Metapocalypse

Introduction - 1

"It's hard to explain." Angel sighed, nose bridge pinched between his thumb and index finger, shaking his head with eyes closed.
"It's just-... Not as simple as you want it to be." he huffed out while the woman across from him filled the otherwise silent room with the sounds of pen to paper.

"I need you to try, Angel." June responded, peering at the young man with tired yet understanding eyes.
"Let me help you." she added. Angel couldn't help but sigh once more, leaning back into the leather chair he was sat in. The smooth fabric was cold on his bare forearms whenever he'd move them and it always caused a shiver to run through his body. His umber hair drifted across his cheeks as he laid his head against the back of the chair, dreading how hard it was to think in the moment. 

Often times his mind could flood with words and images, his inner monologue ranting to him as if it wasn't the same person, but, like now, he simply couldn't. It came back static, an army of shrugs and question marks as he stared at the popcorn ceiling. He always hated those ones, told anyone who had them to get it changed. Or maybe he simply just hated them so much he was the only one bothered by the chaos anyone could look up and see.

He quickly blinked back to the present, looking back over at his therapist, June Summers, with a confused and lost look. His mind had come up with something; though it wasn't what he wanted.

"Your ceiling." he muttered, looking down with his eyes.

"The ceiling?" she repeated, studying his looks, his body language. He could feel every time her green eyes pressed into his form. 

"Yeah." he said as if scoffing at her response, looking back up at her through his eyelashes. "I still hate it." he stated bluntly, drawing an airy chuckle from June. Although he understood the comedy in his reply his lips didn't curl an inch in response, simply pursed them and watched her. Sometimes he felt like he was learning more about June than she was of him.

"Right, well, that's now what we're talking about." she said, trying to redirect the conversation much to his dismay. He hadn't purposely tried to change the subject but it gave his uncomfortable mind a moment to relax. Now he had to think again.

"Why is it so difficult for you to find an answer?" she tried, answering quickly after the few bouts of silence he gave her while in thought. He blinked for a moment, holding his breath as he looked into her eyes, before he opened his mouth once more.

"I guess.. Maybe my head doesn't like to think of the spot." he exhaled out, shifting uncomfortably as his eyes wandered the room.
"I know what you're asking me, I know what I should be saying, but at the same time I have nothing."

"No good explanations, nothing helpful, just... blank." he lamented, looking at June for a response. She was back to scribbling her notes before meeting his gaze once more.

"It seems to me you just don't like giving a half-assed answer." she smiled, as if she enjoyed his "quirkiness" as some liked to call it. He just thinks he's going crazy. Nonetheless he scoffed in reply, looking at the window beside of him as he did his best to think.

"If I'm going to get help from you, I'd rather give you something to work with." he replied. He saw her smile softly in response, watching him as he mulled over the answer again. He decided to just speak, thinking was stupid anyways.

"Most of my life I'm fine, right? Like anyone. I have a job, I have my family, I have an apartment and sometimes I find a moment in my day to eat and drink coffee. I'm fine." he began, chewing the inside of his cheek.
"But then sometimes I have nothing and..." he trailed off, watching a stream of cars roll by in the morning traffic.

"I don't know." he said, lost in what he watched as a cat walked into the busy street and never appeared on the other side. He frowned, eyes glues to the other sidewalk where he hoped he's see the tabby fur of the cat again but no matter how long he looked, the cat never came. Pity.