Thread: Amnesia (Nico x Hahvoc)

I had always been frightened of him. There was something strange, something foreign in him that lurked beneath a flawlessly executed facade. I knew he was dangerous. I knew it from the start. It's the truth, when I say I thought I hated him. Those eyes. Those damn arrogant eyes! They saw my every mistake, my fear, and brought them to the surface without sympathy, or remorse. Hmh. I'm very self conscious, you should know. Always second guessing myself, stumbling over my insecurities in private... Ah. I had success keeping that part of me out of my work, until he was assigned to me. The people who brought him said he was a part of a counseling service, they told me to get him to talk, find out anything I could. I had courage at first I thought I could find his weaknesses, his hopes and fears. But not even a glance into his mind was awarded to me I couldn't get past cold, observant eyes. He made me feel pathetic. The reason being, I could never read him. His face didn't give anything away and my probing questions bounced like pebbles on a lake, only to slip beneath his cool surface before I could retrieve them. It made me question myself and my training. He liked that, making me scramble. Bastard. We'd sit like this for hours, a verbal tango. Myself, Trying to remain professional and calm, going around in desperate circles, and he, seemingly laughing at me. I hated that most. I hated that he was so damn intimidating his sharp eyes, sharp tongue, and the fact he could weed out an understanding of me. It was my first year of formal practice, and I got stuck with his case. I've never had a harder client than him... He was complex- as if his very skin was made of secrets. I could not understand why. That was, until he let me in. Just that once. Oliver Tell woke to the sound of his alarm, before slamming his hand down on the button with a groan and slowly sat up to rub the dream from his head. He hadn't had it in a year... Why was it back? Always the same The replay of his former cases' admission. The sick look on the man's face as he confessed. Groping in the dark, Oliver found the light switch for a lamp, illuminating his sparse, tidy bedroom. It was large, but also largely empty, like the rest of his home. He wasn't a very materialistic person. 445 AM. Shit. There was no way he'd get back to sleep. It had been three years since he 'd condemned that man, yet the memories were back. He had been obligated to do something.. The man was dangerous. He could hurt someone, he... Oliver's thoughts tapered off there, settling into a familiar guilt. It had been a Friday, the day his mentor had other clients and wouldn't stay to critique him. He was alone with the client. Oliver had listened in stunned silence, and then pressed the buttons for 911. In the entirety of his prospective career he had never betrayed a client yet, he had handed over that one to the authorities like something poisonous. Oliver shook his head, trying to rid himself of the imprinted look the man gave him as he was dragged none too gently from his office. The same look as he testified in court... Then the man's sentence. Just forget him.. Three years, and he still had those dreams. Shuffling half-awake to the shower, he let the water warm, then stood beneath the hot torrent as it ran over his neck and back. Oliver leaned his head on his arm against the wall, letting the warmth melt his thoughts away and relax his muscles. Heat he couldn't resist. In that respects he was akin to a cat he was always seeking warmth, and without a source he cloud be found bundled in layers of sweaters. It was just too damn cold here. He wouldn't have stayed and rented this small house on the edge of the city limits if not for the job opportunities offered to him here. Almost finished with his Master's, and he was doing well for himself, working closely with his mentor and various clients. The twenty-four year old ran hands haphazardly through short brown locks, massaging the soap into his scalp and wiping it out of green eyes. Showers seemed to be the only thing he had a real fondness for nowadays. Certainly, he wasn't one to openly seek adventure, but it was as if something was missing. His life had washed into a dull grey, like the clouds here that blocked the sun from darkening his pale brown skin. The abundance of vitamin D was what Oliver missed most about Arizona. Part Native American, part white trash, the boy had grown up amongst the culture, as well as the casualties of the slums. There was a reservation near by his school, but they scorned him. They weren't of his tribe. His family had moved down from Idaho to settle there before he was born. Something about better access to drugs, drug trade, probably... He knew he had to leave his home if he wanted to make a life for himself. There was nothing back there for him with his alcoholic father and his abusive mother. They had five other kids to worry about, to beat. He sent money every month, but not a phone number or a return address. Oliver had learned his lesson when they tried to get access to his scholarship money that was awarded to him to help with his psychology degree. He wanted his own life. It wasn't hard, but it was dull. Turning his thoughts away from depression and insecurity, he focused on his stomach. Breakfast sounded good. He dressed quickly in jeans, socks, and a green sweater, cranking up the heater as he did. Soon eggs were on a pan, sausages bubbling beside them, and coffee brewing in a press. He watched faint car lights pass lazily outside his window, looking up at the horizon still dotted with stars. It was almost pitch black outside, the light shed from his kitchen window only illuminating the side of the house up until the edges of the woods. Turning back to the warmth of his stove, Oliver flipped the eggs.