The Paintbrush

Role reversal

"What do you mean? I haven't said a word after your tantrum?" She said, still sitting in her red spinner chair and the pen resting between her fingers. She made her assumptions as I saw the notepad still in her lap and her formal attire flowed against the chair. From all this I knew that she had not moved since I started talking about my anger. Her muscles seemed relaxed and her mood was pretty calm. What just happened? The soles of my feet met the floor and I stood up with agony and distress numbing my every last bit of energy stored on my body. With only the soft breeze creating an echo throughout the whole room, we both stood silent. My canvas had no streaks and stood lifeless at the corner of the room like it always was.
Even though silence began infecting the room, I decided it was time to leave as my eyes glanced to the distance to my bag and then the door behind me.
Yet, again, with careful measurement, I hatched a plan to escape without her noticing about what had happened.
"No young lady, you are not leaving until I understand this anomaly," I heard her say, even though my ears could nearly work out the words, I didn't want to hear her say this. I didn't want to explain what had just happened. I didn't want to be called crazy again.

"A double espresso, please darling!" the woman in front of me shouted. I needed to refuel my body to insure I was still in my body nowadays. Too much confusion made me believe I wasn't me and sooner or later, I might be struggling more than now.
"Next please," the man at the counter claimed, he was rushing his 5 orders he was currently making. Why do so many people put themselves through so much? If they think they can go through everything at one go, then why complain about it?
"I said next please ma'am," he repeated, gazing over his shoulder to give a gesture to move forward.
"One honeycomb latte," I stated my order with the exact amount of money in my hands.
"Are you paying by card or cash?" He asked, placing two coffee cups to a couple chatting away. He was surely struggling. I still couldn't point out why he was on such a hurry though. There was no one after me so he would originally be slowing down his pace.
"Cash," I answered, placing the coins in his hand as he instantly banged open the cash register.
I needed this coffee to blend in with everyone else so no one could pinpoint the fear I was truly feeling. The fear of what would happen when I was back into that room with the red spinner chair and a therapist on it. I couldn't tell her anything, of course I couldn't. Her lack of understanding how an internal pain can turn into physical pain convinced me that she will definitively not understand my visions.
"Here you are miss," he claimed, placing the cup on the glass counter on top of all those flavourful pastries. He flicked off his hat through the door that was slightly creaked open behind him.

Human behaviour, it's fascinating how one can tell what the other is thinking because most of the time, it varies. But when it comes to my own behaviour, I can't tell if I'm feeling positive or negative myself. And sure the therapist was catching on when she gifted me the patterned brown box, but lack of knowledge of one's past will change the entire meaning of an event. Now this cashier and manager was clearly taking a whole lot of jobs to do at once, but who knows, he may need the money or maybe he's hurrying up for those kids he has left at home without a mother.
As for my past, I don't even know if I can trust myself with it.

"Listen, you're not leaving until I hear an explanation!" She demanded, gradually building up authority on her voice over me, however, over using it.
She looked at me, stood in front of her, whilst she continued to sit in her chair of doom. Her eyes shot at me but unleashed a sorry sight of pity, yes pity. I found a weak spot, I found the button that I can push on her which will escalate her emotions to a serious downhill. I know that that isn't right, but containing information that may be useful sooner can become useful at times when needed.
"You know exactly what happened, asking me is one of the painful things you can do, but feeling sympathy, is even worse." I carefully said. I flipped her job around between us, so that now I could get into her head. This power that suddenly came over me helped me steady myself out of the event that just took place, and instantly recovering myself of the open wounds that laid out in front of her. From this power that was now resting in my hands, I could use it to destroy her. Completely. But I won't. Because what use will that do to me? What difference will that make for me? Other than a whole pile of unwanted guilt building up on my chest, what can breaking her do for me?
"I was only trying..." She stuttered whilst looking down. I felt like royalty. I felt so powerful and viscous and no one could over power me. Yet still that tiny bit of sympathy was able to break past the smirk that planted on my lips. That sympathy, causing me to grab my bag and run out without looking back at the damage I had caused. I had done that. THAT. I hurt one's heart when I'm trying to save my own.
And now here I am regretting everything with a warm blanket of coffee slithering down my oesophagus. Im regretting it all.