"If he was a song, it would start off so softly. There would be a peaceful melody, smooth almost angelic words. Then the beat would drop, you'd gasp in surprise, not understanding why it went from so calm to so violent. You'd want so bad to shut it off, to make it all stop, but you can't. Something is holding you back, making you keep listening. A song like him is like calm waves suddenly being taken over by a tsunami. The lyrics would be filled with pretty lies, the colour you feel being blue. It would make you feel trapped, as if you can't breathe. You're lungs would feel constricting, you just can't leave."
"Was it him making you stay, our you?"
"It was me. No matter how bad it got, I thought it could be reversed. I thought we could go back to how it was before it all. I wanted so badly for the old him to come back, and maybe then we could look past it all. But he didn't, and we didn't. It just kept getting worst." The tears cascade down my cheeks, replacing the dried stains.
"When was your breaking point?"
"That's the thing, I didn't have one. I just kept going with it until someone noticed. Someone called the police, but it wasn't me. It wasn't any friends I had, because truth be told I didn't have any. He made me cut off all my relations to anyone, including my parents. I just continued living his sick fantasy until he was arrested. And even now I'm living in it. He wanted me to never forget him, wanted me to have nightmares about him. He wanted me to feel small compared to him."
"Would you ever want to meet the person who called the police?"
"Part of does and part of me doesn't. Deep in my heart I know there's the man I love inside of him, and maybe if we continued his games he'd come back. But I also know that the nice side of him is buried under miles and miles of darkness. I'd have to thank him or her but then again, I'd slightly resent them."
"Do you think you'll ever be able to accept the fact that his good side is gone?"
"Like I said, part of me already does accept it. I just need the rest of me to agree so I can move on."
"Would you ever want to see him again?"
"Not unless he's laying in a coffin."
"I think that's all for today." My therapist says, closing her notebook. I nod slowly, gathering my things and following her out of the room. "I'll see you next Tuesday Beatrice."
I give her a small smile, then exit the building.
My mind thinks back to the man I saw last night? Should I have told her about him? Why had he been staring at me so intently? He had a look in his eye, as if he knew something. As if he did something.
I shiver, feeling the warm breeze flowing through my hair. I hope I never encounter him again. Although his features are still imprinted on my mind. His sharp, chiseled jaw line, ivory skin. His deep green, piecing eyes. And the way his midnight black hair shifted in the wind.
He seemed familiar in a way. But not like I had seen him somewhere, but as if we had some kind of unspoken connection. He was the opposite of him. A whole new type of song. And maybe a small part of me wanted to sing along.
