Complacent

                                    

                                          
Key:
                          
Italic - Story or thoughts
                          
Bold Italic - List
                          
|~~~~~~~~~~~~~|
                          
Closing the door you see Mexico hunched over on your leather chair, his wings wrapped around him. His head perked up at the quiet sound of the door shutting. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
                          
You sat at your desk, a good distance away from where he was sitting. "Now I would never let it fly by me for someone to talk to me like that, But I will let it pass because you're in pain."
                          
"I'm not in pain." He snapped back. "I'm perfectly fine."
                          
"Judging by that tone you're not."
                          
"Woman, if I tell you I'm fine then I'm fine." 
                          
"You just stormed out an argument that brought up past child abuse, trauma, kids being taken away, and it seemed that you just opened a lot about your past to everyone." You raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say anything else. "Boy."
                          
"I am fine!" He roared, wings flaring as he stood tall in front of you and your desk. Staring down at you he saw you didn't flinch. "I am a therapist open to everyone. Meaning I have got some pretty shitty inmates. One even threatened to tear open my esophagus and eat my ascending colon. So sit the hell down."
                          
He hesitantly sat down, feeling awkward that his attempt to intimidate you failed. Looking up at him you jotted down in your journal, writing his name under Thirds. 
                          
Mexico:
                          
-Hostile when provoked
                          
-Past child abuse
                          
-Believed possessiveness was protecting kid(s)
                          
-Siblings worried about workaholic tendencies
                          
-Felt betrayed by childhood best friend
                          
Looking back at the male you see him interested in a book on your desk. "That's a good book. Written by a good friend of mine. Want to take a look at it?"
                          
"Si. Gracias." He smiled at you, significantly calmer than a minute ago. Looking down at the words you dragged your pen over the page once again.
                          
-Bipolar??
                          
"Can you tell me what caused the argument between you and America?" Putting the pen down on the open page you rested your chin in the palm of your hand. 
                          
His face formed a scowl. "I was making breakfast for everyone before that fucking pendejo said that my food tasted like donkey shit. It escalated from there."
                          
"Hm. I heard what he said about what you did to your children. From my knowledge of history did he mean the southern states like Texas and New Mexico were your children?"
                          
"Si."
                          
"Could you tell me what you did on a daily basis with them?" You asked him. 
                          
"Well, I didn't let them go to school. I homeschooled them by myself. No matter what, I didn't let them out of my sight. If one wanted to go to the market to buy an apple for their horse it would become a family trip. You know how kids are. They'll wander away the first chance they get." He chuckled. "I had all of their beds in my room so I could make sure they didn't sneak out in the middle of the night. If they wanted to go to a friend's house I would have that friend come to our house."
                          
"America was wrong, though." He said, smoothing out the same suit you saw him wearing when you first met him. 
                          
"About what?"