Phonophobia

|31|

3 months later.

"Does it still hurt?" Helen asked.

"Everyday," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "I still dream of it every day, it keeps replaying in my head, like a broken record. My heart peels everyday leaving a fresh wound."

Helen nodded and wrote stuff down in her file. I just sat on the chair blankly, tired of looking at the boring walls that she hadn't changed after all those years.

She looked up and intertwined her fingers again.

"Can you repeat to me what you saw that day, again."

I swallowed and nodded tersely.

"Alexander put me in the car, the car drove away, the house blew up." I said monotonously.

I learnt how to summarize the story after all these months. I learnt basically everything, how to keep my emotions at bay, how to distract myself from unnecessary stuff.

"Do you miss them?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish you were there too?"

"Yes." I replied without missing a beat.

"You wish you were dead?"

I tapped my foot once on the marble tiles beneath them and looked at her.

"Then, I wish I was dead. But I can't wish for that now." I answered quietly looking down at stomach.

Helen sighed and removed her glasses.

"Baybi-"

"Don't call me that, please." I intercepted.

"Abigail," she corrected and continued. "I've been telling you this since you stepped into this office, on your very first day. Everything will be okay, I can help heal you if you open up and tell me what's really bothering you."

"That was when I had phobia Helen, that was since you last saw me four years ago. This isn't phobia, I'm not scared of noises anymore, Helen, this is fucking trauma. I'm traumatized from within, damaged, even if you cut me open and see what's inside my heart. You can't heal me."

I snapped lowly. Three months had changed a lot of me. I curse. I don't care what people think when I talk to them because I'm not scared of how they react to my words. I said what I said.

I work at the bakery again. Kim, Gabi and Derrick are still there. Heath and Rhea quit. I'm back at my apartment again.

Helen sighed and picked up her glasses and stuck them back on.

"How do you feel about being a single mother?" She asked.

I placed my hand on my stomach and tapped my fingers on it.

"Okay."

She nodded and wrote more stuff on the file. I wonder what she's writing down.

Your therapist asks you something and you reply with okay but they write it down.

What? They just write 'She's peachy with being single and knocked up'?

"For how long do the nightmares last?" She asks.

"An hour or half."

"How would you rate it?"

"A nine probably, I dunno."

"Have you been taking medications?"

"No."

"Why?"