YELLOW

PART 2

With my jumper pulled on and the hood up, I slipped my AirPods in as I made my way to the psychologist's office. The sky overhead was overcast, mirroring the heaviness of my emotions. I had always found it challenging to articulate how I felt. What even are emotions, anyway?

Suddenly, the loud beep of a message notification interrupted my thoughts. "Marcus, yo, I'm stealing your girl!" It was Ginny, sending me a selfie of her and Elora lounging in our living room. I glanced at my phone and quickly tapped the first emoji I saw—an image of money with hands over its mouth—my way of expressing mock surprise.

Upon arriving at the building, I pressed the buzzer and waited for the door to be opened. The psychologist stood there, holding the door ajar, and as it swung wide, I stepped inside. I took one of my AirPods out, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

"Welcome back, Marcus. How are you?" he began, initiating the session.

I sank into the leather recliner, the familiar scent enveloping me. "Let's skip the part where I pretend everything is flowers and unicorns and get straight to the point," I said, using my feet to swivel the chair slightly, my body reflecting the restlessness in my mind.

He let out a giggle, something I had never witnessed before.

"You're not taking your meds, are you?" His eyes locked onto mine with intensity.

"You mean those pills you all prescribe to numb feelings completely? Don't worry about me; I'm already numb," I replied, raising my eyebrows as I tucked my AirPods into the front pocket of my jumper.

His expression shifted to one of surprise as he scratched his beard, settling into a chair directly across from me. "That's the issue, though. You're not cooperating. You won't improve if you refuse to allow yourself to feel. Just because you loved someone deeply and it didn't work out doesn't mean you're destined to be unloved."

I clicked my tongue, unimpressed by his words. He clearly didn't understand my perspective. "You can't love someone who has never loved you back in the first place."

His eyes widened as he took a sip of his drink. "Are we still talking about Olivia, or are we discussing your father?"

I let out a heavy sigh, clearing my throat before responding. "Let's not conflate the two. I'm not here to discuss my father. I've already done enough self-therapy to come to terms with being alone."

His face morphed into one of pity, a look I wouldn't wish on even my worst enemy.

"What happened later that night? Let's start from there. Where did you two go? Focus," he urged as I lay back, closing my eyes and pressing my hands against my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart beneath my fingers. It was a comforting gesture I often used to feel connected to Miss Bourgeois.

Later that night :  the Yellow Submarine Night Club.

I opened her car door and helped her out, refusing to release her hand, not for a moment. As I led her to the entrance, I noticed the security guards standing there, clad in their black suits and sunglasses. Without checking our IDs, they allowed us in, perhaps recognizing the spark this girl carried within her. I held the door open for her, and we stepped inside together, her arm comfortably wrapped around mine.

"Do you come here often?" Olivia asked, her eyes roaming over the vibrant scene. The club was filled with red couches, black stools, and wooden tables, creating a lively atmosphere.

"Not really—" I began to reply when Phil suddenly approached. "Marcus! Who's this radiant girl you've brought with you?" I bit my lower lip as I watched Phil lean in to kiss Olivia's hand. A surge of jealousy coursed through me, igniting a feeling I couldn't quite place.