The Segment (Completed)

7. The Goal

"Excuse me?" Richard said blinking rapidly, his breathing unsteady. Farrah could see a red flush crawling up the skin of his neck. And his breathing getting erratic.

"I want to open files, documents pertaining to your mother's suicide," Farrah repeated herself calmly, never breaking eye contact with Richard. She was determined, so determined that she didn't see Richard's eyes, rimming red, pupils enlarged.

"Why?" that one word rang clearly over the sound of his frantic heart as Richard waited for her answer.

"April next year will be Princess Elizabeth's 20th death anniversary," Farrah said factually.

"Tell me something I don't know," Richard said brusquely standing up. Turning away, and quickly stepping towards the window.

Closing her eyes, Farrah sank into the chair. "Shit," Farah whispered, opening her eyes, looking at Richard's silhouette against the window, clearly remorseful, "I'm sorry. This is not how it's supposed to go." Farrah squeezed her eyes shut. She hated how she sounded at that very moment. Unfeeling, careless, a cold-hearted bitch who wanted to use someone's death for her career. That wasn't her, that wasn't the goal today. The silence settled over them like a fog and to clear it, she knew she would have to give parts of herself up. Farrah massaged her temples eyes still closed.

Determinedly, Farrah walked over to Richard and stood next to him, leaning against the window as she studied his office. She realized that she was so preoccupied with Richard as she came in that she didn't pay attention to his office at all. The carpets were as plush as the ones outside but it was a dark grey. His desk, a deep brown teak desk with minimal detailing, held a few things; his Macbook, which was shut, a leather bound journal of sorts with a pen attached to it, and the folder that contained all her emails. Behind his desk there were shelves which she suspected was organised by his secretary. The wall were all a pale white and she knew that if it weren't for the fact that Richard was physically standing next to her, this office could belong to anyone.

There wasn't one single photograph of his family anywhere. Nothing there that spoke to her, told her who Richard - the person, not the prince. Perhaps it's not allowed, she thought with a sigh. She knew how steeped in rules and regulations the royals were. 

"I'm sorry," she said looking at the ground. "I sound like a tactless idiot," she said looking at him. She couldn't see his face as he was looking away. 

"Rich?" she called, softly.

"Richard?" panic laced her voice when she finally realized it. Richard hunched over, was gripping the ledge of the window so tight that his knuckles were white, as he harshly sucked in breath after breath with his face blazing red. "What...?" Farrah whispered, rendered immobile. "Are you having a panic attack?" Farrah whispered. "Richard?" He nodded.

Snapping into action, Farrah quickly stood behind him and wound her arms across his chest and squeezed, pressing herself firmly into his back grounding him to her. "I've got you, Rich," she said calmly. "You are okay. I've got you." She stated again, clearly. "Now I need you to focus on your breathing; in and out. Can you do that?" She asked him again as he leant his head back leaning into Farrah his entire being trembling against hers. 

"Okay, I got you. Just listen to my voice okay?" she continued. "My mother passed when I was 15. It was a car accident. It was one of those horrific May showers complete with a thunderstorm when she lost control of the car." Farrah paused swallowing a huge lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Richard he whispered with a shudder, his heart still thundering at an alarming rate under the heat of her palm.

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply she continued perching her chin on the crook of his neck, "When the post mortem was done, they found a cocktail of anti depressants in her blood stream. And that came as a huge shock to my father. He knew that she was seeking help, talking to someone but he did not know that she was diagnosed with clinical depression and on medication. She wasn't supposed to drive when on these medications but she did. She tried so hard to pretend that everything was fine. She was fine, and that nothing was wrong with her."

Blinking back tears she continued with a shuddering breath, "Daddy, reckoned that she felt ashamed of it. That she was ashamed that she was depressed. When word got out in the community, I realized why she hid it. Friends, acquaintances...they all said the same thing, that her Imaan, her faith was not strong hence why she succumbed to depression. That she didn't turn to the Quran enough. That she was weak. They just couldn't, or perhaps didn't want to wrap their heads around the fact that being depressed is just the same as having a broken limb; you need professional help. Or it will fester and eat at you from the inside."

She heard Richard exhale deeply and looked at him. "Better?" And she felt him nodding against her temple. As she started to loosen her grip, Richard grabbed on to her hands and murmured gruffly, "Don't. Not yet."

A wave of silence blanketed the office, as Farrah's heart pounded. It has been 11 years since her mother's death and she had ever only confided in one person; Charlie. And now Richard. Farrah sucked in another deep breath and almost burrowed her face into Richard's neck when it hit her with a 1000watt jolt; the intimacy of their position. Richard's head was still leaning on her temple as he absentmindedly stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb while her chest was firmly pressed into his back. 

The trembling has stopped and knowing that the worst of his panic attack had already passed, Farrah disentangled herself from Richard. Her face burning at the thought of the intimate picture they made seconds ago, and took a few steps back attempting to put as much distance between them without making it painfully awkward.

Farrah just stood there, studying Richard's silhouette. His broad shoulders were now a bit straighter, and his hair a burning ember in color thanks to the light filtering in through the window. Try as she might she couldn't deny how attractive she found him and how attracted she was to him. To this real person who was displaying real, raw emotions. God, what am I even thinking, Farrah thought to herself mentally shaking her head.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

Richard turned to face her, now leaning against the window. His eyes were rimmed pink and there was a dampness to them but that only enhanced the sparkle in his blue eyes. His face still splotched red he nodded, and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded as if it was laced with tears, "Why my mother?"

Clearing her throat, "Your mother, Princess Elizabeth, was this amazing woman. She was a trendsetter and an active philanthropist. She openly talked about her depression and bulimia at a time where no one would even consider touching those topics with a ten feet pole. And let's not forget that she was one of the first person to shake hands with an AIDS patient – without any barriers. There are currently 300 million people in the world who are affected by depression. I could give you all the facts and the figures to support my reasons – in fact I have in my printed proposal, but I've given you the most important explanation that came from my heart."

Richard looked at her, willing her to continue.

"I was 15 and my mom was my best friend," she laughed. "Such a cliché I know but it was true. I felt betrayed and God, so so helpless," Farrah sighed rubbing her palm against her hairline.

"If only she had told me. If only she had been able to talk about it openly without any of the stigma, without feeling ashamed – I would still have her with me. There are so many people who are trapped in this vicious social stigma that they're not getting enough help. All I want to do is help them, Richard," she said softly avoiding his eyes.

"People would pay attention to Princess Elizabeth, never to a random Mrs. Khan from Birmingham," she added laughing bitterly, finally raising her damp eyes to meet his.

**************************

Guys, I am seriously in shock. First Kate Spade and now Anthony Bourdain; both passed by committing suicide due to a history of depression.

Tbh, Bourdain's death has really hit me hard. I mean he was someone I looked up to in my teenage and young adult years. I wanted to be him, to have his job, to talk like him, to ask questions like him, to make a difference. So yeah, his death is something hard for me to wrap my mind around.

Who ever you are, if you feel sad/depressed just please talk to someone. Don't keep it all in. You are important. You matter. You are loved.

Once again, thank you for your comments and votes. Also; sharing is caring!! xx

Now, I am off to wallow in sadness.

13/6/2016 EDITED: i had to edit guys, I just really wasn't feeling it.