Oblivion ✓

36| Riders on the Storm

JOSEPHINE

Dr. Bradford took a slow sip from his cup, letting the warmth linger in his hands. The sunlight filtered softly through the window, illuminating the room with a gentle glow. I could hear the faint ticking of a clock in the background, each tick amplifying my anxiety. "I had to admit, I was caught off guard by Mr. Marini's call yesterday, especially after the conversation we had the day before. I wasn't certain if rescheduling our appointment was wise," Dr. Bradford continued, his voice steady. "Why did you choose not to come yesterday?"

I stopped chewing my lip, feeling a rush of frustration that made my stomach churn. "I don't know." The words felt inadequate, like I was trying to fit an ocean of feelings into a tiny bottle. Dr. Bradford's gaze remained encouraging, but I felt trapped in my silence.

"You seem tense," he noted gently. I snorted, the contempt bubbling up inside me like a shaken soda can. "Can you tell me why you feel angry?" he probed.

"I'm not angry," I shot back, my voice laced with irritation, as if saying it louder would make it true. Dr. Bradford nodded, unfazed, allowing a silence to settle between us. It was oddly comforting at first, but as the moments dragged on, the weight of it became unbearable. I resolved to remain quiet, but after three long minutes, I relented, my thoughts swirling chaotically. "What would I even be angry about?" The silence felt maddening. "I hate it when you do this!"

"What am I doing?"I shifted in my seat, the upholstery creaking slightly beneath me.

"This silence! How can you stand it?"

He smiled softly, as if he were sharing a secret. "It's like a ringing phone. You feel compelled to answer it until it stops, and then the urge fades. Sometimes, silence can nurture growth in ways words cannot."

Psychologists were peculiar, I thought, but who was I to judge? I glanced around the room, taking in the framed certificates on the walls, the neatly stacked books on the shelves. "It's nothing. I'm just-oh, this sounds ridiculous." Dr. Bradford gestured for me to continue, and I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the cup against my palm. "I messed up. I really messed up, and no one is angry or disappointed with me! But they should be! I destroyed their property and then tried to run away. But nothing I do seems to matter."

A brief silence fell again, but this time, I sensed Dr. Bradford carefully choosing his words. "Does it make you angry because it feels like they don't care?"

Surprise washed over me, like a light breaking through a cloudy sky. Something clicked. "But that's absurd!"

"Feelings often defy logic," he replied gently, his eyes steady on mine. "It's okay to feel that way. Have I ever told you about the poem my husband wrote in college?"

I shook my head, skepticism creeping in. "No. What's it about?"

"It's about how we sometimes push people away out of fear or pain, even when we crave connection. It explores why we hide our emotions to shield ourselves from hurt, yet sharing feelings can help us heal and strengthen our bonds. Ultimately, it suggests that breaking down our walls allows us to use the power of community to grow together." He smiled, his passion evident, and I found myself leaning forward slightly, curious. "He had literature as a minor in college."

"I didn't know that," I said, genuinely intrigued. "Can you still recite it?"

"In shadows deep, we build our walls,
Afraid of whispers, of silent calls.
We wear our pain like armor, tight,
Pushing away the warmth of light.

With every word we don't reveal,
We mask the wounds that need to heal.
The fear of judgment, the weight of shame,
We think it's safer to play the game.