Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[4]

"Unpacking the unbearable."

- - 

Sloan | Two Months Later

I trace my fingers over the chipped nail polish, the silver on my rings tarnished from too much sweat and time. My hands tremble slightly.

"Sloan, breathe." Alex's voice cuts through the silence, composed as always.

I look up, meeting his gaze, and nod slowly. My hands still.

"Thank you." I exhale.

"What was it?" he asks, his voice patient.

"A dream. From last night. It felt real. Ian was in it. Real events. Details that never happened. It was bad."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." the word hangs in the air, final.

He doesn't push, just nods in understanding.

"Mina's back from her trip." I mention absently, my thoughts wandering. "She had a rough time with work meetings, but it's all so irrelevant—she was sipping margaritas on a beach afterward."

"I thought you liked the cold." he observes with a small curl of his lips. 

"I do. But sometimes the need for margaritas on a sandy beach is just there." I joke, and he smiles.

"Amen."

I stare at the carpet, thoughts racing.

"Ally's been avoiding us because of work. I haven't seen her in ages." I add, voice quieter.

"Where does that leave you?"

"Alone." I say quickly.

"Are you mad at them?"

"Of course not. They have to work. It's important." I fiddle with the dry skin around my nails. I really need to buy new hand cream.

"Are you mad at something else?" he presses gently.

"I'm mad at everything sometimes." the words slip out before I can stop them.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" I shake my head, frustration rising. "The world sucks. Planet's dying. Burning. Flooding. Women are getting murdered, and the laws protect the murderers. Did you know they won't even acknowledge femicide? I was typing it the other day, and my phone underlined it in red, as if it wasn't a real word."

He listens quietly, eyes steady on mine.

"People are hurting. Animals are hurting. Plants are hurting. Everything around me feels like it's in silent agony. It's crushing." I end with a sigh. "Nothing's changing. The world sucks."

He nods, not arguing, just understanding.

"It does." he agrees. "It probably will for years to come. But are you sure that's what you're actually mad at? The world?"

I hesitate. My chest tightens. "I just... get numb sometimes. Overloaded. How is that possible?"

"You're about to be a psychologist. Why do you think that is?" his challenge is quiet.

"I'm paying you to answer that." I joke, but his expression stays serious.

"Take a guess."

I look out the window. The glass is fogged with humidity.

"I have too many thoughts. I suppress them, and then I feel numb. It's like my brain shuts it all out so I don't go crazy." I murmur.

"Well, I don't think it's just about the world sucking." he leans back, studying me. "I think you're blocking something deeper."