Debris»z.m

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"I'm a problem with problems. I know who I am and I'm not no good." wRoNg by Zayn and Kehlani

~*~

6 Months Earlier

Sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. The five most commonly accepted senses that are experienced continuously throughout each and every day. I've learned very quickly that these are not the only senses. There is yet another one.

The sense to feel. No, not like the sense of touch, to run your fingers over a rough surface or through the strands of another's hair. It is much more something felt on the inside.

The five senses include the experiences of many things such as scraping your knee, listening to your favorite song, or even eating your favorite meal. However, none of them can ever compare to the sixth sense, the sense to feel. None of them include pain, love, fear, or desperation. That sixth sense, the sense to feel, is the worst of them all because it is the only one that exists in my nightmares.

When I wake up, I don't recall any bitter tastes, sinister touches, or threatening sounds. No sights to induce fear and no unpleasant odors. What I do feel, though, is far worse than any combination of bitter tastes, unpleasant odors, and sinister touches.

Pain.

"Arabella?"

I look up to see my therapist staring into the depth of my eyes, and I shrink into my cushion under her heavy gaze. Horrid words are burning the tip of my tongue and the lump in my throat grows as I force them back down. I want to talk about it. Damn it, I want to scream. I want to yell. I want to shout about it.

But all I can do is merely whisper, "I'm fine."

Therapy is like this every week. The therapist asks me the same questions and I give the same monosyllabic response in retaliation. Ever since the incident, my friends have continually encouraged me to see a therapist. No matter how hard I try to hide it, we all know I'm still shaken up. I still fear that danger lurks every corner I turn.

"We're not going to make progress until you let me know what's going on in that head of yours," Dr. Casper tells me.

I know this already. She's told me this during our last two sessions. I appreciate her patience, although I'm not entirely ready to talk.

"I can't sleep," I blurt, the words involuntarily escaping.

Dr. Casper raises a brow, taken aback by my volitional response. I surprise myself by continuing. Speaking of those two traumatic weeks is painful, yes. But I just can't hold it in anymore. What was left unsaid was tearing me apart.

"I-I have nightmares," my voice is a mere whisper, and I blink away tears threatening to spill over.

Just as Dr. Casper opens her mouth to speak, an alarm begins to go off, signalling that this session is over. I can tell by the look on her face that she feels guilty. I don't need her pity.

"This was a mistake," I mumble embarrassed. "Forget I said anything."

I scramble for my satchel bag, avoiding the brown of her gaze as I stand to my feet. I can sense her watching my every move.

"Arabella, I can give you a fe--" Dr. Casper starts, but I cut her off instantly.

"That's okay," I murmur with a tight smile as I head for the door. "Have a nice evening Dr. Casper."

As soon as I step out of the door, I catch a gust of cigarette effluvium and scrunch up my nose in disgust. Gazing down, I reach around in my bag for my cell phone as I trudge forward. I'm startled when I stumble into something with an unwavering stability. I'm nearly knocked off of my feet, my breath hitching from the rough collision.