My Little Hypnotic

Chapter Two: Eden Gannon

He's not what I expected. He was young, older then me but still young enough to have a boyish look to his features. Probably mid twenties, and it was rare for me to assist young people especially men, considering they have a harder time admitting they need help at all.

As I looked into his tired green eyes, he didn't have to admit the problem. It had done consumed him, chewed him up and spit him out. Something filled my chest with purpose, not pity but something closer to recognition.

"Oh, right. I'm Archer Thatcher." Thatcher? Oh my father is rolling over in his grave right now, big time. Before my father passed away of lung cancer he had been an officer, day after day he would come home complaining about them Thatcher boys.

He would tell me to decline the job, to run as far as I could from those good looking, no good, trouble making Thatcher boys.

He held out his hand, making me take notice on how tall and lean he was. His light brown hair was a messy mop on top of his head and I knew when I spotted his eyelids dropping that while it might have made my father mad, I couldn't leave this man to handle this on his own.

It was against everything I stood for. I did this for a living, because I enjoyed helping people deal with their sleeping problems. It was a passion of mine that I have had ever since I was younger.

I grabbed a hold of his hand and gave it a firm shake ignoring the way his callouses felt rubbing against my smooth palm.

"I didn't think someone would be able to come so soon." He admits looking over his shoulder at what I assumed was a mess, given his wince. "Excuse the mess."

"It's fine, it's what I'm here for. Right?" I've noticed that busy people found it easier to rest when they knew that things were getting done while they slept. I've worked for countless mothers who couldn't go to sleep until their house was spotless, but with me there they knew that even if they shut their eyes with a few dishes in the sink they would wake up with everything perfect.

"Actually, I can handle the mess." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. I take in his broad shoulders, the way that he occupied a room with his presence was something I assume only a Thatcher could do.

"Oh? What is it that I'll be doing then?" I'm not sure why I assumed I would be cleaning, maybe it was because he was a younger man and cleaning probably wasn't his biggest strong suit. My brother can testify for that.

He turns around giving me his full attention. "Bed sharing. It was in the list of services."

He was watching me for a reaction and part of me wanted to protest but what could I protest?

It was on the list of services. Just because no one has ever requested it doesn't mean it doesn't exist, not to mention I put it on there with children in mind.

"Y-Yes it is." He smiled softly at me, noticing my discomfort.

"Listen, if it's a problem, you don't have to take the job. I didn't really have high hopes anyways, because I was in denial about bed sharing even being a thing. Before you leave though I want to let you know I'm not some creep or some man trying to take advantage of you, I genuinely can not sleep without someone next to me." He turned back around, his shoulders slumped and waved his hand behind him towards the front door.

"W-wait." I was conflicted but that didn't mean I wasn't willing to do my job. It might be awkward or even a little embarrassing but if their was work to be done then I was going to do my best. "I'm not against it, I've just never had anyone request this service. I'm willing to give it a shot if you are."

He turned back around and I couldn't help but notice the hope shining in his tired green eyes. "Thank God." He exhaled. "Treat the place like it's yours, I'm going to change into some pajamas."

His house was a decent size, all of the decor was different colors and of different things. It seems as if he had a hard time picking a theme out.

While the living room has been mediocre, the kitchen was spectacular. It was fully stock with matching pots, plates, bowls and even silverware.

"Whoa." I did a little spin under the dimmed lights, taking in all of this masterpiece. If he had such good appliances and cookware, his fridge must be stocked to the brim.

Just out of curiosity I opened the stainless steel doors and came face first with what looked like the cover of a food magazine.

My stomach grumbled a little, it might be true that I was a little hungry. With business being slow and my brother coming to stay with me, money had been more then tight. There have been a few nights I've went without food to make sure he was fully satisfied.

Despite him being grown, he was stilly younger brother and old habits died hard. To his credit he was actively looking for a job but it was hard for him to find anything with his record. He had been charged with assault a year ago, for beating up our uncle.

"Are you hungry?" I jumped a little at the gruff voice that seemed to be right behind me.

"N-" I was cut off immediately.

"I'm going to stop you right there. You really, really don't want to say no." He gave me a half grin that exposed his dimples, which made him look younger than he was.

"I don't want to bother you." My cheeks flamed up a little at the thought of him hearing my stomach grumbled moments ago.

"I love cooking for people, it's what I do. So, no bother. Just sit down at the bar. Do you like spaghetti?" I nodded my head shyly, I feel so unprofessional right now.

He was setting the place with a casual kind of energy, something a client had never done. I showed up and did my work, then I was off and back home.

"If you don't mind me asking, are we dealing with insomnia or something else?" It would be good to remind him that I was here for him to get better sleep. I needed that little push in the professional direction.

"It's insomnia, maybe a little PTSD. I tell you that only because I feel like it would be wrong not to." He breaks some noodles into water that started to boil. The steam rolling off of it in waves. He huffs out a little bit of air, reminding me he just shared something he might have been uncomfortable sharing with a stranger.

See now this was professional, this was something I could help with.

"I use to stay up and talk with a ex-marine all night, because of his PTSD. It doesn't bother me that you may have it." I gave him a reassuring smile when he looked over his shoulder. I wasn't trying to judge him but he seemed too young to be out of the military and he mentioned cooking for a living, which would make sense of the kitchen, so what could he possibly have PTSD about?

I wasn't going to ask that though, that would be terribly rude, so I was left to my assumptions.

Before long he was pulling down two plates and filling them both with noodles and sauce that smelled absolutely divine. He grabbed two forks and sat down in front of me, sliding my plate to me carefully.

"Ask me anything."

"Huh?"

"I don't want you being uncomfortable tonight. So ask me anything."

~.~.~.~.~

I hope you are all enjoying the story.