Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Golden

The Golden Rule

by moocow 13 reviews

When Jenn sent this to me, I started crying at how beautiful it is writen. I felt so, so, amazing. A Dr. Jenn Chapter

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Angst - Warnings: [!] [?] - Published: 2007-05-10 - Updated: 2007-05-11 - 2779 words

Dirty was perhaps one of my favorite patients. Although he could be extremely hard to work with, he was always fun and bright, and he always seemed to respect me in his own way.

It was a fresh and crisp morning, bells and wind chimes sprung into life outside, filling the air with soft and sweet melodies of children's laughter. The booming of fathers' stern voices; the chirps of mothers' commands.

I peered out of my window, soft breezes sent crimson hairs flying in all directions; crimson leaves and green grass. Five minutes was just enough time for me to enjoy was a wonderful day it was outside. To forget about all the troubles in the world for a moment and be a kid again. Because that's how Dirty made me feel. Even though his problem was hard, it caused those close to him grief, and he needed to be brought back, you couldn't help but feel young around him.

There were whispers outside my rotting door, and a small hesitant knock.

"Come in, Dirty," I said with a smile on, sitting down in front of my desk this time.

I opened Dirty's case file filled with many things. Not just information on said patient, but drawings. Colorful and vivid drawings in crayon created by a 20 something year old boy.

Name: Jonathan Miller.
Ailment: Mindset of a 6 year old.
Parental Status: Divorced.
Caretaker: Millie.

"Hi, Doctor Jenn," Dirty waved to me, sitting down in the chair opposite to me and twiddling his thumbs. At this age, they were very curious, and I saw his eyes rotate around the room, taking it all in.

"I see Millie isn't here with you this time," I adjusted the square-framed glasses on the bridge of my nose.

Dirty shook his head, "Nuh-uh. I'm a big boy now."

I smiled and voiced my very thoughts and feelings, "Well I'm glad." I clicked my pen, scribbling a line on the fresh piece of paper, making sure the pen worked fine.

"So, have you been doing anything fun lately, Dirty?"

"Yeah! I met a new friend today and he's coming over to Millie's house soon to play with me," Dirty picked up a small snow glob on my desk and shook it up, letting the snowflakes and sparkles swirl around before his eyes.

I wasn't shocked completely. I was a bit surprised that someone had felt comfortable with him being in the company with their child. But at the same time my features relaxed and all I could think of was "improvements improvements improvements" and that's really all that mattered. Or so I told myself. Because deep down, I had a somewhat spiritual connection to all my patients, and I really did care for them dearly.

"That's wonderful. What's his name?" I asked, accepting the snow globe back from Dirty's large hands.

"Bradley. I met him at the park down the street," he pointed out the window and I could faintly see the small benches and trashcans that bordered the park.

"Say, do you know where my mom and dad are?" He questioned me with wise eyes. I opened my mouth, about to answer, but his eyes shocked me. He seemed extremely poised. Concerned and proper in his questioning of his parent's location. I felt a tug at my mouth and my heart. In a way, Dirty was still a child. And children need their parents more than anything at times.

I shook my head, "I'm sorry. I don't. But don't you like Millie?"

"Very much, yah," his eyes lit up and he fidgeted in his seat.

"Well that's good. Do you have fun with her? Play lots of games?"

He nodded. Shifting his eyes towards the door. "I'm bored."

And this was the hard part with Dirty. He didn't have much patience.

"Well, our time is almost up for the day, so I suppose I can let you go a little early this time. How does that sound?"

He shot out of his seat, and ran up to the door. His large, tan hand was quick to turn the knob, but he turned back to me before leaving.

"Oh, thanks. Bye!" And he bolted.

Millie quickly popped her head in, holding onto a very impatient Dirty.

"Was he good today?" She asked.

"Oh, very good, don't worry. I'm really glad he made a new friend. You're doing a great job. Next week then, Wednesday, same time?" I shuffled a few papers on my desk, sorting files and folders, sifting through memories and tragedies.

She smiled warmly and nodded. "Sure. Come on, Dirty."

They turned to leave, when Joe came bolting through the door, nearly knocking both of them over.

"Joe," I said sternly. He turned to me, shrugged, and turned back to them. He totally pushed me off balance by apologizing. Don't get me wrong, Joe was a good person, all people are, but usually he was very angry on meeting days.

What really caught my eye was the way Dirty stared straight at Joe, curious. And the way Joe stared straight back. No swaying, no sneering. This wasn't just odd. It wasn't just a coincidental meeting of two patients. It was more. But even so, Joe was /clean/.

It was a pleasant surprise to see. He had been so for a few weeks I learned later on, but my happiness soon melted and refroze over in a silent and deadly ice-age that chilled even the warmest of places through to bone.

Maddie had come to me recently, crying and spilling her heart all over my doorstep. I treated her the only way I knew how to; and that was with calming words and calculated hits and misses. It was sad in a way, but the more pressing matter was Joe's relapse. His body was rejecting the drugs he so fitfully stayed away from for the longest time. Even if I didn't show it, I feared for Joe's health.

Since then, I have awaited dutifully and professionally at my business's building, wishing Maddie to come to bring me good news.


I sat there, biting my thumbnail while listening to Mali speak. She recited Patrick's speech, almost word for word it seemed, and the frown lines on my face deepened as she strode on.

"He said to me how he was always ridiculed for his looks, and so he turned to drinking down a bottle a night at the least. And in rehab, all he could control was his eating habits. And that's how the vicious cycle started," she finished, interlocking her fingers in her lap.

I scribbled this all down, almost embarrassingly, and spoke to her mid sentence.

"I'm sorry, I know it's rude to do something besides listen while others are talking, though I can assure you I heard every word. It's just procedure."

"Whatever will cure him," Mali said wistfully, staring out my one window that usually stood closed while I saw my clients.

"Can I see him now?" I asked, clicking and un-clicking my pen in an almost annoying fashion.

She nodded.

Mali was replaced by Patrick's small frame in my patient's armchair. I looked to him, and he seemed even more defeated than usual. His eyes, which usually always held the same vacant blue color, seemed stone gray this morning.

"I thought we could try something different today," I said, getting up from my spot behind the desk, and moving about the room. Patrick's eyes followed me as I pulled a large blanket off a gleaming Grand Piano.

"Would you like to play?" I asked.

He nodded slowly, rising from the armchair, and coming to sit on the bench I had dragged over. His eyes and fingers gently spread over the ivory keys and ran along them. He pressed down and started to play a song I didn't recognize, guessing that maybe he made it up. It was a beautiful piano ballad, but when he started singing my voice dried up in my throat the moment my mouth dropped open and air filled my lungs.

"How cruel, is the Golden rule? When the lives we lived are only golden plated..."

It was possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. His voice was amazing, albeit the tiniest bit raspy due to constant vomiting.

When he finished, his fingers stood poised on the keys, his head bowed almost like in silent prayer. His eyes were watering, on the prospect of spilling their contents all over the rugged floor. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder. For one fleeting moment, I wasn't a professional.

"Anything those people have said to you in the past, and anything they will say to you, Patrick. They're fucking wrong. You're beautiful. You have the most beautiful voice in the world, and that is not an opinion, dear. It's a fact," I gently said, rubbing his shoulder once--twice, before standing up and walking to the door.

Before I could barely even think about turning the handle, when the tips of my fingers were barely brushing the brass knob, he spoke up.

"Dr. Jenn..." His gently voice spread across the room, invading all the corners and folds of it, filling it.

"Yes, Patrick?"

"Sometimes, when Mali looks at me with regret or scorn or sorrow, I really do want to stop drinking... But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of how I'll feel when I'm no longer numb," he sniffed, his voice wavering, reverberating. "I'm afraid the hurt will come back. And I don't know if I can handle it."

I smiled sadly. "But, Patrick. Aren't you hurting now? When you look into Mali's eyes and see her pain, don't you feel it too?"

He turned to me, glasses glaring under my florescent lights. As he nodded his head downward, I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were now back to blue, though still vacant and expressionless. I felt rewarded that I had brought at least part of himself back. Or maybe it wasn't me at all, but his feelings for Mali.

"I think you should do what's best for her, because it's what is best for you since you care so deeply for her. I can't make you, but I wish you would stop drinking. And also stop making yourself throw up. God gave you that voice as a gift, and it would tear me apart to see it slowly fade away." I opened the door, gesturing Patrick out.

He pressed his hands to his knees, giving himself leverage to get up. Walking to the door, he thanked me, and met Mali in the waiting room.

When he looked at her, his eyes shone. Though it wasn't normal, it wasn't the flair I usually see in young couples; it was a start.


My first meeting with Andy was... Interesting.

Andy was a thriving pyromaniac. His eyes screamed fire. Though they were stormy, they held flecks of amber that flared when he saw fire.

I put away all my candles and incense and any possibly fire starting materials before his visit. Guiltily, I didn't have that much faith in Andy. It wasn't that he was incurable, but his circumstances were different. Sure, it was still a mental thing, but he had an obsession. It was almost like a horrible hobby he couldn't break. The only reason that I know of for him to be here is because he is a danger to himself and others.

And yet, I promised myself I would fix whatever was wrong with him. I'd make sure he left here feeling less inclined to go out and wreak fiery havoc on all those around him.

I placed my empty coffee mug on my ever-cluttered table. I looked up to Andy to see him sitting there, arms crossed with a sincerely bored expression on his face. Somehow, I felt inclined to go about this boy with a different approach. Though I could barely call him a boy being not too much older than him myself.

"So, tell me something, Andy. What is so interesting about fire?"

He rolled his eyes. "Everything. The way it looks. The red, orange, yellow, and blue-white of the flames, dancing all around like a fucking troupe. The way it can burn almost anything to mere black whips of dust. The way it causes things to smell. The heat of it. People think I'm mad, but it's just like any other obsession, isn't it? I mean, some people are fascinated with body modification, piercing themselves in tons of different places. And of course, people question the sanity of those kids too, but not as much as they do me. Y'know?"

Though he talked quite a bit, I was glad that he was able to explain himself to me. I smirked to myself as he sped on about piercings, secretly loving them myself. I bore a single vertical labret piercing on my lip, harboring no others for my job strictly permitted it.

I understood him further than most of my other patients. The only thing wrong was that he loved something other people thought to be weird and unheard of. But I'd soon learn I couldn't be more wrong.


This time, I didn't wait for my patients to come to me. I sat talking with Sally in the waiting room of the hospital, glancing around at it's cleanliness and fake happiness.

"I hate this place," I whispered mostly to myself, but Sally quite obviously heard me for she nodded her head in agreement.

"I know. But it saves lives..." She looked down the hall where Pete was currently being held.

"And for that I'm thankful, but more pressing matters still hang in the air unspoken. Firstly, how is Pete doing?"

Sally smiled happily, but sadness filled her eyes. "Oh, he's doing really well now. He's recovering perfectly... God, I feel like this is my fault."

I shook my head. "It isn't," I started, knowing this was coming. "Trust me, you are not to blame. No one is. It was an accident that was taken care of partially and will be taken care of more properly once I take a stab at it. But I need, um, vivid details and the happenings that preceded the incident..."

She nodded her head, carefully filing her thoughts and finally spoke to me after a minute or so.

"Well, I remember him telling me, writing to me I mean to say, that he felt like he should be talking to be, but he didn't want to... loose what we had."

I replied solemnly, "I fear he may be attached to you, Sally... He suffered heartbreak in the past, and now that he has someone to mend his broken pieces, he's growing and thriving off of you because you showed him how to live again."

Her eyes shone with salty tears as she looked up at me.

"I care for him dearly, you must understand that, Jenn." I nodded, letting her continue. "And I fear... I fear I might be attached to him too. He's so sweet and so amazing, and I want more than anything else to help him. But the problem is that I can't get attached. But if I try and move myself away from him, he might hurt himself again.

"When we... kissed. He ran off into the bathroom and I immediately knew what was happening. I'm just glad I got there in time... I don't know why he reacted so violently."

I leaned my head downward, black and red curls falling into my face. With an intake of breath, I replied to her again, voicing my diagnosis.

"I know I stated to you previous that he might have to go back to his parents, or possibly rehab but... Truthfully, I don't want him to. And I know you don't either. I know he can make it through if we work hard enough together. It'll be hard, maybe harder than anything else you've ever done, but you'll have to put your emotions aside for a bit to heal him."

I looked up at her, smiling. "I really think he needs another love to fix his last one. But he'll need to start talking before then. I'm not jumping to conclusions saying you love each other or that you should be together but... I've seen the way he looks at you..." And I had nothing else to say to her.

I stood up, brushed off my jeans, and headed off back to my office, leaving no explanation for Sally to mull over. She could call me if she had any questions or information. Right now, I had a few cases in need of fixing.
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