He turned around again to face the pool, now with much more intense fidgeting of his hands.

“Stephen.” I called at him, but he was not paying attention and was just staring blankly at the pool.

“Stephen.” I called him in a slightly louder voice. “I noticed that you are really fond of your pool, huh?” I remarked, disturbing the silence that had been recurring for some time now.

He slightly chuckled, a one that was a bit with boast yet mixed with deprecation and agony— somewhere in between. “Of course! I could make nonstop laps in it!” He paused then played with the cup of coffee in his hands shaking it in a circling motion to mix what’s inside. “T’was my hobby back then.” He added and shook his head sideways as if he disagrees or disappointed in himself.

So, he lost interest and stopped doing his hobby, that possibly making his current physique affected.

“Well, I believe you can still do it.” I asserted. He did not respond again.

It took a few moments of silence between the two of us, and Walpol’s back was still facing me while he sips slowly his coffee and staring still blankly at the distance. I could tell that he does since his head is facing forward making me assume his view is angled on the distant.

I’m thinking if he is not sure or should I say confused of why he had called for me yesterday, then a place where he’d want to be is not the best place to probe. In this case, all I’ll be getting from him is just some sentimental reminiscing and disturbed silence. I need to somehow find what agitates him.

“Your mansion is huge!” I broke the silence. “On our way here, I noticed the intricate carvings on your stair railings, can I take a look at it? I am just amazed!” I told him in fake awe, with a made-up face to make it believable.

He turned to look at me with both his eyebrows meeting at the middle, above the bridge of his nose. I’m getting to something.

“There’s nothing good about it.” He said in a firm tone.

If that area in his mansion was what was giving him the distress he is experiencing, then it’ll be a win-win if we’d move there. One is I’ll figure out and confirm the cause of his distress, second would be slow desensitization on the aversive factor. It would be a productive place to set and begin therapy. What we’re having now is just a casual conversation, not a pledged therapy or session, but I’m doing my best to be as sym- and emphatic as possible while still being professional in a way.

“Can’t help it Stephen, I’m a kid in a park!” I said to him, still smiling up to my ears to convince him.

He swayed to ask a question instead.

“Did I really ask you of this?” He showed me the cup of coffee. I promptly responded to him. “Yes” Then nodded. “Guess, I’m really forgetting things lately.” He forced a smile.

“We might have to talk about it then.”

“Yeah…” He answered sluggishly, tilting his head down.

“Stephen, do you have a pen with you now?” I ask. This made him look at me with a look on his face that was a little curious as why I asked him that randomly.

“I don’t. why?”

I paused to think before responding but he spoke before I could open my mouth to answer.

“Though, I have plenty inside. I’ll get one.” He said then started walking toward his mansion. I hurriedly followed him.

When we entered the mansion, just further inside— we passed by the stairs, so I stopped there.

“I’ll just wait here Stephen.” I prompted.

He did not bother to stop walking but he made a quick glance at me, looking quite irritated and gritting his teeth making a tsk sound. Making him realize the reason I asked for a pen was for us to get inside and me be able to inspect at his stairs. I did lie that I was interested in it, but it can’t be denied that his stair railings really do have intricate carvings that really stand out and capture anyone’s attention whenever they pass by the stairs.

I traced my fingers through the carvings following it as I consequently took steps up the stairs. Just as I was about halfway up, I sat down and waited for Stephen to be back. I don’t want him to think I’m intruding on his house or something. I was just checking out and appreciating the beauty and effort of it being handmade as what I’ve observed from it.

Not for long, Stephen came fidgeting a pen in his hand. He watched me sitting above his stairs before he went up to hand me the pen. I could see the irritation in his face as he made one step at a time.

“Here you go.” He handed me the pen then sat down on the other side, left to me— level to the stair where I was seated.

I took the pen from his hand then took a moment to look at it for a while, holding it up on the air at the tip. With my other hand, I reached inside my pocket to grab a paper that I folded twice— in length and crosswise. As I got it out, I gave it to Stephen, where he received it, unfolded then read it.

I bound my look toward Stephen before speaking, “You told me, you are not sure as to why you called me yesterday.” I said making his eyebrows frown.

I let go of the pen making it drop and roll a few steps down the stairs. Just as I did that, it enraged Stephen, as if every drop synced with his heart’s every beat. As the pen had finished rolling, he immediately stood up in a flash and rushed toward me, directly grabbing me by the collar. I could feel his anger urging him to do that— I had anticipated it when I thought of dropping the pen. I was right, this place certainly has something to do with his distress.

“Why the fuck would you do that!” He exclaimed with his voice full of anger, his eyes burning red devouring at mine and I could see his veins popping above his temples. I tried my best not to break and falter.

I cleared my throat, removing what’s stopping me from speaking. “That paper I handed to you is an Informed Consent, it will be up to you to make an effort and grab that pen to sign your name in it or you could make me leave now.” I voiced in my calmest way possible.

It was about a few minutes of him directly staring at me infuriatingly— like any moment he could throw me off the stairs. There was a lot going on inside his head that had taken him a while to start loosening his grip on my collar and let me go slowly.

He slowly backed up and went to where he sat and took the paper that was thrown a step down. He took a deep breath and thoroughly scanned the Informed Consent, top to bottom back and forth several times.

I had not moved an inch and just sat there while fixing my collar without removing my look at him. I watched him cup his forehead with both his palms and still holding the paper, completely tucking his head down. I can almost hear how hard he’s taking in his breaths and then carefully letting it out bit by bit.

He raised his left arm to reach for the railing and grabbed it, but his head is still tucked down. A few more seconds, he stood up. Which made me feel hope.

He started stepping down the stairs, but every step was made like he was carrying tons of weight behind his back. His steps were so timidly made as if it was shackled with something so heavy, nevertheless he made it to where the pen had fallen and slowly reached for it to grab that made him let out a big sigh. He went back up step by step without looking at me, he’s now holding the pen and paper in one hand with his other hand grabbing on the railing. When he got back up, he sat and leaned over to the side then placed the Informed Consent on the stairs. He pressed the paper with his left hand and held the pen with the other. Just as he was to write, he paused staring blankly at the paper.

I was looking at him, just waiting for what he would do next.

Shortly after, he raised his head and looked at me. Now, the look in his eyes is different. “I get it Paul.” He spoke then he looked back at the paper as he lowered the pen to finally write his name on to the Informed consent. “I need you to help me.” He dropped the pen, looking like just by doing that it exhausted him so much.

I smiled at him. “You’re going to help yourself, but I’ll be assisting you.” I responded putting emphasis in “you’re” to encourage him that he himself can manage to help himself. Afterall, it is ourselves that we can depend on, though it is also ourselves—our worst foe.

“Then, whenever you feel ready and comfortable. Tell me what’s been bothering you.” I declared with a warm smile on my face, and he returned it to me. This time, a real one, not forced.