bare [h.s.]

Therapy

"Miss Adams?"
I wince at the call of my name,
pulling me back into this week's
therapy session.

"What was the question?"
I ask for the fifth time.
I can hear her words perfectly fine, but the lump in my throat
prevents me from answering.

"Are you in pain?"

I laugh slightly, my eyes traveling
around the room. It's quaint and small, and the white walls
remind me that I am in a place for a mental patient, but I am not crazy.

"Emotionally or physically?"
I muse, digging my nails
into the sofa cushions.

"Miss Adams, please don't take
amusement from this—"

"Oh, Pamela," I smile,
folding my arms across my chest.
"Why such formality? I think
we've known each other long
enough to be on a first-name basis."

She nods silently for a moment,
gently pushing her framed glasses
up the bridge of her nose.
"Alright, Sawyer. Are you in pain,
emotionally or physically,
or for the hell of it, both?"

Every week was the same thing.
This week was no different.
I would sit quietly,
watching the clock tick,
until our session was complete.
Pamela would try to pry dark secrets
and emotional damage from me,
but my walls are built high,
my walls are built strong.
My walls only fall for one person.

"I'm doing great," I assure myself,
watching Pamela study me.
"I'm not in pain—no,
I wouldn't call it that.
It is more like a never-ending numbness. Like I can breathe,
but I'm drowning. The world
around me carries on, while I
stay in slow motion."
Tears prick at my eyes,
but I laugh them off.
"I'm doing great."

Pamela checks her wristwatch,
setting her notepad and pen down.
"That completes our session.
I'm glad you've finally opened up.
This is progress, yes.
It will be difficult for you to continue,
but progress nonetheless."

I nod, lowering my eyes down
to the floor. "Progress."

She stands abruptly, ushering me
toward the door. "Is your ride here?"

"He should be," I give her a friendly
smile, keeping my arms tucked close
to my chest. When I walk out into
the lobby, Harry is leaned against
the wall with his hands buried in his pockets. He opens his arms to embrace me, and I fall into him, nestling my face into his chest.

"You're getting better," he whispers into my hair, pressing kisses along my forehead. I shudder at his touch, tilting my head up to gaze upon him.

"For you," I mumble against his lips,
tasting the familiarity.
"I'm getting better for you."