Invisible String Of Love

Healing Doesn't Happen Overnight

After completing her gym workout, Kaira, her muscles pulsing with exhaustion, made her way towards a nearby seat to unwind. Yet, despite her calm facade, a subtle tension lingered, a silent echo of the anger simmering beneath her demeanor.
With a deep breath, Kaira settled into her seat, her gaze drifting into the distance, fixating on a memory that haunted her like a ghost from the past. It was a nightmare she wished to erase, a recollection of the traumatic night two years prior when she had been abducted.

In the darkness of that fateful night, Kaira had been returning home from university, her mind consumed with thoughts of assignments and exams. Suddenly, a car had screeched to a halt beside her, men forcely dragging her inside. When she had awoken, disoriented and terrified, she found herself imprisoned in an ordinary-looking house. Peering through a window, she had spotted one of her captors pacing outside, and a sleek car parked nearby— symbols of the ordeal that awaited her.

In that moment, Kaira had realized she wasn't merely a victim of kidnapping, but also a target in the vile game of human trafficking. With nerves of steel, she had planned a daring escape, slipping away into the night like a shadow. Lost in the depths of her memories, Kaira was abruptly jolted back to reality by a tap on her shoulder, a reminder that the past, though painful, could not hold her captive forever.

"Hey, Kai, are you available tonight?" The person inquired, lifting their hands from Kaira's shoulders.

"No, I have other plans." Kaira replied casually as she stood up, gathering her belongings into her gym bag.

"How about tomorrow?" The person suggested, assisting her with packing.

"Sure, whatever." Kaira muttered softly, taking her bag back abruptly before striding away, her footsteps heavy with frustration, leaving the person bewildered and feeling dismissed.

She headed toward the parking lot where her bike was parked. Since her abduction, she harbored a fear of cars, so she rather rides bikes and motorcycles instead. Kaira set off on her bike towards her therapist's office, riding through the busy streets on her bike, she found comfort in her therapy sessions, eager for another session but aware that her therapist couldn't fully heal her trauma or erase her past scars.

ᡣ𐭩・・・・・・・・・ ・・・・・・ ᡣ𐭩

After parking her bike nearby, she walked into the building, tuning out the world with her music playing through headphones. Inside, the office looked normal, with chairs and posters about mental health. One person sat on the couch, seeming fine at first glance. But Kaira knew appearances could be deceiving. Each person here on the earth had their own struggles, reminding her to be kind and understanding.

As Kaira settled into the chair across from her therapist, she sensed his gaze upon her, though she couldn't perceive the gentle smile gracing his lips. "Good afternoon, Ms. Bautista." He greeted softly, his eyes fixed on her with warmth.

"Afternoon too, Mr. Wren." She replied, reciprocating the formality.

"Oh, don't be silly, I told you to just call me Clay." He interjected, his chuckle filling the room as he reached for his journal.

Glancing around his office, Kaira noticed an array of psychology books and peculiar paintings adorning the walls. Her eyes then fell upon a photograph of Clay in the corner, wearing a graduation cap proudly atop his head. However, his expression appeared unusually solemn, lacking the usual sense of fulfillment and joy that typically radiated from him. Clearing his throat, Clay settled back in his seat, adopting a soothing tone.

"How are you feeling today?" he inquired, his aim to maintain her composure and prevent another emotional outburst like their previous session.

"Shitty as always, lately it has been still a little heavy, nightmares still haunting me, preventing me from sleeping properly," Kaira confessed, her frustration evident.

"I tried your suggestion to find a quiet place and scream until I couldn't anymore, but it didn't seem to help."

"That's unfortunate. I had hoped it would be helpful... How was your day?" Clay leaned in, his journal and pen prepared, offering an invitation for Kaira to open up.

"There's this persistent guy at the gym." Kaira began, her voice laced with anxiety.

"He keeps asking me out, even with my polite refusals. But I'm afraid... afraid he might..." Her words trailed off, her trembling voice betraying her deepest fear.

Sensing her distress, Clay gently intervened, "You're worried he might do the same thing that happened to you before. You're scared it might happen again. I get that feeling too sometimes, like the past might come back to haunt me forever." As he observed her body language, Clay's empathy radiated.

"It's understandable to fear history repeating itself, can you explain what specifically scares you about this man?" He reassured, jotting down notes.

Kaira hesitated before admitting, "He looks like... like my kidnapper. But that shouldn't matter, right? He's nice and kind to me." Kaira swallowed hard, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips as she trembled slightly.

There was something about this man at the gym that stirred up her fears-he bore a striking resemblance to her kidnapper. Despite her curiosity and his apparent kindness towards her, she found herself avoiding him due to his uncanny resemblance to her kidnapper.

"It does matter. Your feelings and safety are the ones at stake and the ones we're discussing." Clay interjected before continued to attentively listen to her pour out all her problems.

Despite his efforts, Kaira showed no signs of improvement during their session, which he found understandable; healing from past trauma isn't easy or quick. The scars of our past always linger, haunting us like a disguised shadow.

ᡣ𐭩・・・・・・・・・ ・・・・・・ ᡣ𐭩

After Kaira's session, she rose from her seat, still unable to meet his gaze. "Thank you... for today, for all the time," she mumbled softly, attempting to make eye contact.

"It's my job, Kaira. Have a nice day," Clay replied with a gentle smile as he watched her leave his office, feeling regret that he couldn't offer her more assistance.

As she stepped out, her eyes met those of a person waiting outside, their presence quieter yet equally significant. Wearing a short purple skirt, a tight blue top, and black Converse sneakers, they appeared restless, their mind seemingly preoccupied, making it difficult to focus. In that fleeting moment, they understood each other's pain.

"Is he really making a difference for us?" She asked the person, her voice tinged with desperation and longing for hope.

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E T H E R E A L W I T C H [2024]