Myles Black suffers from severe depression after witnessing an awful tragedy. He moves to Southern California not by choice but to forget his dark past that has shield his heart made of shiny obsidian.
He meets football player, Atticus Stone, who i...
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It was Wednesday morning as I sat in the lounge room of Mrs. Fischer's office. There were some caramel candies on a plate so I grabbed a few. I put one in my mouth and let the candy melt slowly. I loved how they played classical music, it was soothing to my soul.
"Myles," Mrs. Fischer came and got me this time. "I'm ready to see you."
I got up and walked into her office. I did the usual routine and sat on the laying couch. She closed the door and walked to her usual spot behind me. She had a tight black pencil skirt and a long-sleeve white button-down. Her hair was in a bun and her lips were a dark burgundy. She smiled at me as she grabbed her glasses that were hanging down the middle of her shirt.
"You can lay down," she gestured at the couch as I laid down and stared at the plain ceiling.
"How was yesterday?" She asked and I got annoyed when Atticus's face came to mind.
"It was fine," I lied.
"Just fine or did something interesting happen?"
I took a deep breath, maybe I should open just a bit.
"You can say that."
"What happened?" She asked as I heard her scribbling something.
"Some asshole bumped into me at Starbucks and the tea burnt my neck, not yesterday but Monday when I left here," I could still feel the burning sensation when I thought about it.
"Did he apologize?"
"He tried but I ran away. I was so mad that I cried in my car," I was getting angry again.
"When you feel angry, where is this rage coming from?"
I took another deep breath as I stared at the ceiling. Was I seeing black orbs floating in the air?
"Myles," she asked and I came back to my senses.
"My heart."
"What does your heart feel?" She asked as she scribbled on her notepad.
It feels well protected, a black shiny forcefield that nothing can penetrate. "I don't feel, I just react to my environment and he pissed me off because he spilled hot tea on me and my blueberry muffin ate total shit."
"Interesting," a one-word response. I always wanted to know why therapists do this. It gets me anxious and I wish I could have telepathy to read their thoughts but maybe that's what they wished as well, to figure out what goes in our mind.
