A D'yani Fanfic.
I was so out of it that I didn't even notice when the stoplight switched from yellow to red.
Struggling to act on my fight or flight, I have no choice but to run straight into the car in front of me.
Oh fuck.
Just one of those fucki...
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📍St. Catherine, Jamaica | Spanish Town
Monday, January 8th | 4 PM ⏰
"You don't think it's weird that I hate my dad for dying?" I ask with genuine concern.
Right now me feel like a mad ooman.
"No," she tells me straight out.
"I don't think it's weird at all, in fact, I think it's more than normal for you to feel that way" my therapist replies, shocking me with her response.
I sink my body deeper into the cold leather couch, silently praying that a hole will open underneath us and swallow me up.
My head juss a spin.
"Listen, Camille, you're grieving. That means that you are experiencing certain emotions for the first time, and you shouldn't be beating yourself up over this"
Her voice is gentle, practically dripping in sympathy, but it's stern in its advice.
"You wish he was here with you, and who can blame you?"
I can blame myself.
That's who.
"But he's dead, he's dead and I hate him for that" I exclaim as blood rushes to my head.
"Dat cyaa possibly be okay..."
Aye, mi out fi faint inna dis place.
Dr. Miller lets out a deep sigh, and I finally make eye contact with her as she rubs at her temples.
Dis ooman muss sick a me by now.
She closes the thick black notebook she's been writing in, and tucks her pen neatly behind her left ear.
"Why don't we continue this during our next session?" she asks, her tone signifies that the question is rhetorical.
Oh yea, she's over my shit already.
"Of course" I smile, pushing my body up so that my feet can land on the ground.
This was our first session, and after this conversation, it seemed like it might be our last.
I don't hesitate to leave her office, closing the door behind me as I make my way out of the building and into the parking lot.
The sudden shift in temperature from the cold office sends shockwaves through my body as I readjust to the heat.
Maybe this therapy shit wasn't a good idea.
My cell phone vibrates in my hand, and I scan the screen before answering the call.
I don't let this stop my journey to my car, maneuvering through the parked vehicles as I speak.
