The Other Side of Sorrow

Enough

"Hey, love," Kai said, pressing a kiss to Cinder's cheek and plopping down beside her upon the bed. She had her port in her lap and was feverishly scrolling through a message from Winter about some sort of Lunar business.

Cinder shut off her port and tossed it aside. She sighed, but smiled at him all the same, her eyes inquisitive.

"Hey," she replied, nudging her shoulder into his. "How was your session with Dr. Takeda?"

Kai clucked his tongue, as if he had to ponder the question. He hadn't known what to think when going into his first session of therapy. Of course he knew what would happen, but he never could have imagined the effect that it would have upon him. There was something so freeing about a professional explaining the reasons for one's problems— to hear the statistics and know that he wasn't alone in his world of anxiety. He felt almost weightless.

It was strange to know that he was still the same Kai; he was the Emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth; he had an anxiety disorder and mild depression; he had been hurt and possibly broken. But he was healing and moving forward.

Things were changing, but he was still Kai.

"Really good," Kai said, allowing himself to fall back upon the bed. "Somehow I never imagined it would be..."

"Like that," Cinder supplied, laughing as the words escaped her. She looked down at him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "I know what you mean. It's strange. To tell a person you hardly know all those things about yourself and have them help you through them."

"He was just so factual," Kai said, then added, "But in a good way, you know?"

Dr. Takeda was old, and wise in both appearance and manner. Kai decided to see him instead of Shen Yawen in part because Cinder's therapist sounded a little too free-spirited for Kai, and because he needed someone soothing. He needed someone stable— someone who was astute. In the end, he'd chosen Dr. Takeda because he reminded Kai of his dad. 

"Yeah," Cinder breathed, laying down beside Kai.

"I could just tell him everything— express every emotion— and he understood it all. He could explain things in a way I never could have imagined," Kai said. "It was like I was clearing my head."

"Sounds like you liked him."

"I did," Kai sighed, turning his head so he could look at her. "He was soothing— a really good listener."

"Well, that is his job, you know," Cinder teased.

"Ha-ha," Kai mock laughed, but smiled all the same. "I don't know. It just felt good."

"Hmm," Cinder hummed pleasantly.

Kai turned his gaze up toward the ceiling, his eyes mapping the white paint and the delicate light fixtures within the plaster. He felt serene, though somewhat exhausted as well. It was strange, how tiring healing was. 

"What was your first session like?" Kai asked, then added, "With Dr. Shen?"

"Oh stars," Cinder chucked, shutting her eyes tight. "It was a little rough— though that was mostly on me. I didn't really want to be there, and Yawen is... interesting. I think I might have yelled at her the first time I went."

"Really?" Kai chuckled.

"Yeah," Cinder huffed, staring up at the ceiling. "I was just frustrated. I think I was telling her about Peony, and how I couldn't save her," Cinder's words hushed, as if she had just walked into a holy temple. "I told her about how I still dream about Peony sometimes, and how I'm always too late, or she's blaming me for not saving her."

"What did she say?"

Cinder turned to Kai, her hair mussed about her face, solemn— almost sad. It was a look that he had rarely seen, but recognized all the same. She wore the expression of a girl who had once feared, but learned to overcome it.

"She told me that it's the other side of sorrow. All this pain that I've collected throughout my life, from losing Peony, and worrying about the revolution and you, and even losing my mom and burning in that fire, all built into this ball of hurt within me."

"And you yelled at her?"

"Yeah," Cinder laughed. "I told her it was a load of crap. That I was just stressed over my new responsibilities and that I didn't actually want to be there."

Cinder looked away from Kai, her gaze returning to the ceiling. Her fingers picked anxiously at the sleeve of her blouse. Gently, Kai reached over and laid his hand atop Cinder's. She stilled, then relaxed once more.

"She was right," Cinder whispered. "It all builds up inside of us all. Everyone, no matter their circumstances, collects pain throughout their life. It's like we're all picking up pieces of trash, but some people are better at dumping their sorrows away than others. Sometimes we need someone to help us throw it away, and to move on. Actually, I think most all of us need that."

Kai thought over her words as silence filled the air around him. He'd never thought of pain as something one collected— that it was a thing that a person kept. That it was something one could keep locked within them forever, or slowly released from their aching hearts. But it was. It may not ever fully disappear, at least not the memories, but it could be dulled. Pain was a disease that never abandoned the mind and soul, but there was relief. Kai had found relief in Cinder, and even in Dr. Takeda. He had not been instantly healed by either, but his agony had been eased.

And maybe that was the point of life: to live and hurt and learn to heal. Because no soul could escape pain, but they could always seek relief. There was no end to sorrow, but one could always begin to mend the brokenness within.

"Do you think that sorrow will ever end?" Kai asked. "That there will ever be a time when people can just live and not suffer?"

There was a pause, then Cinder answered, "No." She entwined her fingers with Kai's, letting how a breath. "But I know that no matter how long sorrow reigns, or pain steals bravery away, we'll always have hope and love; and I think that that will be enough."

"I think so, too," Kai whispered. And he meant it. He had seen the other side of sorrow— lived in that place of hurt for years. His soul had screamed and his heart had cried and his mind had prayed for an end to it all. And even though his past would never leave him, and neither would his pain, he did not despair. He was a shattered glass, but he could glue his pieces back together again. He could live and hurt and find peace. He could be Kai— all the joy and sadness combined.

He could heal; and in the end, that was enough.