The Rainbow at the end of my storm

•1•

"Sometimes, in life, we have to experience the bad to feel the good."

My counsellor, Trisha, preaches this almost every session.

"Sometimes, we experience hurt - life changes that can deem to be the worst scenario possible, when really they are for the good. Things happen for a reason, Victoria."

Things happen for a reason.

I mentally rolled my eyes at such a typical phrase. How many times had I heard that in all my eighteen years on this life-shattering planet? Ten? Twenty? Hundred? Maybe a thousand. It was something people said to convince themselves that things were going to get better; that there was something else approaching round the corner. But let's be honest, that's not always the case.

My boyfriend of three years, the only boy I'd ever looked at through high school, hurt me in more ways one can imagine at such a young age. If things happened for a reason, then where was my rainbow at the end of the storm? I was still waiting, impatiently, for the positive to appear. It was like watching the clock tick by; each tick you hoped you were closer, but you never seemed to reach that destined time. A time of happiness.

"Victoria?" Trisha's eyes bore into me through her oversized, octagon shaped glasses. She wasn't old, but she wasn't particularly young either. Yet I still didn't understand why she wore such degrading glasses, they made her face look wider, enhancing all the little lines and wrinkles. You wouldn't even notice them if she didn't wear those glasses, it made people search for them - search for her age.

I'd been admiring the view from her office window, while reminding myself why I attended these ridiculous sessions twice a week. My mother said I needed to express my emotions more; I needed to tell someone what went through my head. Only I didn't do that. I trusted Trisha with my whole life, she'd become a blessing these past few months, but that didn't mean I could open up my whole soul. Deep down, there were emotions swirling round like a tornado, thoughts hitting me like a hurricane and destroying me inside. My only hope was the hundred milligrams of anti-depressants my mom had shoved down my throat the day after everything happened.

"Victoria.". This time Tricia sounded more annoyed, there was an edge to her voice.

I shot my eyes to her. "Sorry, I just got caught up with my thoughts."

"Care to explain?" She opened her tiny A5 notebook, which was covered in expensive leather, while her thousand dollar fountain pen pinched between her thumb and index finger.

"No thank you." I smiled brightly - but fake - finding it entertaining when her expression soured.

My parents paid her hundreds - money they couldn't afford - to receive information about my mental state and if I was getting better. The less I talked, the angrier they got, which meant less money for her. Part of me wanted to suck it up, grow up a little as mom would say, and just tell her. But why should I do that for my parents? All they've done is treat me like an incapable, you'd think I'd lost my ability to continue being human the way they looked after me. I felt like a child.

"You know, this is our last session. You have a new counsellor as soon as you reach NYU. I just want what's best for you, Vicky."

Vicky. My stomach twisted at the tiny nickname that he would call me. It made me sick. I sucked in a deep breath and heard her sigh.

"I-"

"I know. I'm sorry, I just don't feel like talking today."

For once she gave me a genuine smile and shut that little notebook of secrets. It was then I noticed it had my name on. She had several of those for her patients? Jesus, that's a lot of money from the looks of them.