Fractured

Eliott

“She steps in my dreams. Uninvited. Crawling inside my subconscious as if she owned the place. As if she was allowed to.”

“How many times do you think you dream of her?”

“I can't be sure. Maybe four times on ten. Or maybe less. I can't tell.”

“Is the dream exactly the same everytime?” she asks.

“No. Not always. Or at least, not as I remember.

>> Most of the time, it’s blurry. Places, people and environment are strangers to me and unclear. Everything is moving either in time lapse or in slow motion or worse - it's bugging.

Sometimes, she is sitting by a lake. Sometimes walking the grass of an unknown prairie - her footsteps soft, delicate, almost inaudible.

Do these places mean anything specific? I don't know but the funny part is that it's not even grim nor haunting as we say. It's rather intriguing, pulling yet consuming. Like a slow burning flame trying to reduce you to ashes. But it's no warm flame. No, it's bitterly cold, paralyzing and somehow aching.

I can never really see her face. I can never reach her and she never seem to notice me either. She just wanders around. She never talks either. And whenever she’s about to notice me, the dream starts to fade away.

It’s obsessing. And sometimes, to help it make sense, I take a pencil and start drawing whatever I saw - or the remaining of what I remember. Hoping to fill the missing pieces of the dream or to find the meaning behind - assuming there is any. <<

“Have you ever talked to your mother about that?” the psychologist asked me.

“I wouldn't be here otherwise,” I replied, sitting in front of her on the couch of her office, my elbows resting against my tight.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

I bite my upper lip, unwilling to speak, but end up admitting anyway. “She can't really help me.”

“Okay.” She just replies without pressing furthermore even though the tone of her voice betrayed her curiosity. “Is there anything else you'd like to add? Perhaps, something related to the dream you keep having and which actually really happened to you, in your life.” she then adds.

I bite my nails and I look at her.

“Subconscious has a fascinating way to create things in order to repair or to lull our feelings. It can take the form of hopes or regrets or desires or fears. And for today, we're going to try to find a way to explain your dreams. We’re trying to see if there is any gap, any break in your life that can lead you to dream about that girl. Perhaps someone close to you who reminds you of her?”

I’m reluctant. I know I shouldn't. Because the main reason for my presence here in this office was to talk. Talk to someone trustful, without being judged or feeling guilty.

But somehow, words are stuck in my throat. As if letting them out would feel like cursing myself.

Some people don't judge by their words. They judge by their thoughts. And too many times, I've been exposed to the second one.

I'd rather hear them say it out loud than keep it to themselves. Because in both cases, I know what's on their minds and it's unpleasant.

I look away and turn to the window. The sky was bright and clear. The room was soundproof and I couldn't hear the car horns honking outside.

I scan the surroundings and the walls of the room. It's one busy room actually. I could tell it from the numerous books arranged on the shelves.

Yes, it's a typical therapist office that I'm trying to analyze. Perhaps I'm just trying to avoid her question.

How long? Again, I don't know.

When I was browsing on the web to find a therapist weeks ago, I didn't know exactly which way to go or what exactly I was waiting from their respective websites. I spent so many sleepless nights, looking for the right one. And when I was about to give up, her website showed up.

Dr. Angela Ferguson.

A light brown skin woman graduated from Oxford. Her profile was quite busy and active I couldn't name all of the stuff she posted. But only one thing captured my attention. Something other psychologists didn't have on their websites - not because they weren't good enough to me, but rather because they didn't seem to have what I was searching for.

Safety.

At the end of Dr. Ferguson’s website, there was a quote that couldn’t go unnoticed.

“If you think that exposing yourself makes you feel vulnerable, try to imagine how it is to keep it to yourself. The more you bottle up, the easier you'll break. Explosion hits you for a moment. But implosion hits you forever.”

And that was enough for me to ask for an appointment.

I lean against the couch and lower my gaze.

The whole time, she doesn't add anything. She neither presses nor ends the session. She just waits.

Before we began, she said she'd give me control of the whole session and that I was the only one who could decide whether or not we'll pursue or not.

It's kinda annoying because I really suck at making decisions.

“Two years ago, I had a car accident.” I finally state, my gaze still low, avoiding hers.

No words from her yet. Just silence.

“It was an afternoon. And we were heading back home.”

“

We

?” she tried to understand. “You mean you and the girl in your dreams?”

“No.” I correct her with a slight curve at the corner of my lips. “Me and my sister.”

I swallow hard just at the thought of her.

“Come on, Cole! Let me try!”

“No. You don't have a driving license yet, if memory serves.” I dissuaded her, as I drove us back home.

“No, but there's no cops around.”

“You're waiting for the cops to be around to follow the rules?” I raised an eyebrow and gave her a sideway glance.

“Rules were made to be transgressed.” She turned back to the road and leant against her seat.

“Is that the reason why you plan to go to law school? Learning laws to better infringe them?”

“Oh my God…” I could feel her gaze on me.

“What? Why you involving God in our conversation?”

“Do you hear yourself speaking?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You're talking like an old man.”

“I corroborate. I'm older than you.”

“You're just two years older than me.”

“Old enough to drive a car. Unlike you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now, do you hear yourself speaking?” I hit her back with a victorious smile.

“Is there really nothing I can do to make you change your mind?” she was pleased.

“No. Unless you're a cat.”

“What's the deal with cats?”

“It’s said they have nine lives.”

“Oh boy, don't tell me you believe in those kinds of shits.”

“I don't…”

Suddenly, Jo (Josephine, my sister) yelled, panicked because a cat just ran across the street in front of us. And instinctively, I panicked too.

The car stopped and my hands were clenching on the wheel.

“Jo! For fuck’s sake!” I swore.

“I'm sorry, I thought you didn't see it…” her voice broke.

“I never took my eyes off the road, Jo. Of course I saw it!”

“It popped in out of nowhere and…”

“This is exactly the reason why I don't let you drive. You nearly killed us!”

“I’m sorry if I frightened you…I didn't mean to…”

“Of course you frightened me! Way more than the cat. Jee, we don't have nine lives!”

“Sorry…”

That's with Jo. Whenever she'd feel guilty, she’d easily and immediately apologize. And kind-hearted as I was, I’d easily forgive.

“It's fine.” I sighed, regaining my thoughts. “Just, don't do it again next time.”

“Promise.” she wiped off a tear from her eyes.

“You okay? No bruises?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks to the seat belt.” she slightly smiled at me despite her guilt, before lowering her gaze again.

“Agreed. Anyway, let's move. We shouldn't be parking here.”

“Okay.”

I started the engine and the moment I launched the first gear was the last time I saw my sister.

Alive.

“Another car just showed up from nowhere and hit us…” I swallow hard. “On Jo’s side.”

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry for your loss…”

“Six months later, my parents divorced. My father couldn't deal with the mourning atmosphere of our place. And I ended up living with my mother.”

I lean forward, place my elbows on my thighs and look at her.

“When I wake up every morning and I look at myself in the mirror, you know what I see? Guilt, and my sister's face. And do you want to know what I see in my mother's eyes everytime I look at her?”

With empathetic eyes, she waits for me to pursue and that's what I did.

“Blame.”