C O L O R S

R E D

A familiar sole but wide window with its blinds half pulled down, an ebony rough varnished table, a shelf of medical files of various patients, a smell of scented candle hanging in the air, and that fat belly under white garments greet Kris once again after several times of ditching his Wednesday session.

Dr. Sario has been staring at him for a few minutes now, tapping his pen on his writing pad, not because 7 pm is not their usual call time, but because he is as if thinking a distinct thing. Kris on the other hand, is not seated bored (which he actually usually does) on the Narra couch. He stays on one side, fingers tapping on his lap as he can barely look at the doctor's eyes. He can't even spend a single glance on the man.

Also, his breathing is already ragged albeit Dr. Sario hasn't asked him questions that usually cause his panic attacks. There's something off with him that day, and he hopes the doctor will not notice it.

"See you next Wednesday, Kris. Have fun at school," the doctor says making Kris sigh in relief. It doesn't even bother him that Dr. Sario did not ask anything, he's just stared at him for a good few minutes and then they are done. But Kris thinks it's a good thing, though---spending a little time with that man.

Kent spends a look at his son, but Kris just glues his gaze on the floor as he leaves the clinic. His father needs to talk to the doctor first, so he has to wait on the lobby and endure the quiet stares of everyone there.

He wanders his eyes around the not-so-quiet halls, but only to look away when he accidentally meets gazes with the nurses on the information desk. Like Rose, there's also something behind their eyes that Kris has taken notice of. But it's not like the blue or the green he's found at Rose's that had made him calm. That time, when he seats himself on the couch, those stares make him clench his fists and bite his lips even though until it hurt.

"Why do people always do that?" he asks himself, pertaining to the looks shooting at him. "Why do people give pity even when it's not wanted? Do they always think empathy can really help?"

The thing is, maybe not. Maybe not at all times, a certain person needs someone to give him advice. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to, someone who can listen. Maybe he doesn't really need words of comfort, but shoulders that can provide it.

And maybe, just maybe, he doesn't need the therapy, and just wants to set himself free.

But yet again, he's used to that kind of scenarios, so he just keeps his head lowered, hidden under the huge hood of his jacket, pretending to not care at all.

It only takes ten minutes for Kent to call it off with Dr. Sario, and the next thing Kris knows is they are driving back home.

It's not really his thing to still wear his hood while in the car, but that time he does. He's avoiding Kent, like what he's done to Dr. Sario earlier; afraid that they will bring up what he thinks is inevitable.

It's a fact that Kris hasn't been the perfect son, but that makes Kent not a perfect father as well. You see, as Kris remembers in his Psychology class, it is not right for parents to make their kids feel that they are below the expectations.

Why?

Because as dogs run away when being left behind at night, and as lovebirds kill themselves without a couple, 'disappointing' kids always feel like they are a failure.

They become depressed. As Kris does.

He leans his head on the car window and stares at the speeding views of trees and landscapes, as he infers that life is just as vague as that.

Blurry. Unclear. Unfathomable. Black.

But still, most people try to understand it. Unlike him; he's bent, crooked, and an imperfect mystery that no one has ever tried to unravel.

"Kris." There's something about his dad's voice that make Kris look his way. It seems like there's a lump in his throat and for the first time in those many confrontations, Kent averts his eyes to anything but Kris. "The doctor said you tried to kill yourself," Kent finally musters to say, voice cracking.

From those words, Kris shuffles until he can no longer move a muscle. He just sits still, unable to talk and reason himself out of the headlights.

Kill yourself.

Suddenly, it is as if the thing he's trying to run away from instantly comes dawning his way, and he's unprepared.

Kill.

"I killed him."

A flit ray of the sun hits them in a wisp and suddenly, the rapid motion of the view outside earlier turns into variants of sepia that contains visions of the past. Kris instantly sweats at that moment, in apathy of brushing the thought away; squirming on his seat as if struggling for his life.

He can hear it. The laughter of younger voices and the sound of the beach; it's like a murmur that has been magnified into whispers---so close to his mind and he has no escape.

"Stop," he tells himself but the images won't stop from flooding his vision, his thoughts. Instead, the road morphs and the asphalted pavement turns into particles coarser than silt. The laughter becomes more evident and he can now see vague images of two young guys playing Frisbee. His eyes widen, and even wider when it starts to feel like something is urging him to come closer. And he does, even if he doesn't want to.

The closer the distance he has from the two guys, the more his heart pounds erratically. They say past is not a good place to stay, but now he's forced to never leave.

"Make it stop," he says in agony, and the laughter then has faded away. The two guys stop from playing and the older one has his eyes on Kris---closer, and even closer until he is too close and Kris finds himself frightened and lost beyond the color of those orbs.

It is the color of his past; the color that he has been trying to run away from; the color of anger, of pain, and of hatred.

Red.

That's the last thing he remembers before everything fades out.