It's the first time I've written Dukexiety and ho boy, this one's a doozy. Technically, it's only implied, but still. I’d love to hear what you think!
Word Count: 2,651
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My Writing Masterpost
The winter night was harsh and unforgiving. Wind ripped through the trees as a deep unpleasantness hung stale in the cold air. Virgil could feel its weight buckling down on him, could sense that something was deeply wrong. It petrified him.
“How’ve you been this week, Virgil?” He sat stiffly on the sofa across from his therapist, anxiety gnawing at him; nothing new. Dr. Logan Sanders had been his therapist for the last three years now since his mother had insisted by all means that he see a specialist. He’d been so bad then, in such a deteriorated state both mentally and emotionally. Honestly, he wasn’t much better today.
“Y’ know, the same,” he muttered, voice gritty. Virgil’s gaze fixed on a spot on the tan carpet, avoiding the therapist’s eyes. They’d felt so hallow lately, so unforgivingly bitter. It always convinced him he’d done something wrong. Logan rested a hand on his chin, an exasperated sigh exiting his parted lips as he shut his eyes for a moment.
In the many years that Logan had been a practicing therapist, he’d always handled every situation with a calm rationale. He would never claim to have coddled his patients, as he wasn’t the type, he’d certainly been something akin to gentle, at least as gentle as he could manage. He’d never wanted to apply any unnecessary pressure to individuals in already fraught situations. Now, he wondered if he should’ve approached things differently with Virgil, if perhaps he should have been more direct, asked the harder questions. Maybe he would’ve gotten somewhere.
“The same?” He asked, sounding uncharacteristically impatient, “Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?”
“Yeah, I have,” Virgil mumbled uneasily, “I’ve done everything you’ve asked, doc. I dunno, I just… don’t feel good.”
“Could you elaborate on that, please?” His therapist requested, sounding like a broken record. He always asked that, but Virgil never could seem to deliver. He grumbled, running a hand through his frazzled purple hair and worried his bottom lip. Therapy sessions were supposed to make him feel less anxious, but lately, they’d only been elevating things.
“No… no, I don’t think so. It’s just like I said; I don’t really know what’s wrong, I – I guess? I don’t think I ever have, really.” Logan leaned forward in his chair, letting out a weary sigh and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
For the first year or so of his sessions, he had such high expectations of what kind of solutions he could find with Virgil. Back then there had seemed like so much to delve into, an entire person teeming with possibility; someone he could help. Virgil appeared to suffer from a number of issues that his other patients did, which initially sparked hope in the therapist.
However, there was much more to Virgil than he’d previously assumed. It didn’t take long for Logan to uncover the deep-rooted paranoia, festering just beneath the surface.
He was constantly nervous, fidgeting, and unnerved. He told tales of monsters, and the one he mentioned had been present in his life for as long as he could remember. These weren’t the figurative kind but rather the large-as-life, straight-out-of-a-horror-movie kind of creatures. No logic nor science could deter him from his conviction that they were real, not to say that Logan hadn’t tried. Virgil didn’t bring it up often, but when he did there was a wide, childlike fear in his eyes. He sounded so sure of himself when he spoke of these monsters that he never cared to elaborate on. He wouldn’t describe their appearance or what they were, simply that they existed. Despite Logan’s questioning, Virgil didn’t budge.
The strangest thing was, Virgil didn’t seem frightened by the idea of these things existing, but rather no one believing him. “No one ever understands. They don’t even try,” he’d once said. The statement remained with Logan, even now, haunting him like a phantom. He still didn’t know what to do with it.
“But Virgil,” Logan countered, “You do know what’s wrong. At least partially. You know that you’re deeply unhappy and have a heightened level of anxiety. You’re on medication for that.”
Virgil squirmed in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor. Uneasiness squeezed his insides as panic swept over him in pounding, unrelenting waves. Something wasn’t right.
“Well… yeah. Of course, I know that. But… there’s more, y’ know? A lot of stuff I don’t understand. I want to, I just… don’t.” Logan exhaled sharply, lolling his head back for a moment before turning back to his patient. He’d never looked so fed-up until today and it set an uneasiness to the beat of Virgil’s heart.
“Perhaps we could attempt to explore something else? Maybe talk about the monsters you’ve mentioned before?” Though he tried, Logan couldn’t mask the condescension of his tone.
“No. I don’t think I’d like to talk about that very much,” Virgil said quickly, crossing his arms over his chest as if that could armor his vulnerability. Suddenly, after letting out a noise of frustration, Logan rose to his feet. Virgil’s heart clenched; they weren’t even halfway through with their session.
“Uh… Dr. Sanders…?”
“I’m sorry, Virgil. Truly I am,” the therapist began, combing a hand through his hair before marching solemnly over to his desk and throwing open a drawer.
“Dr. Sanders i-is everything okay? What’re you sorry for?” Virgil asked, desperation seeping into his voice. Logan walked back to his patient with several business cards in hand, looking them over before meeting the eye of an especially anxious Virgil.
“I don’t think this is working out.”
The statement was as sharp and cold as the wind outside, chilling Virgil down to the bone.
“What? W-what do you mean?” The therapist sighed; defeat readable on his face.
“Listen, Virgil, you’re a good man. I sincerely wanted to help you. I tried my best, in every way that I know how. But… I’m afraid it didn’t work out.”
“Wait. You’re telling me that you’re – that you’re dropping me?! Just like that? T-that you’re not gonna see me anymore?” The pain and anger mingled in Virgil’s tone, mixing until they were almost the same.
“Please, I don’t want to upset you. I have a number of colleges who I think might be a better fit for you. Here,” he said, extending a handful of business cards to Virgil, “Here’s their contact information. They’re all wonderful specialist and –.”
Virgil grabbed the cards from his therapist’s hand, crumpling them and thrusting them to the ground. He stomped on them, the cards crunching underfoot.
“Now, Virgil –.”
“No!” He shouted, outraged, “How could you do this? I-I pay you, don’t I? You’re supposed to help me! You’re supposed to fix me!” The threat of tears spilling over became emanate as a tremor ran down his spine.
“Listen to me: I’ve done all that I can,” Logan said with a sigh, “I’m not saying that you’re beyond help. You’re merely not finding it with me. I know you pay for your sessions, but I haven’t seen progress in too long. I don’t want to be a hindrance to your mental health, and I fear I’ve become just that.”
Tears ran down Virgil’s face, the warmth on his cheeks burning and unwelcome. The coldness that stirred in his heart was a bold contrast.
“H-how could you?” He asked, a hallow, broken tint to his voice.
“As I said, I apologize. I really do wish I could’ve done more.”
“You didn’t even try,” Virgil snarled, accusation burning in his eyes. Logan let out a sound of exasperation, scrubbing a hand over his face and shutting his eyes.
“I did, Virgil. I tried with the very best of my ability; I assure you. And…” he paused, disappointment flickering on his face, “And you have been the only patient that I haven’t been able to help.”
Virgil’s blood ran cold as he stood, staring in disbelief at his therapist – scratch that, former therapist – tears tumbling down his cheeks. His hands clenched into tight fists as the ice of his heart began to melt in contrast to the building rage that burst into flames.
“F-fine. I’ll go. I’ll leave because… because you failed me.” A frown tugged at Logan’s lips as he set his arms at his sides, sighing deeply.
“I truly am sorry.”
“Sure. Whatever,” Virgil muttered, moving towards the door.
“I can still give you the information of one of my colleges if you’d like. I really do think they could be of great help to you.”
“Save it,” Virgil spoke through gritted teeth, “I… I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say to me.” Logan nodded somberly, turning to his patient one final time.
“Understood. Take care, Virgil. I hope you’re able to get the help that you need.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Sanders,” Virgil said, slamming the door as hard as he could manage.
The wind howled as Virgil stepped out of the office and into the street, leaves skittering about and the feeling of bitterness burrowing deeper inside of him.
The bus ride home was a silent one. Usually, no one spoke to him in public situations anyway; it wasn’t shocking that Virgil wasn’t a people-person. But today they stayed even further than usual. Maybe they didn’t trust that look in his eyes.
When he arrived at his apartment the tears had welled back in his eyes. He threw open the door to his small dwelling, not even bothering to turn the lights on before delivering a sharp kick to the nearest object, happening to be his wooden coffee table. He shouted through the silence as he collapsed to the ground, his head in his hands.
“I… I don’t understand. I tried to do a-as he said… make progress. And he left me. J-just like everyone else…” He sniveled, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood before rising to his feet and throwing his hands in the air.
“W-what am I supposed to do now? What kind of s-sick… twisted man is he? I-I thought he would help me…”
“He was just like the rest of them, Virgil,” A harsh, grating voice spoke.
“I… I guess…”
“It’s just like I told you. He wasn’t to be trusted. None of them are, don’t you get that?” The voice continued, and Virgil let out a pained exhale, walking from the living room and into the bedroom, the voice gaining in volume.
“I-I do now,” Virgil admitted, his bed groaning underneath him as he sat down, hunched and wounded.
“Good. It was about time you learned.” The handle on the closet door began to turn slowly, the door itself creaking as it opened without Virgil’s assistance – just as it had ever since he could remember. The figure emerged, the light flickering on and off above him.
Remus was pitch dark, the color of oil. He was a plume of smoke given life, wispy and shifting, besides two bright green pupilless eyes that gave off a haunting glow. The monster’s shape could change at will, but currently, it possessed that of a human man, a twisted silhouette. The figure floated towards Virgil, making the motion of walking, though he didn’t mimic it completely. He sat down beside his companion, the mattress failing to dip beneath him, for the creature had no weight. He pressed a hand to Virgil’s shoulder, wisps of smoke escaping a cavity that presently served as a mouth.
“All I’ve ever done is protect you. Don’t you see that, Virge?” The ghost of tears clung to Virgil’s pale face as he stared straight ahead, his eyes refusing to meet that of the beast. He wasn’t afraid – he just didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to be seen.
“Yeah… I mean, I guess I do. I-I just thought –.”
“Forget what you thought,” Remus interrupted pointedly, “Forget all of it. It doesn’t matter, never did, in fact. This world's had it out for you from the start.” Virgil laughed bitterly, rubbing his eyes.
“Y’ know, I told Dr. Sanders about you. Mentioned you a couple of times, actually.” Remus swiveled his head, a smoking hand touching Virgil’s face, causing almost no sensation. He shuddered anyway.
“You. Did. What?” The beast growled demandingly. The anger in Remus’s tone made it sound like he could if he so desired, tear him apart limb from limb. The idea didn’t scare Virgil like it should’ve. He was long past that point; Virgil hadn’t been afraid of Remus for years now.
“Fucking relax, dude. It doesn’t matter anyway. He didn’t believe me… thought I was crazy…”
“Isn’t that why your mom sent you to him in the first place? Because you’d gone crazy?” Virgil stuttered.
“I – I was never –.”
“Shh,” Remus cooed, though his voice was hardly capable of affection, “I know you aren’t. They don’t believe you, Virgil. They don’t know you like I do. Who are they to tell you what you need?”
“Y-yeah,” Virgil’s voice crackled in agreement.
“Do you want me to… take care of things? Right this wrong?” Virgil had been hoping Remus would suggest just the thing that could dull his pain.
“I mean, if you wanna,” he said as casually as he could manage, though he knew the creature was never one to turn down such an offer.
“Of course,” Remus said with a manic grin. He rose from the bed and turned to Virgil, his black hole of a mouth now boasting several rows of inky-black razor-sharp fangs. “You know I hate to skip out on a meal.”
Remus smiled, and Virgil smiled back, feeling the first bit of contentment in a long while.
“You want me to bring you back a trophy this time?” Remus asked giddily, “I know how much you like those.” Virgil thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head.
“Nah, I’m good.” He had enough of those as it was, considering how much Remus enjoyed giving “gifts” of that nature. At first, it had been a bit like a cat dropping a bird at his feet, but by now, Virgil had grown used to it enough for him to recognizes it as some sick token of affection. It didn’t gross him out like it used to, in fact, it was kind of sweet, in a twisted way.
“Suit yourself, emo,” he said with a shrug, “I’ll be back in a bit.” Remus pulled open the window, slinking outside into the night, becoming nearly invisible against the black sky.
“I know you will,” Virgil said, still smiling. Remus was already gone.
Virgil was a very troubled person and had been since childhood. He didn’t have many people he was close to, only one, actually, though no one believed him to be real. But Remus was unlike all of the other horrid people Virgil had left behind.
There was a time not long ago when Virgil had been terrified of Remus, fearing the sounds of his claws scratching against his bedpost, the sharpness of his fangs, the scent of his breath just after a kill. But with time, Remus’s strangeness became far less odd, and something Virgil found himself taking comfort in, against his will. He found solace in those emerald eyes, emotionless and bright. He found relief in embraces featherlight and inky black, and for the first time in so long, he found someone to trust.
When push came to shove, Remus would always be there for him. He was someone who could take away all the cruel, vicious individuals who’d been his tormenters for so long. His mother. His father. His therapist. Even strangers who’d been unkind to him on occasion. Virgil could count on Remus to make the pain subside, knowing he’d never find a better companion.
Virgil was unlike most. Instead of hiding from the monster in his closet, he had grown to embrace him.
I ended up coming up with ideas for two Intrulogical fics, and here’s the outline for one of them!
After falling on hard times, Logan has no choice but to move back into his childhood home with his parents for a while. The first night he spends there is more strange than he was expecting.
The monster under the bed who had haunted him as a child has been waiting there all these years for a new child to move in. When it arrives that night to see someone in the bed above them, it assumes it to be a new child. It stretches one of its tentacles out and wraps it around the child’s hand, waking them.
Only it’s not a child. Logan looks over the side of the bed, and he and the monster make eye contact. Logan gasps. “Remus?!”
Logan had assumed that the monster that haunted him as a child and he’d named Remus was little more than imagination as he entered his teen and adult years. But there the monster is now, proving him wrong.
And the monster... well, it’s taken aback at seeing Logan as an adult.
And it’s also taken aback at how cute and handsome Logan has become.
