Author: This is an AU if Supa Strikas doesn't exist nice
Note: This took too long to write. Aight Imma head out to go for a long hiatus because this year is a big year for me (exams that risk my entire life).
Note #2: I do not know how being a therapy session look like so take this with a little grain of salt. But what I do know that my friend went into therapy and he recommends to anyone out there
Note #3: I'm so tired
Words for the story alone: 7,455
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Mental health is not a subject most adults talk about. Despite its prominent stage presence around the world, mental health is excused as "it's all in your head". Mental health comes in all sorts of flavors like ice cream but the twist is that none of them are sweet. Mental health is important but it needs to be handle with care. No one wants their ice cream to melt.
Being a therapist doesn't usually mean prescribing anti depressants or all patients that walked through the door are all suicidal. Sometimes it was just comforting people who struggles whether it be in their lowest or prime of life. People don't like going to a therapist due to the impression that they will get diagnosed and shunned from society. Therapy is just safe space where you can talk with someone to vent your frustrations or finding a new direction in life.
That's why Rasta became a therapist. He wanted to help people who had the courage to seek, need or heck even want help from a professional. Rasta would always do his best to help his patients. He was jokingly dubbed as Dancing Rasta by his colleagues for how he managed to make his patients danced out the door as they leave.
Today, he has a total of new eight patients to see and all of them are from the afternoon to evening. His first patient is coming through the door in 3... 2.... 1...
A knock was heard from the door. A soft polite voice was heard from the other side of the door. "Dr. Rasta, may I come in?"
"Come in," Rasta smiled as he watched the door open to see a man with a fluffy tuft of red hair. He gingerly (ahaha pun) sat himself down on the red leather couch before releasing a sigh. "...Mr Tiger?"
"No need for any formalities, doctor. Just call me Tiger," Tiger gave a crooked smile.
"Alright Tiger, how has the day been treating you? From how hard you were sighing, I'm guessing it wasn't a good one," Rasta swiveled his seat to face his patient.
"Well it wasn't as terrible as other days but... it's quite bad." Tiger played with his fingers as he look haphazardly to the table.
"Oh? Could you elaborate?" Rasta picked up his pen and clipboard. He took note of the subtle movements and after a beat of silence, the Tiger was ready to roar.
"This morning was ok. Had a cup of matcha green tea and did a few stretches since I am-"
"A professional martial artist?" Rasta interrupted.
Tiger coughed shyly as he continued. "Yes that. After stretching I went to the..."
Rasta waited for the sentence to finish. But the hesitation was too long.
"Nakama Dojo." The moment those words escaped, Tiger visibly shook as if he released all of his emotional baggage. Tiger teared up as he continued speaking. "I work in the dojo but I am not welcomed there. I don't know why but suddenly my colleagues turn on me a year ago and the Nakama soccer branch whom I am close to... stop trusting me. My own brother did not care for my words anymore."
"I just don't know what happened? One day I was smiling with them and the next they isolated me. I had enough it so," Tiger took a huge gulp. Rasta raised his eyebrow while taking notes.
"I gave Sensei Ura Giri, my resignation letter. I'm leaving the dojo today," Tiger stroked his bandaged forearms.
"Oh, then what will you be doing then to earn money?" Rasta inquired. Truthfully he was shocked but was not surprised.
"I do not know." Tiger slumped on the red couch. "Martial arts was everything to me and it hurts to leave the dojo but I had to for the sake of others."
"Hold on. Why did you leave the dojo for the sake of others?" Rasta adjusted his glasses.
"Well I figured that the dojo would be better without me so, yeah just quit," Tiger convinced.
"I'll rephrase, why didn't you leave the dojo for yourself?"
Suddenly everything came into a halt. Tiger was taken aback by the question. He didn't know how to answer the question. Wasn't leaving for the sake of others makes more sense than leaving for your own selfish needs? Men without honour do not have the right to think and fulfill their own selfish wishes.
"I don't have any honour to stay in the dojo and I don't deserve to be there." Tiger was satisfied with his answer.
"I see... Say what makes a person honourable?" Rasta could see Tiger pondering and rubbing his chin.
"You don't need to explain in detail, just for me to understand." Rasta flashed a reassuring smile. It calmed Tiger's nerves a bit.
"Well a person being honourable means that they are a person worthy of respect. They are honest, fair and just. They don't expect any reward when they do the right thing and lives up to their values and principles." Tiger rambled on. "They are loyal to a fault and never turn back on their word."
"Well you seem plenty honourable yourself, Tiger," Rasta grinned, not noticing Tiger's eyes widening exponentially. "I don't know why you said you are not."
"You are quite honest in your feelings today, you chose to retire to protect the feelings of others because that is what you believe is right. You are a loyal to your dojo for many years and I don't think you'll turn your back on them so fast." Rasta leaned back on his chair.
When Rasta looked up, he saw waterworks from the red haired male. Routinely, Rasta grabbed a box of tissues and gave it to Tiger. The tears wept out slowly but calmly.
"Gomenasai, I don't know why I'm crying. I just felt glad that I was at least considered honourable by someone." (Translation: Sorry)
Rasta frowned. "I disagree on that last notion but I will not push."
Once the situation calmed down a bit, Rasta and Tiger talked. Whatever topic they could. The mini crying session Tiger had made Tiger more confidence in himself to share his opinions and values with Rasta. Tiger learned that his doctor has a slight caffeine addiction and he demanded that Rasta should take coffee in moderation.
"I remembered you said something about the Nakama soccer branch, what was it about?" Rasta looked towards Tiger, twirling his pen.
"Well, I myself actually wanted to join the soccer world. I like soccer but my Sensei Ura Giri says that I have more talent in martial arts than soccer. Nakama in the soccer world is very big as they're in the Super League," Tiger hugged the pillow provided with the couch.
"That does sounds interesting. I actually enjoy soccer to the point of being recruited by Grimm-"
"WHAT REALLY DR. RASTA"
"Yeah but I chose to become a therapist instead," Rasta shrugged. In truth, he just didn't want to wear makeup as a gig for financial income. Tiger whistled. Rasta looked at the time and realized Tiger's session was coming to an end.
"Before we end for today, what are you going to do after retiring from the dojo?" Rasta really need Tiger to answer this question because its best to quickly find a job fast.
"Well.. I can't join any other dojo since that would be dishonouring Nakama but I still would like to pursue martial arts though..." Tiger was in a turmoil. He didn't know what he wanted to do ever since this morning.
"Why not for now, you look for a part time job? After that you slowly find a job that suits you best," Rasta advised.
"I'll do that then," Tiger flashed a toothy grinned. Maybe coming to therapy was a good idea. "It seems the time is up Dr. Rasta. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave now."
"Be sure to know what your goal is," Rasta waved as Tiger collect his belongings and walked towards the door.
"Goodbye, doctor. Have a nice day."
As Tiger left the room, Rasta immediately received a notification of a new appointment booking made by Tiger in the next three weeks. What intrigued Rasta the most was the comment part of the notification. It states;
'Thank you doctor, I'll bring tea next time to stop your caffeine addiction :3' -Twisting Tiger
'Cute little shit.' Rasta laughed in his head. Rasta idly sat on his chair till it was 12:43 when another knock on the door was heard.
Rasta let out a cough and adjusted his clipboard. "Come in."
This next visitor contrast directly to the first. A man named Big Bo and his name does serve him justice due to his huge stature. Big Bo awkwardly sat on the red leather couch before greeting the doctor that is in.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Rasta. My name is Bo." The big man introduced himself. Before Rasta could say anything, a low grumble was heard.
"I'm sorry but where is that sound coming from?" Rasta looked left and right to source that weird noise.
"Ehehhe, that's my stomach," Big Bo scratched his shiny bald head. "I didn't eat enough for lunch today."
"Oh why?" Rasta wondered.
"Well I didn't want to be late to this appointment. Being a CEO is important to uphold whether in business setting or a regular one," Big Bo cracked his knuckles. "I've been so busy lately and lonely... being CEO is harsh."
"You are a workaholic?" Big Bo nodded.
"You must have been unconsciously distancing yourself from your friends and family." Big Bo nodded again.
Rasta let out a sigh. He is too overly familiar with these types of patients. It was a miracle to him that they managed to make time for their mental health. However Rasta knew that there are more of workaholics out there despite the amount coming in to see him.
Rasta brought his attention to his drawers, pulling out a jar of biscuits. He stood up and gave the jar to Big Bo who gratefully received the jar as if Rasta was an angel. Big Bo ate those biscuits as if a rabid wolf being starve for weeks.
"You eat a lot, Mr Bo." Rasta eyes can't keep up with the speed of his biscuits disappearing.
"Avoid the formalities, I don't like being addressed that way in not a business setting," Big Bo hated the formalities since it gave an impression for him to act a certain way. "But yeah, I do eat a lot. My butler said that I've been stress eating a lot."
"For a person who stress eats, you physique seems to be pretty strong," Rasta avoided looking at the slight chub around the abdomen area.
Suddenly, Big Bo went on a tangent about his family. Men in his family are generally large and Rasta shared about his own own family make up. (vaguely inspired by Dwayne Johnson grandfather)
"Your family history is pretty amazing. Any hobbies?" Rasta asked.
"Well.. I do like soccer." Rasta kept his mouth shut. He was surprised that another patient likes soccer.
Big Bo patted his thigh. "I am kind of a fanatic. I even sponsor a club in the Super League."
"Sponsoring a club? That is quite an accomplishment. I mean I played soccer and was recruited into Grimm." Rasta restated that fact the second time the day. "Well I rejected it since I wanted to become a therapist."
Big Bo choked on his biscuit. "WHAT!! Sorry but coincidence or not, the club I'm sponsoring is Grimm."
Rasta blinked in surprised. "Woah, what made you choose Grimm?"
"Well my reason is a bit superficial but my favorite player is the Awesome Dawson; Spike Dawson!" Big Bo said the name with pride. He huffed and continued his rant. "Well I do grow to loving each player but Spike will have a special place in my heart."
Rasta smiled softly. Being passionate is thrilling and something that young kids should try to find and explore. The pair continued to talk about many topics of adulting in general.
Slowly but surely, Big Bo began to trust Rasta. Sharing more of his passions and quirks was a refreshing change than the monotone desktop work and infuriating meetings. However all good things must come to an end.
"It seems my time is up, Doctor," Big Bo pointed to the clock. He offered a handshake to Rasta, "I'll book another appointment soon."
Rasta gripped the handshake firmly. "I'll look forward to it."
With that, Rasta was left alone until his next patient. "Second one enjoyed soccer huh."
The third one came a little late but by almost 5 minutes. Rasta prided himself as an early person but that doesn't mean he didn't mind the late coming since not everyone can or is able to arrive always on time.
It was 1.39 when Rasta heard very soft knocking. It was so soft that it could be taken as the wind blowing.
"Come in," Rasta fiddled with his pen.
The door revealed a mousy blond man with shoulders carrying so much weight despite holding onto a tote bag with SpongeBob SquarePants on it.
Clearly, Rasta realized that he had to take initiative for this particular patient. "You can sit on the couch and get yourself comfortable."
Rasta pretended to be a little busy and went to open his drawers and take out a... red glitter pen. Luckily he heard a little snort from the patient so hey the glitter pen was useful.
They both introduced themselves as Dr. Rasta and Klaus respectively. Rasta could easily sense the jitters from the blond.
"You can try the biscuits on the table," Rasta offered since Klaus was eyeing the biscuits ever since he walked in. Hesitantly, Klaus pick up a biscuit and immediately felt a gush of dopamine.
The biscuits taste so good! Klaus couldn't believe that a simple tea party snack could taste so exquisite. He accidentally rambled on to the doctor about the taste. Realising he was being rude, Klaus place the seventh half eaten biscuit down... in his mouth.
"I'm sorry for that sudden outburst. I'm a popular internet blog food connoisseur and I work in a publishing company." Klaus nervously introduced himself. He was expecting weird looks from the therapist but all he got was a look of.. admiration?
"A food connoisseur heh. You must be so lucky to try different cuisines and experience different delicacies," Rasta leaned back on his chair.
He lightly noted that after offering food to Klaus, Klaus immediately warmed up to him. One way to a man's heart is through his stomach after all~
Surprisingly the conservation that soon take over was mostly done by Klaus himself.
'So it wasn't him being shy that's the problem but what made him so nervous?' Rasta thought as he nodded along to what Klaus was saying. 'Welp I might as well rip off the bandaid.'
"Hey Mr Klaus, I was wondering, what made you so nervous?" Rasta cringed internally when he realised that he was a little to confrontational. Somehow, it worked in his favour.
"Uhmm, well I was often bullied in school and didn't have any 'good' friends. I was that weird kid." He thought that maybe this doctor will be his friend and friends do share about their past... right?
"Even at work, I don't have any colleagues who are willing to work with me and I often heard rumours about how weird or eccentric I am." Klaus paused. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn't have spoke too much.
Something clicked in Rasta's head. Klaus wasn't nervous because he was scared. He was nervous because he didn't know how to act to not elicit a bad reaction from Rasta himself. Klaus must have driven a lot of friends or people away from him due to his eccentricities.
"Well I don't think you're weird at all, Klaus." Rasta said earnestly.
That was the sentence that broke Klaus's back. Klaus broke down and started to cry. And oh boy was he an ugly crier. Klaus was gasping for air with snot and the waterworks.
Rasta comforted Klaus the best he could. Funnily, they were continuing the discussion as Klaus was crying his heart and nose out.
"You don't think I'm weird, Dr. Rasta?" Klaus gasped between each breath. Rasta denied. "Even when I write fanfictions on smut about the Super League."
Rasta paused thinking, 'The heck is a fanfiction and smut?' (To the people who wanted this; I hope you're happy)
But instead of denying blindly, Rasta asked whether Klaus played soccer since he spoke about the Super League. Klaus looked up and said he used to play soccer when he was a kid but he always played alone. Nobody wanted to play with him.
Klaus mentioned that when the teacher wanted the class to play soccer, Klaus was picked last by a classmate who recalled to be Uber. Apparently Klaus passes helped the team to win but even after that he was always picked last.
Rasta had to take a double take. His third patient played soccer. There seems to be a very strange coincidence happening today.
When Klaus left, he hadn't expected a knocking on the door that fast. At first he thought it was Klaus coming to take his stuff but the couch was pretty clean.
Hesitantly, Rasta called out to the mystery man. When the door opened, there was a large Brislovian man with blond hair covering his eyes.
Must be Rasta's next patient, Blok. However for a intimidating man of Blok's stature, Blok showed signs of anxiety. Hunched back, head downwards and fidgety hands. The resemblance to Klaus was uncanny.
But then a second person walked in. This time it was Rasta's colleague. She introduced Blok saying that Blok only knows how to speak Brislovian but can understand the English language. So she will be there to help Rasta to interpret Blok's words.
'Wow.' That was all Rasta could think. Well he had stranger days.
"Brtkylz kurtzazr." From there on, Rasta heard what the Brislovian language was like.
"I am Blok," interpreted the colleague. "I am a the CEO of a famous energy drink, Fizza Boom."
Both Rasta and the colleague winced internally. They have heard and tried the drink before. It wasn't very nice but somehow the more you drink it, the more addicting it is to the point where almost quarter of the people working in the clinic drink it on a daily basis.
"My secretary suggested I should visit a therapist to get a mental health checkup. I am quite nervous." She finished.
"You don't need to be so worried Mr Blok," Rasta assured. "Is there anything would you like to know about me?"
Blok thought for a moment. He spoke as the colleague interpret it. "Do you play sports, Dr. Rasta?"
"I played soccer when I was younger if that helps." Rasta said. Surely Blok wouldn't talk about soccer, seeing as the possibility of every of his patients playing soccer is low.
Despite his hair covering his eyes, Rasta could see Blok's eyes shimmering underneath it. "I play soccer too when I was young. I played it with my brother. His name is Attak."
"Oh it must be nice having a sibling to play with. How is brother, Attak doing?" Rasta shouldn't have expected anything. Coincidence are freaky.
There was a hesitation from Blok but the colleague gave a comforting pat which had given enough courage for Blok to talk about his sibling problems.
"I played soccer with my older brother Attak hoping to go pro. However everything changed when I was offered a recruitment from Technicali. My brother was jealous and I didn't want to have any beef with him." Blok took a deep breath. "So I rejected the offer."
"When I told him the news, Attak was apparently recruited as a replacement from me. He begin to disdain me more since he was seen as a replacement. I never see him anymore. The only time I would see him was during Technicali games. But I was never brave enough to face him. Like watching the game, I was on the sidelines in both distance and emotions."
'A brother's bond that was severed,' Rasta empathized. It was truly scary that a strong connection can be tethered so easily. "And how do you feel about it?"
Blok ruffled his hair in both sadness and irritation. Rasta's colleague coughed, "He said; I wish I could do something about it. I don't understand why my brother is like this. We never fought until then. I really don't know what to feel or to think. I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize. It's fine if you are confused and don't know what to feel." Rasta comforted. Blok gave a large smile.
"Why not we talk about your job occupation?" Rasta diverted the heavy topic to something much lighter. "As a CEO of a successful company Fizza Boom, how do you feel about that?"
With a lighter heart, Blok had a fun time talking with Doctor Rasta. The most happiest Blok ever felt since his separation from his brother. Maybe Blok should try to be more active then passive.
When the brislovian speaker left, Rasta could breathe properly. No disrespect but he doesn't know any other language than Portuguese and English but it was a fruitful discussion. His phone buzzed thrice, taking note that Big Bo, Klaus and Blok had book another appointment. The comment section made him chuckled.
'I'll make sure to eat a big lunch before coming here but tell me the brand of the biscuits you gave to me. It's so yummy.' -Big Bo
'I want to know who makes those biscuits. I'm pretty sure that's what friends do. I wanna make a review so tell me soon Dr. Rasta!!' -Klaus
'(＾∇＾)ﾉ♪' -Blok
Rasta chuckled. He took his red glitter pen, a gag gift from his collogues, and wrote on a post it note about telling his patients about the brand of the biscuits they ate. Rasta stick the note on his blackboard when the door came knocking.
"Come in." Rasta walked towards his desk and sat. Rasta observed the youthful male that entered as his eyes linger a second longer on the questionable(?) hair. Reading his clipboard, his patient name is Shakes and he is a university student.
Shakes sat down on the comfy red leather couch as he unceremoniously dropped his backpack on the ground. Shakes let out a sigh but recovered fast to bring his attention to the doctor.
"Hello, Dr. Rasta." Shakes waved his hand.
"Hello, Shakes. I see that you got back from university. What is your major?" Rasta arranged his papers while having both of his eyes glued to the younger.
"Well I major in History and Literature in University. I'm currently in my third year." Shakes used his fingers to count.
"Third year? Did my secretary put your age wrong? From my clipboard you are 19 but high schoolers graduate when they are 18." Rasta scanned his papers carefully.
"Oh no it is correct. I graduated from high school at age 16," Shakes corrected.
If Rasta was drinking coffee at that moment, he would spit it out. '16?!?! Is he a child genius??'
"That is very impressive, Shakes. Usually students chose a more technical major if they graduated that early so why the finer ones?" Rasta tried to suppressed his cough.
"Well actually," Shakes nervously chuckled. "I didn't want to enter to university but my mom really pushed for me to go get a job or pursue higher education. I was planning that after I graduate that I would join one of the Super League teams."
"Oh you play soccer?" Rasta blinked. This surely can't be a coincidence. This is the fifth time in the row. "And did you managed to get recruited?"
"Well more of used to play. My mom gave me a chance to get recruited and if I didn't I would have to give up soccer for the rest of my life." Shakes rested his head on his hand. "It kinda sucks, my best friend- I'm sorry... someone else I knew got recruited. I'm a man that keeps his promises so I chose to pursue a field that my uncle went and stopped playing soccer."
"Wow, I don't know what to say. That is tough love."
"Yeah but a promise is a promise," Shakes flashed a teary grin.
Rasta doesn't pity his patients. Pity is something a therapist shouldn't do. Instead Rasta admires Shakes qualities. Not wanting to bring the mood down further, Rasta quickly answered about why Shakes chose History and Literature as a major.
Shakes answered that ever since his dad left to buy milk (cough cough), his uncle helped to support him, his mom and little sister. His uncle was an archeologist who loves history. Shakes really enjoyed the stories that his uncle read to him and his sister.
Rasta was awed by Shakes's uncle and made a slight remark about he wanted to meet the man in read life. Conservation flow like smooth melted butter. Rasta saw Shakes as a bright kid who has a promising future.
The more Rasta spoke to the kid, he realizes that Shakes is too overly critical in himself as well as doubtful. When Rasta asked about Shakes recruitment, he answered that he flunked the test since he failed a bicycle kick.
Shakes mentioned that his used to be best friend got recruited instead. When Rasta questioned the fall out, Shakes didn't want to talk about it. Rasta knew his bounds as a therapist, you have to let the patient choose the pace.
When Shakes left, Rasta is getting up from his chair for his lunchbreak. Being the dad he was, Rasta walked Shakes out and returned the long awaited waved back at Shakes as he walked away from the building.
During his lunchbreak, Rasta received a notification for Shakes booking an appointment. He teared up in the comments.
'Dr. Rasta, thank you for today. I could breathe easier after talking to you. You do not remind me of my father but my uncle. Thank you for today :D" -Shakes
'Shit, get yourself together, Rasta. You're a therapist remember," Rasta breathed in and out. He took another bite of his rice. He doesn't have a client until the next hour. So Rasta was greatly confused by the erratic knocking of the door. Only for is to reveal a ponytailed man with translucent glasses.
Rasta snuck in a bite of his chicken before addressing the stranger. "May I help you?"
"Tch." The stranger walked and laid down on the couch as if he owned the place.
'Wow rude,' Rasta thought offhandedly. 'I should check my next client.'
Rasta flipped his notes and almost choked on his food when the faces of the next client matches the stranger infront of him. One small problem, the man infront of him is an hour early. Rasta faced the man who is lounging around.
Rasta coughed into his fist. "Not to get on the wrong foot but Mr El Matador, although I do appreciate my patients coming early, I don't think you interrupting my lunch break will do anything."
Rasta could see the immediate blush and quick denial from the man. El Matador gave meager excuses and Rasta could see the lies through it.
'He does have signs of narcissism but he does know his faults yet ignored it, heh kinda cute.'
Once El Matador calm down, Rasta thought 'fuck it' and started his session early. But he wanted to eat his lunch without talking too much. He figured out the most perfect question to ask to keep El Matador busy while eating and actually doing work.
"So Mr El Matador, can you tell me about yourself?"
"Well, I always love to talk about myself. When I was a boy-"
Rasta allowed the man to take charge of the conversation while he ate. However, Rasta took carefully consideration of the words El Matador spat out. He can't neglect his duties after all.
Rasta listened absentmindedly and stopped when El Matador mentioned soccer and how he used to play it a lot as kid. When Rasta further inquired about this, he responded with an old hobby I'd like to revisit.
This really was a strange day when all his patients love soccer. But hey, Rasta had many strange days as a therapist.
As the one sided conversation continued, Rasta lunch break was ending and yet El Matador could go on and on.
El Matador did technically overstayed his session since a session is about an hour long. But he did intentionally (accidentally) come early, El Matador can leave during Rasta's lunch break. Already speaking to the man for an hour, Rasta gave an exception and let El Matador stay until his real session ends.
Once Rasta could find a good time to interrupt El Matador, he asked the golden question.
"Speaking of which, you haven't answer me why you came so early?"
Rasta could physically see El Matador freeze up and deflates. "I received some fan mail from.."
"Haters?"
"Pfft, the great El Matador doesn't have any haters. Only people who truly haven't seen my beauty." El Matador averted his eyes. Rasta lifted an eyebrow which was enough to prod El Matador to open up.
"FINE! Ok, I received hate mail that made me upset," El Matador pouted and dramatically laid on the couch.
Rasta chuckled. "Well, what do you think about those types of fan mail?"
"Angry, duh," El Matador rolled his eyes.
"We'll do you know why they send you those hate mails?" Rasta prodded. If his instincts were right, El Matador knew why.
El Matador looked away and mumbled something incomprehensible. When ask to speak up louder, he bit his tongue before preparing his words.
"Because I'm a narcissistic asshole who is selfish and stupid. Because I'm the guy that shouldn't be role models to kids. Because I'm irresponsible and immature. Because I'm arrogant and rich snob who's flaunting his wealth-"
El Matador choked out. Goddamnit, his crying over as something stupid as this. It's not even worth his time but he just, "-because I'm not good enough."
And the dam finally broke. Rasta immediately offered a tissue which the man begrudgingly took.
Rasta was somewhat relieved that El Matador had a vulnerable side to him. Or what he likes to call it, being human.
Rasta offered soothing words of comfort and comfortable silence to help the tears clean up on its own.
"It's ok if you feel upset about this. Everyone struggles with this but that shouldn't mean you should get so hung up on it. Although it is hate mail, you don't need to change your entire personality just a little tweak be fine."
Rasta offered a warm fatherly smile. "You're a strong man, Mr El Matador. You hold yourself proud with confidence and zealous, a feat that many can't do. Hate mails are there to just make you feel bad. Don't worry and chin up."
El Matador was used to compliments, he live and breathe compliments. Compliments for El Matador was just delicious gourmet food that he can eat everyday. Sure he gets criticism but those are just sour yucky vegetables like onion that you have to eat from time to time even though it sheds tears.
Dr Rasta's compliments were different. They were compliments no doubt but they were too real. They were like bitter pills that were hard to swallow.
El Matador left silently when he realised his time was up. Like how he came and went. But this time there was no dark cloud looming over him instead it was a sunshine.
Rasta looked at the clock. 'Oh my, time sure flies by. Then again I did listen to his backstory as a podcast while eating.'
Strangely, Rasta heard distant shouting. Then he heard sudden tapping, it keeps getting louder to the point it becomes... stomping?
The door burst open to reveal a blond man with frizzy hair holding a red skateboard. He was gasping for air when a thunderous voice boomed.
"WHERE ARE YOU!"
"Sir, please this is a clinic, keep your voice down." A gentle female voice spoke from the hallways.
"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A CLINIC, WHERE IS NORTH SHAW!?!"
"Sir, our security guards will forcefully escort you out of the premises if you don't leave right now."
The commotion died down soon enough when the man who Rasta has confirmed to be 'North Shaw' collapsed using the door as support.
Rasta sipped his mug. "So Mr North Shaw, why not you rest on the couch as you explained to me what happened out there."
North Shaw let out a smile and climb his way to the couch. He quickly explained that he was skate boarding to his appointment but realized that he was late. So being the daredevil he is, North Shaw trespassed a government state land illegally and crashed into the security guards.
Rasta blinked. Well he heard worse. Soon the conversation took over between the two men, discussing about the safety and madness of being a daredevil.
Rasta was somewhat intrigued that North Shaw was a famous influential parkour, daredevil, stuntman and wilderness expert. Currently, North Shaw is listing off the amount of injuries he had accumulated during his 15 years of active stunts in his career excluding his childhood ones.
As the list continues, Rasta felt nauseated by how long the list is and the severity of each injury.
"Pretty cool, heh?" There was an air of smugness surrounding the daredevil.
"Indeed but I would be worried about the amount you've accumulated." North Shaw rolled his eyes. This isn't the first time he heard this load of crap.
Everytime North gets injured, friends and family would say 'Take care of yourself! Getting injured is terrible and bad!'
Blah, blah, blah. Scars are cool. Every bone broken is a story to tell. And it's not as if North doesn't know how to fall properly or gets a fracture when bumping into someone. North is not a fragile person. He's a rough and tough stone headed man.
And now he's going to hear another PSA about injuries from the doctor-
"Your body must be as tough as a nail right now, that's mighty impressive. Those injuries you got is pretty bad but there's a reason why blood, sweat and tears is a phrase." Rasta wrote on his clipboard; 'Prone to injuries' and underlined it heavily.
"Being a daredevil is hard but it's brave of you to handle the job requirements and the downs to it. Not everyone is as hardy as you."
North remained silent. Well... that was unexpected. First time anyone wasn't worried or mad at him for breaking a leg. (Pun intended)
"So doc, any injuries you have?"
"Well I did fractured my left ankle multiply," Rasta scratched his cheek to the amusement of North Shaw. "I got it while I was playing soccer."
"You play soccer too, doc?" North said with wide eyes. "I play too! Was almost recruited into Hydra, that soccer club that gets to do water sports."
"But some Nemo named Liquido got my spot," North pouted. "Well I ain't got no regrets because of that, I was offered to become a stuntman!"
"Remarkable, I too was almost recruited into Grimm but I refuse since I wanted to become a therapist."
"Mad respect to you doc," North brought his fist to his chest and did a pumping motion. Rasta gave a small grin.
"Well another reason why I had to refuse is because of my previous fractures." North raised one of his eyebrows. His mouth curved downwards.
"Too much broken bones can restrict your physical range of motion, everytime I rotate my ankle, I feel a click," Rasta slowly rotate his ankle. It feels stiff and hard.
Unbeknownst to Rasta, North Shaw was subtly moving his shoulders elbow, finger, knee and ankle. True to Rasta's words, North felt clicks and bones rubbing each other. It did not hurt but still North winced. Maybe... North should turn down the amount of bones being broken.
Conversation flowed smoothly like surfing on a wicked wave. When it was time to leave, North Shaw abruptly turned around and bowed to Rasta. "Thanks dude, for today."
Rasta flashed a small fatherly smile. "Come again soon."
And with that, North Shaw skated out from the room. Rasta relaxes himself since he only has one more patient left. He could hear distant shouting outside the window to see North Shaw being chased by the buildings security guards. Rasta chuckles to himself before feeling the all too familiar buzz in his pocket. El Matador and North Shaw booked their appointment.
'The great El Matador will grace you with his presence so rejoice. He would also like to thank you for today.' -El Matador's secretary
'will see you soon Dr. Rasta. Had a wicked time today' -North Shaw
Rasta decided while waiting he should do some admin work. When he finished his last patient hasn't arrived yet. Its getting late.
The sun was about to set and his last patient was half an hour late. Maybe it was a no show for today; Rasta squinted at the clipboard and read 'Cool Joe'. Rasta decided before he end his job for today he will finish some of the paperwork.
As he was about to grabbed his blank paperwork, the door slammed open and closed loudly. Lo and behold was a man with an afro supporting a red comb. Rasta was about to question on the very aggressive opening of the door but stopped when he saw the man panting hard.
"Why not take a seat on the leather couch, Mr Joe?" Rasta offered. Once he sat down, Cool Joe wasted no time in apologizing for his late coming. He quickly explained about his career as a celebrity DJ and Rockstar and how he had to climb over crowds and dodge his superiors.
Rasta sat there amazed that he had a lot of famous and rich people had come to him today. In all honesty he half expected that the last person would be someone famous. He was right.
"Well I do understand that you need to run away from fans but I don't know so much about your managers, Mr Joe." Rasta crossed his arms.
"Just call me Cool Joe or Joe. I too am wondering why I need to run away from my boss." Cool Joe ruffled his spongy hair hard. "When I entered in the music industry, I thought I could make and di whatever I wanted. And suddenly I've had all these restrictions on me, with catchphrases I don't use and clothes that are not groovy at all."
"Like what the heck is kacha chow or ring a ling ding?? This is totally not What Does the Fox Say," Cool Joe huffed. Once he calmed down, Cool Joe faced Rasta. "Hey Dr. Rasta, what kind of music you like?"
Rasta was startled but nonetheless answered. "Well I'm a bit of traditionalist, nothing fancy like music artist these days so I enjoy golden oldies-"
"GOLDEN OLDIES!!"
Rasta jumped out of his seat by sudden outburst. "You okay, there Joe?"
"Oh no sorry, rarely now I see artist enjoying golden oldies or like liking many different genres of music. But when someone mentions golden oldies or jazz, they Fly Me to the Moon." Cool Joe sighed.
It was quite sad that old songs that has complex rhymes and deep lore are being replaced with songs that even monkeys could understand. Despite Cool Joe not liking the change of direction of music, he still wholeheartedly enjoy any songs that he could feel the utter effort put into.
"Oh, then what genre of songs you produce? I didn't know that you are famous," Rasta palmed his hands.
"I produce all kinds of genres, my favorites is funk but I produce more pop and reggae." Cool Joe listed. "I produce them more since my boss said I was the next Bruno Mars. This feels so much like Grenade."
"I'm impressed that you are not dead yet." A deaf person could hear every nuance of stress and frustration in each syllable Cool Joe spoke. "I'm not wrong to say that music is your catharsis?"
Cool Joe snorted. He responded that if his stress relief has to be done a certain way, he will be even more stressed. He said that his only freedom is soccer. Rasta was elated that his managers actually encouraged Cool Joe to play soccer and perform in stadium. Cool Joe bit his tongue when he said it was all for publicly and repertoire.
"I just want my own Bohemian Rhapsody, ya know? Not being dictated by anyone but myself. I'm so Tired and Awake," Cool Joe laid down on the couch, cracking his bones. All the physical tension left him but the mental tension is still there.
"I'm guessing you book an appointment with me because you really to vent? How did your managers react?" Rasta scribbled on his clipboard.
"Hey Dr. Rasta maybe when writing your formal notes should not be in the red glitter pen, you got there," Cool Joe joked offhandedly. Rasta quickly swapped the glitter pen with a bland one.
"My managers didn't want me to go for therapy since they thought I would be a Mama's Gun. But if I explain that mental health is important, I'm sure they would allow me." Cool Joe doubt what he said. He will probably explain to his managers that being more vulnerable to fans will increase his good reputation.
"I don't wanna be a junkie cause of stress better if I chose to pull a Lose Yourself to my work and become a workaholic." Rasta grimaced. He knew there was a rising epidemic of celebrities turning to drugs to cope with stress of their work as well as more overdose deaths. The pair continued to talk about the olden days where jukeboxes were still a thing in restaurants.
Cool Joe glanced at the clock. His session was about to end. Time went by so fast. Maybe he should've stopped signing autographs and excused himself earlier and not be late to this appointment. When they bid their goodbyes, Cool Joe was about to close the door more gently when he first arrived, he was stopped by Dr. Rasta.
"Before you leave, Cool Joe. You should know to Come and Get Your Love." Rasta said with a sincere smile.
Cool Joe burst out in fit of giggles. "Rarely I hear people actually referencing song titles to me but I'll make sure that I know What a Wonderful World it is."
Cool Joe left the room. It was close to 7.30. That was Rasta's last patient. He could finally start on his unfinished stack of paperwork that always get taller and taller. When the clock strikes 9, Rasta received his last notification. Cool Joe booked another appointment. Leaving a comment that says;
'I'm going to bring my records with me Dr. Rasta, you'll enjoy it.' -Cool Joe
And that was it. Rasta finished a another day. But today felt different but he couldn't place his finger on it. He sat on his chair and was left with his own thoughts.
"All of them enjoy playing soccer," Rasta sipped his lukewarm creamed coffee as he leaned back on his leather chair. "Not everyday I have all of my patients that enjoy the same thing in one day."
Rasta chuckled to himself. 'Maybe in a different world, universe or timeline, they would've been in the same soccer team. Maybe I would be in too.'
Rasta sighed and shook his head. It's impossible. We lead different lives, far different than what any normal soccer player has. But maybe there is chance that... him and his patients played soccer in a team and dominated the entire Super League.
Alas, it was just a wistful dream. Nothing more than fantasy but it was a nice fantasy to indulge in. Rasta picked up his clipboard to see his list of patients the next day and spit out his coffee. His white coat was stained with hazelnut coffee while his floor got most of the damage.
'The universe has many ways to make sure humans always always hope," Rasta got up from his desk and went to clean up the mess.
Laying on the table was a clipboard. A clipboard that has a few scribbles inscribed in it. One of that scribbles was "counselling the Super League teams".
_____
Author: Man I don't know when I will list the book as finished. But my goal currently is till chapter 30 where I can officially close this book. If you haven't read the notes above, I'll go on an on and off hiatus