Chapter 19 THE UNCOMFORTABLE PAST.
19.
~RAFAEL~
A WEEK LATER.
I wrap my hands against each other, suddenly feeling nervous about the whole thing. Maybe I should have come here, I will definitely thug it out, all I had to do is to keep avoiding Kimberly, not her particularly but being anywhere around the hospital but for how long am I going to do that?
For how long am I going to live on edge because of how messed up my life is?
For how long am I going to have sudden anxieties about things that aren't worth my sweat? All because I'm scared of ending up like my father or crumbling apart like Mom–again.
"Mr. Rafael Rollers." The attending nurse calls me suddenly, I look up at her, she's holding a tab in front of the Psychologist office, Rowan booked the therapy under Wendy's name to cover our track.
I can't afford for my mental state to be ousted in the public and the doctor has already sworn to secrecy and he's someone I know.
He handled my sessions in the past but was suddenly transferred which was likely the beginning of my drifting away, I hate being handled, but I finally agreed to therapy and he was transferred, it annoyed me then.
Her face is conjured in what seems like surprise and confusion, I booked the appointment under Wendy but a Rafael Rollers showed up.
What a fucking joke.
"Yeah." I mumble under my breath, palming my wet hand against my knees for the last time.
She directs me to the psychologist office, I nod in gratitude and enter the office.
It's a nude coloured room, a corner is stacked with files while there's a fridge at the other side and a large table with chairs arranged around it.
"Mr. Norman." I greet, he raises his head up at me immediately.
"Jesus, Rollers?" He scoffs, his face written in shock, I nod immediately and sit across him on the table."It's been a while, and I'm sorry for..."
"Can we please start with the session? I hate dwelling on the past." I cut him off in a sharp tone which I probably don't regret.
This isn't the time to exchange pleasantries, I'm not here to have coffee with him while discussing some boring political topic.
He conjures his expression to a professional one and nods in agreement."Sure." He answers curtly, taking his seat as well.
"Why are you here? Mr. Rafael."Norman asks while he brings out a new jotter from his drawer.
I swallow nothing, suddenly lost for words because I don't know what to say. What's wrong with me? Do I even have clarity about all of this?
Shutting my eyes for a moment, I run my hands through my hair and chuckle lightly."I still find it hard to function when I'm in hospitals. Maybe I'm not over it yet, I mean...I..." I swallow again, but this time, it leaves my mouth bitter."Fuck, please say something."
Norman's eyes twinkle under his rimmed glasses and drop his bald head slightly.
"Maybe you're still not over your Mom's death, and I think I should diagnose you for clinical depression."
My eyes widen immediately."What? No. I'm not depressed, I just tend to blank out sometimes."
"Why do you blank out?"
"I...Work has been tense lately and I find it hard to focus on it."
That's a total lie, I use work as an escape for reality and it's totally working, I love working myself till the brink of death lately, and I don't think about the lawsuit again, or about Kimberly being in the hospital, recuperating or about Rita Williams.
Their thoughts do come to my head sometimes but I always manage to take my mind off them as soon I'm swamped with more work.
"From what I learnt, Work has always been tense, you've been a workaholic from the beginning." Norman gives me a knowing smile.
Fuck, maybe I should have opted for an unfamiliar psychologist instead.
"I got married, and it wasn't the conventional one, I needed it to seal one of my business deals and it's been stressing me out lately?"
"The person you married or the deal?"
I heave heavily and tighten my hands under the table."Both."
Normal doesn't say anything, he scribbles some words on the paper before dropping his pen."Let's go back to the reason why you find it hard to function in hospitals."
I throw my head back tiredly, why am I suddenly tired from talking? Why does it feel like my head will explode because I don't want to talk about my Mom?
Maybe I want to keep her as a sacred thing in my head, untouched, I preferred sharing my fondest memories of her, I don't want people to know she crumbled most of the times she lived, she was always out of reach, yet, always around me and people seemed to love my stories about her, they don't ask how she died, they just smile and relish how she was a good mother to me.
But lately, I want to share more about her struggles, but it deposits a heap of burden and guilt in my chest that makes it hard for me to breathe, I wanted to tell Kimberly everything that night but I was probably too ashamed.
"Norman, I really don't want to talk about my Mom." I blurt.
He taps his fingers lightly on the table softly."you know it might be a good place to start."
"Maybe if you can tell me some of the things that you noticed before she was diagnosed with a severe stage of depression, I can take note of that during tests."
"I'm not fucking depressed." I deadpans, hot tears burn my eyes harshly but I shove them back, this is just my first session, I could postpone the tears for the next one.
"Okay." Norman answers but he doesn't seem convinced.
"She'd zoom out most of the time, when preparing dinner for us, my Dad and Baxter, her hands would tremble against the lid of the pot, as if she's terrified of...of cooking. It continued for a long while, until Dad got a mistress, it made her so sad and she would silently cry while she put me to bed and...shit."
The room suddenly turns blurry, I press my hands against each other in my thighs, but Norman passes me some napkins, I dab my wet cheeks with it and gulp down nothing.
"I think we should end the session here." I suddenly say, Norman presses his lips and closes his book.
I sigh gratefully, I suddenly feel like entering the ground, away from his scrutinizing stare.
"How do you feel about talking about your Mom a little for the first time after her death?"
The guilt is still there, but not as pressing as I thought it would be and it feels quite soothing.
"I always talk about my Mom with you." I chuckle, trying to avoid the question.
"But not like this,Rafael."
Right, I've never talked about her like this.
"I don't feel guilty, that's all."
"Would you like to do this again?"
Dallying for a while, it will probably be better if I do this again, talking about Mom eases the tension in my chest.
"Maybe."
"Rafael, I want to suggest something." Norman looks at me carefully after saying those words.
Anytime Norman says something like this, it's because he wants to suggest me doing something I would never agree to.
"What's that?"
"Maybe it's high time to start dwelling on the past so we can deal with the future, stop running away."