“𝐖𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝s 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

𝗔 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 sounds. It was a noisy silence.

“How are you feeling, Inigo?” A soft voice gently called out for me and broke the silence like a pebble kicked into a still puddle. Unfortunately, I had deepened myself into the dark sea and never to be found.

My fingers dug into the scars on my pale palms, I blinked twice “How I am feeling?”

“Yes, Inigo.” She gave me a soft smile still swirling a fountain pen in-between her manicured fingers.

How dare she write everything I say to her. I can't trust her.

I veered my butt on the chair before answering her. I needed to feel comfortable. “I..I feel great.”

Empty.

Empty.

I'm empty.

She clasped her hands together, watching me as if I was the prey and she's the predator. Of course, she was the predator here while I'm just a harmless animal. Her lips pulled into a frown but disappeared immediately, I looked up at her brown iris.

“You know Inigo, I can't help you without you opening up to me.” her flawless voice rushed into my ears. Everything about her was perfect while I just sat there with a runny nose. 

She continued, “I want to be your friend.” I flinched when I heard the forbidden word from her thin lips. 'How dare she say she wants to be my friend?' my thoughts answered to her statement.

“I don't want a friend.” I whimpered, biting my parched lips in return.

A look of surprise flashed across her features but like usual it faded away like the early dews. Those dews I love licking and squealing under the pale yellow sun.

She leaned back on the leather armchair. “Friends help each other. Be my friend and I'll help you,” she said as she pivoted the armchair slowly, I shrunk back into my chair.

“I'm f..fine." I wiped away the slippery mucus from my freckled nose. I hated freckles so much.

A pair of eyes stared at me strangely, she turned her head to the big notebook spread on the black desk. “What about the nightmares? Do they still come?”

I recoiled. I remember the day that day changed me. I remembered calling out for my sister to hurry then a big truck crashed into her body sending my sister's frail body up in the air; she landed with a sickening thud. My eyes were brimmed with unshed tears as I ran towards the crowd that already gathered around my sister.

Her big blue eyes stared at me. Crimson red gushed out from the holes of her pale face. And there I vomited as I heard the screams of my mum right behind my back.

It was all my fault. I'm sorry Indigo.

Picking at my dirty nails, my voice barely went past the books piled up on the table. “I had ni.. nightmares. I s..saw her eyes looking at me. I should never have called out her name to hurry up.” My hands trembled with untold emotions coercing my body to stumble on the floor. “My parents probably hate me since they don't talk to me.”

Nodding her head, I let out a cracked voice and shaggy breaths. My tired face scanning the pixelated walls around us. I mustn't look at her face or she'd call me a monster.

“At dawn, she was screaming at me for not saving her. For vomiting in her favourite dress. I can see her everywhere.”

She stopped scribbling on the familiar notebook. “Firstly, you didn't kill your sister. The truck did, Inigo. You need to release the guilt you're feeling, dear.” Standing up, she rested her butt on the table with folded arms. “Secondly, your parents don't hate you. They love you so much that's why you're here and remember when you told me your dad took you out for a baseball game?" I nodded my head in agreement. “This shows how much your parents cared about you and they'll always care about you.”

I hiccupped, allowing my shallow breaths to take over me. My shoulders heaving up and down with deep and annoying air I let out from my lungs.

“When you get home, I need you to do something for me.” she stared down at my weary body.

“Yes,” I said impassively. More like a question than a monosyllabic word.

She stretched forth her hand “You didn't kill your sister.” I heard her before I felt a warm hand on one of my shoulders. “You will be fine.”

No, I won't. I haven't been okay for the past few years.

Indigo was supposed to celebrate her 10th birthday the following day but she died with her blue eyes on me and her hands stretched far as possible like a chicken's wings.

And this is my third therapy session in the month of March. Yes, I'm counting.