July was unusually hot this year. The air outside was hot enough you could see the ripples in the air if you stared far enough down the road. It was difficult enough trying to stay hydrated while roaming the streets.

The old clock continued to tick by the seconds, minutes. In that cramped little office, that was cooled off by the air conditioners, the sound of that ticking was all that could be heard.

The air condition could only do so much for the stuffy room, the two men in the room sitting in a thick air of tension. The sound of the ticking became accompanied by the sound of a soft stress ball, being thrown into the air and caught, a repeated action as the male in the brown suit stared at the other.

The silence was unnerving to the older gentleman, pushing his glasses up as he became irritated. Why wouldn't he talk? He always talked. In the last two years, something had never bothered this boy this much for him to go completely silent.

"Bucky."

The stress ball stopped. The silence had been interrupted by the call of his name and now he felt that uncomfortableness ease into his bones.

"You've laid there for almost 30 minutes and haven't said a thing. Is something troubling you?"

The sunkissed boy just stared at the ceiling, wondering if maybe he could count enough of the ceiling tiles to make him disappear. He began to toss the yellow ball again. "Something's always bothering me. Ain't that why I come to you?"

"All you've said since you came in here was a greeting and then proceeded to analyze the ceiling. You're never this quiet."

He scoffed, tossing the ball higher and with a little more effort. "Shouldn't that be a good thing? Means I'm getting better right?"

"Not necessarily."

The blonde was getting irritated now. All those tense feelings and emotions beginning to bubble to the surface. He wasn't here to talk, he wasn't ready to talk about this. All of it.

The brunette began to take in his actions. the way he tensed more at the comment he made, the way he furrowed his brow. He had something on his mind.

"You always leave our sessions with more than you let out. You always have, but as of late you've done it more and more often. What's been bothering you?"

"It's nothing." He mumbling, sitting up, and bouncing the ball against the floor. "You wouldn't understand."

"Bucky. I am your therapist. It is my job to listen and offer help where I can."

Bucky froze, squeezing the stress ball. By the tight grip he had on it, he could have easily popped it if he had that kind of strength.

"You wouldn't understand." He's still holding back.

"Well, I'd need to know first to know for sure-"

"I can't even understand! It's all... It's all so warbled."

"What is, Bucky?"

Bucky looked up at the man, his therapist. The two different shades of brown eyes meet, Bucky hoping he could just see into his mind and understand.

"My-my thoughts, my memories. I can't-I can't remember some things the same, it's like they were put into new light after... After..."

Now we were getting somewhere. Somewhere new, somewhere we haven't been to. "After what, Bucky?"

He just shook his head, causing the brunette to sigh in defeat as the blonde stared out the big windows to the side of the office space. "I just want it all to go away..."

"We can't erase our pasts, Bucky, but we can grow from it."

"Some bullshit that is."

"Language young man." The blonde's behavior was beginning to irritate him. Something recent must have happened to have affected the way he thought. He was doing fairly well in his opinion, and now for him to not be sharing anything at all was strange...

"Bucky, if you would like to end this session early we can... I just want you to know that I only want the best for you."

The chocolate brown of the teens' eyes met the honey brown of the older man, the boy hoping to communicate to himself how much he hurt. How much he really felt like what he was keeping hidden was killing him.

"If I talk... Will it make the pain go away...?"

He can't say he wasn't shocked by the question. He wasn't expecting that to come out of the boy's mouth and he had been with him for a while. He almost wasn't exactly sure what he could tell the boy.

"I can't guarantee that it will or won't Bucky... I can only promise that I will always be here to listen when you are ready to tell your story."

He began to bounce the ball again, he could feel that anxiety in the boy spiking again as he tried to think through his options.

That's what he struggled so much with. Bucky was an open book but at the same time a 1 million piece puzzle. You could read him so easily but never be able to piece together any of who he was. He was a true mystery.

A true work of art.

"Next session... I think I'm ready to... to talk."

Now those were some good words. "Alright, next session. Any moment you feel like you can't or don't want to continue you may stop."

"Yeah, yeah I got it. Thanks, doc..." He seemed so hesitant to speak, what was holding him back?

The older gentleman closed the book on his lap, a smile on his wrinkled face as he turned to the clock. "Looks like our time is up. I do hope you find it in you to share with me what is troubling you. I am here to help you."

Those words had rung in his ears so many times he didn't know if he should really believe them. "Yeah... I got that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky liked the rain. He felt like the rain always came by and washed away the mess of yesterday.

He wished the rain would wash away his troubles that easily. Wash away everything he regretted ever committing. He wished he could start over.

The day, he knew, would become sticky and uncomfortable once the rain let up because of how hot it was.

He threw the cigarette butt on the floor as he brought up his umbrella, beginning his walk from the bus stop to the office where he would begin to confess everything he had done.

He wouldn't say his past was that bad, he never murdered anyone. But in the way, it had affected his family, his future, himself... He would do anything to go back and change that.

Summer was ending soon, senior year was right around the corner. He had planned a fun road trip to see the brighter side of life for a while and finally decided that it would be a good time for it after graduation.

Right before he started college. Or at least he hoped. He had a passion for art. But then again, being in a rich family meant you needed a passion. His brother was studying to be a doctor and his sister is the best ballet dancer he's seen in their little town.

It seemed fitting to him that he went straight to art. He loved it. Being able to create a world from your own vision. No one else could see the world the way you see it and for him, painting and drawing were the way to share his vision with the world.

Sure he has only ever let his mother see those canvas, but he trusted her judgment. She had adopted him without a second thought, hadn't she? How could her judgment be bad?

He stood outside of the building, the panic rising in his chest. Had he really agreed to confess to everything? To let his thought and feelings be exposed for someone to see and judge?

"Mr. Hawthorne? Dr. Wilcox is ready to see you."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, uh thanks." He wasn't ready. Never was, never will be. But this was part of the agreement he made and he wasn't one to back out of those.

Bucky stood before the door, big strong, and wooden, a dark, grim reminder of all that he was about to get himself into.

He drew a big breath in and stepped into the office, the chilled air from inside the room hitting him strong after the hot, humid air of the outside.

"Bucky, good to see you again." Dr. Wilcox wasn't an extravagant man, if anything he was as simple as simple could be. He was always well dressed and spoke with such an air of confidence, it left Bucky rather intimidated.

"Yeah, you too Doc..." Bucky took his usual spot, the couch sinking under his weight as he grabbed the already set stress ball. He knew it was his favorite toy to fidget within his office.

The two sat in silence for some time before Bucky began to feel that uneasy feeling sinking in, the ball bouncing off the floor and disturbing the silence.

"I'm ready to talk... Or as ready as I'll ever be..." His voice rang loud and true and a bit timid. He was scared of what things he would say and if any of it would make any sense. Or if he could keep a clear enough head to not completely disassociate from reality.

Dr. Wilcox was beyond relieved. He has wanted to help this boy move past these things, but communication was the crucial thing that they had been missing. He hoped that giving him space would be the push he needed to finally be comfortable enough to share and it was.

He pulled out his computer, ready to take notes on what Bucky would say. He wanted to analyze what he would say and how he reacted. He wanted to help him heal and move on.

"Why don't we start from the beginning?" He suggested, looking at the anxious boy as he furrowed his brows up at him.

"The beginning? What do you hope to gain from that?" A genuine question from the blonde. No, the beginning was too much, he couldn't.

"I want to knowthe ins and outs of what made you make those choices. What caused those choices to even be presented to you as young as you were."

"Oh so... You-you want that... beginning?" The panic rising was only so much he could handle. This was a mistake.

"Ready when you are, Bucky."

Ready when he was... I guess now is better then ever.

"I can start from... wherever right...?"

"Yep."

"Okay... I guess I'll just start from... a happy point... Before it gets bad."

He calmed the raging panic in his chest with a deep breathe in, getting comfortable on the couch as he recalled his eariest memory.

Before it all went downhill.