" That's not fair and you know it," He gritted, " You're not the only one who blames themselves for his death."
" He's dead because of me, Exodus!" I yelled before I could even stop myself, " It should've been me laying in the fucking casket, not...
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Now playing.. Feel Again, by Jovan Perez ... TORONTO, CANADA
" HOW ARE YOU FEELING today, Selah?" Ms. Morris, inquires softly as she adjusts herself upright on her leather chair with a pen and notepad on her lap.
" I'm okay," I nod, picking at the unheralded scabs on my nail beds as I stare across the room at her. " Just a little tired."
Tired was an understatement. I was exhausted, my body was aching from standing in one position the entire night when I was painting. To top that off, I had a hard time going to sleep and couldn't stop thinking about the exhibition.
So in the end, I decided to stay up and finish my piece. Which thankfully, only took me four hours to complete instead of seven.
She hums, crossing her leg over the other as she looks at me. " Mm. Are you having nightmares again?"
" Can we talk about something else, please?" I dismissed, shaking my head as I tried looking everywhere in the calming office space except for her eyes. " Every time you ask me that question it makes me uncomfortable."
Each nightmare was different than others; showcasing your deepest fears and uncertainty of the future. Yet mine were always the same. The same day that it happened at the same hour, when the blood on my hands were stained permanently as my brother laid in my arms.
It has always been the same. Ever since I was ten.
Ms. Morris gives me a soft smile, her brown skin glowing from the sunlight that was painting the walls of her space. " It's my job to ask these questions, Selah. I am a licensed psychologist after all,"
I exhaled sharply, unconsciously starting to pounce my leg up and down. " Yes, I'm having nightmares again."
Ms. Morris nods, taking down her usual notes as she does every session we have on Thursday mornings. " Tell me about this nightmare. Is it still the same as before?"
I reach forward and grab one of her many fidget toys, grabbing one of the various clicking buttons that mimicked a light switch. " It's always the same," I muttered.
" I see.." She trails off.
Ms. Tanya Morris was assigned my case when I was in foster care, when I was eleven years old to be exact. She was in her late to mid fifties, with black and white kinky hair pulled back in a near bun.
Ms. Morris watched me grow up in front of her eyes, and I guess because I feel so comfortable with her, I never thought about investing my time in another psychologist other than her.
