Anemone

Plum: Labyrinth

Dr. Naran had been adjusting her nameplate— the gold prism engraved with Dr. Indira Naran glinting in the sunlight— when her office door clicked open and Amias slipped inside with a quiet greeting. He wore short sleeves for the first time since their sessions started, but the bands around his wrists kept his tallies carefully hidden from the rest of the world.

"Good afternoon, Amias. How's your day been?"

"I talked to Seona for a while," he said. He lowered himself into his seat without a sound and pulled out his phone. "Her daughter Aneta turned a year old yesterday."

He showed her a picture of a little baby girl with a tuft of black hair and frosting smudging her cheeks. Dr. Naran smiled.

"She's adorable."

"She's lucky to have a mother like Seona," he agreed, taking his phone and sliding it in his back pocket. He'd never come in with a story before. Usually when he came into the office, he'd sit down without a word, nod at her greeting, the proceed to stare out the window with that half-filled look. But now, he'd shown her pictures of a baby with a smile.

"Do Seona and Aneta make you happy?" Dr. Naran inquired.

"Yes."

"Do you visit often?"

Amias went quiet and she knew she hit a sore spot. Not exactly a question that would've smothered him to silence, but one that could foster a reaction that could go both ways. He did seal his lips for the better part of two minutes before he spoke again.

"I told you she lives in that city," he said. "I haven't been there in over ten years."

"Why don't you try? Go back to your hometown, see some old friends, patch up some misunderstandings," she suggested. "I'm sure Seona would love to see you face to face after all this time. Have you met Aneta face to face?"

He took up his customary silence and faced the window. The curtains were pulled slightly closed to keep the rays from beating in too much and small flutters of dust floated past.

"It's too close," he murmured. "If I go back, it's too close to him. Two hours away. He does business there sometimes."

Amias had gone some few shades paler as the person he was thinking of manifested into the fear on his face. Dr. Naran had some grasp at the cause of reluctance and hazard a guess.

"Nivek?"

"Elroy," he correctly faintly. "But him, too."

He pushed aside his bands and pointed to the last mark on his wrist, an angry plum purple.

Still fresh.

"Three years ago, I moved to a city near my hometown. I saw Seona sometimes and Nivek as little as possible. I met Elroy a few months later and he was... electric, I guess you could call him. Bright, loud, funny— I told myself no. I told myself I wouldn't do it anymore."

"But you did," she added. He exhaled through his nose and started to count the bright green leaves that swayed with the warm breeze outside. One. Two. Three. Five.

"I did," he agreed. Eight. Thirteen. Twenty-one. Thirty-four. "And I hate myself for doing it."

"Falling in love isn't a crime, Amias. It happens to the best and worst of us," said Dr. Naran. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm by no means an expert on a subject like this, but I think you know that loving someone is an accident sometimes. We never expect it and we never will. People come and go even if we don't want them to, and we always have to face the feelings they left behind."

He brushed his eyes up the window. Fifty-five. Eighty-nine. One hundred forty-four.

"What if I don't want to? What if I just keep their memories and never let them go?" he questioned. His therapist offered him a sad smile.

"Then I'll start to wonder if you're doing this because purple's your favorite color."

His eyelids sank. Two hundred thirty-three. Three hundred seventy-seven. Six hundred ten.

His vision blurred with a liquid warmth, and he stopped counting.