Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Damaged (pt.2)

--1st person POV--

"Oh my god! You really said that to her?" I drop my slice of toast onto the plate, covering my mouth with my hands in an attempt to try and muffle the laughter that's rippling through my chest.

Across the table, Arthur's smile is so wide I'm pretty sure it must be stretching his skin. "I did." He says proudly, with a defiant tilt of the chin. "It is the truth. She doesn't listen. She's never listened. All she ever did was ask the same dumb questions."

I wipe a tear from my eye, still giggling. "I would've loved to have seen her face."

"Her face still didn't change."

"Why doesn't that surprise me."

"I know, right? But I guess I wasn't expecting her to care really, it just felt good getting that stuff off my chest at last."

I shake my head, inflamed on his behalf for her having been so uncaring. "So she didn't respond at all?"

Arthur shakes his own head and takes another hit on his cigarette, smoke billowing around him like a silvery-grey shroud. "No. She just told me I wouldn't be meeting with her again." He scoffs, indignantly. "Like I care about that."

I nod sadly as I reflect on this mornings events, all traces of laughter and amusement slowly dispersing just like his cigarette smoke.

Debra Kane announced to both Arthur and I respectively that the state funding cuts mean we'll no longer be provided with 'support'.
As wonderful as it will be not having to see that deplorable woman anymore, neither of us will have access to our medication.
We both take Diazepam and Amitriptyline for our depression and anxiety disorders, but I know Arthur takes several other medications as well, which means he's probably going to suffer even more than I am as a result of this.

After our appointments, we'd left the department of mental health building feeling somewhat disconcerted, not knowing whether to celebrate not having to go there every two weeks anymore, or panic as a result of not being able to leave with our prescriptions.

It was Arthur who had then suggested we go into the small cafe that we have to pass on the way to the bus station, for a coffee, and to give ourselves time to get over the shock of the dramatic bombshell.

I ordered coffee and a slice of toast, successfully managing to persuade Arthur to share half with me, seeing as he only ordered a black coffee for himself.
He's so underweight I don't even know how he manages to walk on those legs of his. One day a strong gust of wind might knock him over.
It isn't his fault of course. It's one of many side-effects of his mediation, which won't be an issue for much longer.

He had then taken me completely by surprise by admitting that the thing troubling him the most is not the prospect of having no meds, but the fact that he's no longer going to see me.

I have to admit, his admittance comes as a bit of a shock. For some reason I wasn't expecting him to care, so I'm undeniably moved.
And once it's out there, I can't help feeling the same way about no longer being able to see him too. Even though the thought hadn't even crossed my mind initially.

I assured him the problem is easily remedied.
Now that we'll no longer be attending the appointments with Debra, we can meet up for coffee instead, just like we're doing now.
At least the environment is more relaxed than that godawful waiting room, and talking things through with each other is better therapy than Debra ever provided.

Arthur seems relieved and eagerly approves of my suggestion, and even goes so far as to propose that we could maybe hang out more than just once a week, if I find myself at a loose end and stuck for company. I mean, I have no real objections to that, but I am surprised by his sudden air of newfound confidence.