Hello, loves.
This is the first chapter of Beneficial Therapy so please let me know what I could improve and your feedback on this chapter.

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|| Vincent Lecoeur ||

"Hi, I'm Vincent and I have a personality disorder called schizotypal."

I introduce myself to the people sitting around me, honestly feels like I'm some sort of psychopath at the moment. In fact, all of them do look unsettled, which is most likely because they have no fucking clue what Schizotypal is. My legs start twitching and shaking uncontrollably, when is this gonna end?

That baby cries too loud, why would someone bring a baby to group therapy?

She's got odd socks on...blue and red; perhaps I should tell her? I eye her up and down while she focuses on someone else. Is that a leather belt she's got on? I've seen one of those before. Rainbow shirt...too many colours. Shit she's noticed I'm watching her, hasn't she? Quick Vincent, do something.

Unquestionably I instantly turn the other way just to end up facing a man who was staring right at me. He's got blue eyes, like really blue eyes. Ice blue eyes. Long unkempt beard with a very unusual fashion taste. Boxers on top of trousers, radiant green trousers by the way.
What a fucking weirdo. Is that a watch he's wearing? What's the time? Let me see.

I stand up and begin to walk over to him to check the time on his watch. I lean down and study the time.

3:43 am.

But it's daylight outside?

I feel a sudden manly control on my shoulder and I get tugged to meet with the mans complexion. Something drenched his gloomy eyes, irritation.

"Why did you call me a weirdo?"

He interrogates me...I could practically hear the wrath growling under his breath. I shrug his arm off my shoulder and observe his hair. It's so outgrown, I should take him to the barber. Shit Vincent don't be an idiot, answer him.

"How did you hear that?"

I query. I've always had the fear of people reading my thoughts, knowing what happens when no one is around. I take a few steps back due to the fact the indignant man before me has stood up and is nearing me, every...second. And let me tell you; I'm very claustrophobic. Unknowingly I bump into what doesn't seem like one person, but two. I turn around and see the entire group bunched in front of me.

"We can hear your thoughts, Vincent."

"Don't be rude, tell us what happens."

"You're a failure!"

"I should have made your mother abort you."

The room became smaller...and smaller...and smaller. Cramped. It was like the room was caving in. And I was surrounded by people calling my name...whispering things.

"Vincent....oh Vincent."

It's a dream, fuck.

I squeeze my eyes shut hoping that I would wake up. Fuck, closing my eyes makes me curious. I open my eyes to discover strangers all around me, in a circle. They laugh and smirk at me while I sit in the middle; on the fucking floor. They were all holding belts and whispering different things..

"It's okay, come here."

"Don't worry I won't hurt you."

"No, you're lying. YOU'RE LYING."

I scream in denial trying to stand up but something metal held me back. Where did this come from? I have to try and wake up.

I wriggle around through the chains, just, if, I, could, get, out, of, these, fucking, things. It won't work, it won't fucking work.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why won't I wake up?

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"VINCENT, YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT, GET DOWN HERE."

A loud yell travels from the outside of the building and inside through the window of my small room which I somewhat survive in.
I jump up from my mattress and examine the room...okay...it's my room. It was a dream, damnit; must have forgotten to take my medicine.

"IM COMING."

I inform yelling as loud as I could so Adrien outside could hear me and then take grab my black shirt and put it on. I never have those dreams...not anymore I guess. Good thing is, at least now it's safe to say that therapy groups suck. You're sat in a group of delusional people who think some sedatives and meditation will cure their serial killer issues. Like no dude, you're stuck like that forever.

I check my reflection in the mirror...maybe I need a haircut, too fluffy. I hop out the window which was about 5 feet high.

"What took you so long? A wank this early in the morning?"

He jokes around nudging my shoulder while wiggling his eyebrows. I shake my head pushing him away. Douchebag. He's got a red shirt on...hold up. That's fucking mines.
I open my mouth to argue about the fact he stole my shirt but he beat me to it.

"And before you point out that I'm wearing a red shirt which yes, is yours. It's because it looks better on me."

He gloats with his hands covering my mouth.
I bite his hand away and he grumbles in ache.

"Yeah, so you can get all the guys with it."

I banter and then start running away as he chases me. I chortle trying to find a way to watch where I was going since the speed I was going at didn't allow me. I race past the doomed buildings of Paris. Paris isn't all Chanel and Eiffel Tower, it's damaged. No one cares about that though so that's why it's never spoken of.

"Wait up for me!"

I hear Adrien pant behind me. I grimace satisfied with myself and then take a junction. Shit, carriage. I try stopping but it was no help since I was running down a hill now. My momentum just kept rising and rising more...and more...FUCK.

Right, okay, a wonderful start to my very wonderful day.

Heh.

My head...I think I have a concussion. I groan rubbing my forehead trying to ease the pain.
I spectate the scene, I have a tendency to act like I'm in a movie.

The horses of the carriage have vanished...wheres the driver then? I look around trying to find someone, but nothing. Literally. Not even people in the shops.

The loose horses probably scared them off. Looks safe to breath now...nevermind.

Forget that thought.

I lifted into the air behind held by the collar of my T-Shirt. My hands automatically attempt to punch the guy but he was some old man with a rock-solid chest.

"Espéce de fou! Oú sont tes parents?"

"You foolish boy! Where are your parents?"

The man roars in my face. 1, They're six feet below. 2, dude, your fucking spitting at me. 3, you smell like horse ass. I close my eyes and mouth shut so it doesn't enter.

"Réponds-moi!"

He demands and I open my eyes. Fuck this. I swing my legs kicking him in the balls inciting him to tumble backwards. Something that looked like a newspaper or some essay falls out of his coat pocket. I ignore it and jab him in the face.

"Why didn't I get diagnosed with Schizophrenia? I'd be an adequate serial killer."

I wonder smirking at the man who looks lifeless. First kill of my life, woohoo! Okay maybe not. Adrien runs over out of breath, what took him so long? I go to converse with him but once again, he interrupts me.

"No, don't use my line and no I wasn't wanking."

He flatly says and I put my arms up in surrender. Geez. We both look at the body and then share a complex look. Okay, maybe I should check his pulse? Okay, let's see.
Adrian gives me an approving nod and I slowly lean down to what I hope isn't a dead corpse.

I place my index and middle finger at the side of his neck. Okay, he's alive...perhaps he's passed out? That's not bad...is it? OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE. The man lifts from the ground and wraps his musty hands around my neck pinning me down on the floor. See, I'm all for kinks buddy, but not with old men, no thanks. And can we just talk about bow he just rose from the almost-dead like he's Jesus or something?

He wails something else which I couldn't quite understand since my French is quite broken, I mostly hang with Americans.

Adrian panics, per usual; and grabs the newspaper and wacks the man with it. The man growls and gets off of me. Adrien continues blocking the man with the newspaper and running around in circles while the man followed. I'll be honest with you, it's quite the show.

Wait no, I'm losing focus again. Focus Vincent.

Do I kill him? Or do I run? No, don't run. Maybe I should run. Okay, let's run. No, I'll kill him. Fuck, no I won't do that. Okay, maybe I should. Can I stop saying okay? Okay, now- fuck, I just did it again. What am I even talking about, okay, okay, focus Vincent.

I grab two metal dishes from one of the many shops that were located at the side of the road. Don't fail me now. I smack him from either side of his head at the same time with the metal dishes and just like that, he fell to the ground. Crumbling like sand. Strange reference but yeah.

"Y-you j-just-"

Adrian stutters looking at the body. So I save his fucking life and he can't even say thank you? I mean I didn't kill the guy, he's just taking a long nap, someone will help him.

Okay let's be real, it's Paris, no one will help him.

"Your welcome."

I spoke in a sassy American girl voice. He shook his head but I could see that laugh. We continue the walk as I keep looking around. Old signs. Does anyone ever clean here?

Adrien disturbs my observing session and decides to throw the newspaper to the side of the road but I caught it in time. Let's read. What? I like reading fuck off. Yeah, I also like cussing.

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Yvette Deneuve...

Most qualified female Therapist in the whole of France, working with client's from all over the globe.

Located in Central Paris.

TEL: 33 6 86 57 90 14

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Rich French girl...cute. Maybe I should go? For the fun of it. Or I should actually get back into therapy, although it didn't really end well last time...maybe I should try a woman this time. The men always tell me to wank and the illness is gone, I mean it works.

For 5 seconds.

"You should go, she'll give good bed therapy."

Adrian comments with a wink. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself, I mean who would be friends with this prick? But he does have a point, she's lavish, classic French bob, boobs the size of a wine glass.

It's a French thing.

"Nah, fuck it."

I chuckle and wrap my arm around Adrien.
He gives me a disgusted look.

"Look I know I'm gay and all, but certainly not for you."

He sasses. This motherfucker.

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Little introduction about our main character, Vincent Lecoeur
Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading

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