity.

It was one of the earliest signs of autism in Princeton. Eating had always been such an easy task. I never imagined how difficult it was for some. Not until him.

With Princeton by my side, I strolled through the establishment his contributions had made possible. It was one of the few business opportunities he’d presented to me. It wasn’t often he handed me a sketch from his book. He was sensitive about his artwork.

Countless hours went into his drawings. However, four of them had been ripped at the seams and placed in my hand. Without words, my young son had given me the foundation for my next investment. Our next investment.

Low lighting emphasized the city’s backdrop. Clarke’s skyline lit the space perfectly at night. Natural lighting opened it tremendously with the rising of the sun and just before its setting.

The bar swept from one side to the other. Chatter that usually sent Princeton spiraling was welcomed. This place was familiar to him. He knew every inch of the building. Not only was it his creation, but it was a reminder that he was loved, cared for, and listened to even if he never said a fucking word.

There was a tug from below, pulling my arm in the opposite direction. Furrowed eyebrows demonstrated my confusion.

Son.

His strength was impeccable. Though it wasn’t enough to redirect me, it shifted my gears.

“Princet–”

A soft, disheartening voice disrupted every thought of mine, completely obliterating my sanity with little regard. Quickly followed by generous giggles that signaled contentment, happiness, and enjoyment, I was given very limited time for recovery. Confusion rearranged my facial structure.

And, that laugh.

I remembered it well. For two and a half years I’d heard it continuously. Every day. Several times a day. It was once the most beautiful sound to come from a human’s lips.

My human.

That laughter made everything alright. Made everything well. So, inevitably, I longed for it. Craved it. Encouraged it. And, I listened with my heart more than my ears when it surfaced.

“Son, n–”

My words were incapable of rendering him motionless. They didn’t stop his tiny feet from taking off, obliterating the distance from the subject and leaving me in the dust.

Fuck.

Swiftly, he climbed onto the leather, planted his body firmly against a growing belly, and laid his head against the chest of the woman who’d birthed him. Contorted features and the lack of reciprocation made it difficult for me to continue in stride.

My heart had broken a thousand times and nine hundred and ninety-nine of them were dedicated to my son. This one wasn’t any different from the others, but it hurt a little more because I witnessed his longing for attention and love from a woman who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

As beautiful as Lola was, she was poisonous. Flawed. Inauthentic. Scandalous. Pathetic. A real fucking piece of shit.

I hadn’t always considered her in those regards, but the birth of our son exposed her true character, forcing me to be more vigilant and considerate of who I involved myself with.

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