Darkness To surrounds us Both

Tick-tock!

It’s all I hear inside my head. The seconds slipping away, one after another.

Tick-tock!

Tick-tock!

Tick-tock!

I know time stands still for no one, least of all for someone like me.

Not in this world.

Here, time doesn’t belong to me.

It is the master, the decider, and it marches on, following its course, fulfilling its curse, that of flowing in one direction only, like a tumultuous river rushing downstream, never looking back.

Prologue

(...)

‘Have you seen the film Nymphomaniac?’

‘Uhm, yes. When it first came out, if I remember correctly.’

‘Well, not quite like that, but I’ve had my fair share of early years exploration. What are you writing down in your notebook? A reminder to watch the film again?’

I laugh as the words come out of my mouth.

Of course I do, because let’s be honest, I don’t know how else to behave here. It’s not like I go to a psychologist everyday. In fact, I’ve never been to one until now.

Hopefully, I will start today. It all depends on how this first meeting goes, though by the looks this doctor is giving me under his reading glasses, I’m guessing - not that well.

But it has to go well, so I can continue to come here for seven more meetings, not only because it was hard to find someone that doesn’t charge an arm and a leg and is located at a decent distance from where I live and work, but also because I have promised Alex I will go.

I rarely promise anything to anyone, so when I do, I keep my promises.

It’s a small motto I live my life by - always keep your promises!

That’s why I almost never promise anything.

Mother taught me it, though this particular teaching didn’t mean anything when I was younger. The words would flow easily out of her mouth, with no real meaning, no desire to make it happen. She didn’t begin to teach me this lesson when I was younger.

No, she delivered the true weight of a promise when I reached adulthood, promising that she’ll never talk to me again.

And she did, she kept that promise till today, eleven years later.

She used to promise all sorts of things when I was little - how she’ll always love me, how she’ll always have my back, how I’ll always be her little girl, no matter the woman I become and la da da da.

So now, you understand why I barely make any promises - when you give out too many of them, it’s hard to keep them all. Whereas if you only do it every now and then, or mostly never - you have to keep it. Same as my mum did in the end, after she stopped promising things she’ll never do all together, until one day, after years of radio silence from that land of broken promises, when she finally kept one of them.

The final act of a performance that lasted nearly nineteen years.

So you see, I have to keep this one for Alex. I think it’s the only one I ever made to him, which means I have to make Dr Silver Fox here, accept me as his patient for the following weeks.

No, that’s not his real name. I didn’t pay much attention to it when I walked into his office, nor when I called in to make this appointment. Sure, I might have used his name to book it with him, but I forgot to check it again.

And he probably is a silver fox. The white hairs on both sides of his head, ascending slowly towards the top give him a silvery appearance, together with his mature face. Lines that speak of ageing and experiences, though his most striking feature is his eyes.

They speak of wisdom, though it’s a perverted one.

It descends from the universal wisdom that’s embedded in our souls, but his wisdom has something more. Something ravenous, something that wants to devour you - eyes that eat you up.

Icy-blue - it freezes you with one look and yet you feel like you are melting away.

A Silver Fox.

Who is now smirking, but has the decency to hide it under his notebook, but a smirk nonetheless, which I have seen, and sends my mind into a panic mode, making me wonder if he’s a mind reader or have I spoken my thoughts aloud and he has heard everything I have thought about.

About him.

Yes, guilty. I have thought about him from the moment I have sat down in this now uncomfortable chair.

I have eyes that appreciate what’s attracting, and I’m sure you would too, if you saw him. But I am distracting myself from the main subject with this day-dreaming. What was that smirk about?

‘Did I say something funny?’

Yes, that’s me, getting further away from my chances of nailing this first appointment and continuing for the next two months. And his face, his expression as he stops scribbling and lifts his head from his notebook, will probably be the most and only thing I’ll miss about these future non-existent appointments.

Yes, he is gorgeous, in case you haven’t caught that yet. And I know I shouldn’t be thinking like this about my possible future therapist, but chances are slim anyway for that to happen, so I might as well fantasise about him now, while I have the time - which will be thirty five more minutes. And I am so accurate, only because I have checked the time on his big, round, black clock that’s hanging on the wall behind him.

Gods, that clock reminds me of school.

I bet it’s been bought from the same shop. I should ask him. Quench this weird curiosity I have about improper things. Sure Holy, add more weird things to his notebook. That will make him end the meeting faster - maybe even say it doesn’t show the correct time.

I glance back at him and realise he hasn’t answered my question - yet. He keeps staring at me and I raise one eyebrow expectedly. I mean, I did ask. But all I get in return is a throat clearing.

‘Miss Day,’

There it is. That awkward smile. Yet I see the politeness in it and the fakeness of it. It’s one that’s hiding the backlash of what really wants to come out of his mouth.

Oh honey. I can take it.

I’ve been taking it all my life. I’m fluent in honesty that’s been repressed by society for most of their life until they can no longer hold it in and it comes out in beautiful swearing sentences.

But then again, one must do their job and preserve appearances for the sake of professionalism.

I raise my other brow at him that speaks for itself - please do continue.

‘Why did you come here today? What is it that you seek? Because I get this feeling that you’re not entirely committed to being here.’

Boy did he hit the nail on the head with that one.

‘So why make this appointment?’

His icy eyes stare at me, daring me to defy their wisdom.

I could lie and say I am committed. I came to heal my mind and find a purpose in life.

But we can both agree that I’d be insulting him and his expertise by letting that lie escape into reality.

Or I could tell him the truth and say I promised Alex I would make an effort. But that would mean to go into details and actually dig up some graves from my back garden and I don’t want to do that.

I’m good.

He doesn’t need to get dirty while we dig for my troubled thoughts and rake through my life choices.

I still keep my promise to Alex - I made an effort. I came to see someone.

But for some reason, some unknown force is messing with my head right now, because I don’t say any of these two.

I watch him sitting across from me in his black fabric chair - I would have pegged him for a leather type guy for furniture, but never mind; I am distracting myself with irrelevant things because my mind seems to be shutting itself off, like a computer that’s frozen with a single message on the screen - error!

Where have all my coherent thoughts gone? Since when has this indecisiveness taken over my wits?

I look at the doctor and take in all of him. His attitude. His body language. His eyes - analysing me, more so than I am analysing him.

One arm is draped over the back of the chair, while the other is holding his mysterious notebook, now closed, on top of his bent leg.

He’s so casual, so much patience in his position, waiting for me to defy him so we can end this charade I’ve decided to begin.

There’s no movement from his side, not even a twitch, nor a pen tapping impatiently. Just an eerily stillness. He’s a beautiful statue that’s glaring at me, daring me with his iciness to make my move.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t know what my move should be. There’s something about him that’s drawing me in and it’s not his beauty - as bewitching as it is. It’s something else, something hidden that’s beckoning me to find it. I know it’s dangerous - like a mysterious foreboding, and for the first time since I’ve discovered puberty - or coffee, I’m intrigued.

It’s a kind of mystery I want to come back to and unravel.

And let me make it clear - nothing instigates me to stay longer, nor is intriguing enough for me to come back. I never want to linger, to assign a purpose to a meeting or a rendezvous.

My objective is always a simple carnal pleasure. A vice so potent it never offers me the same flavour twice, so I move on, in search of the next one, never interested in anything more, never caring to make it anything else.

But Silver Fox has a secret that’s singing to my soul to find it. And it annoys the shit out of me because I can’t seem to turn it off, to block whatever signal is sending to my brain. Nor it seems can I stop myself from opening my mouth either, saying sentences I don’t ever say.

‘I don’t know.’

I wish I could take it back. Stand up and cover his ears before my voice carries the words to him.

If this was a power game, I had just given him the ultimate advantage - his eyes are the only give-away in this little game. They bulged out for a fraction of a second, not believing I would actually come clean about my present dilemma, and their icy blue colour just got a little bit darker - I would have missed it had I not been staring at him, mortified by my own reply, yet fascinated by his posture. His body remained as still as before, the same statue position, the only indication of him being alive is his steady breathing - and even that one is under tight control, and his eyes, blinking, watching me.

A predator studying his prey.

Normally that’s me. I’m the one who observes the prey. But in this scenario, the roles are reversed. Under different circumstances, I would have been excited to have finally found a worthy opponent. Only right now, I’m not happy. This is his territory - one I have entered by my own free will, and gave away the only shield I have to defend myself - control.

I don’t like to give away control - not that easily, perhaps not ever.

But it seems I might have done just that with three little words.

We stay in this little eye staring contest - a battle fought in silence, though inside our heads countless thoughts are screaming at us. I wish I could hear his thoughts, what he is thinking about me. What? Where did this one come from?

I never care about what others think about me. It’s what’s made it easy for me to live the life I’m living, to feed my addiction without being weighed down or stumbling into guilt because of people’s judgemental opinions.

Why does Silver Fox have such a hold on my conscience?

‘Well, Miss Day, if I’m being honest, I didn’t expect that answer.’

That makes two of us, buddy.

‘But I’m glad to hear it. Now, if you could tell me, what is it that you wish to get out of this session?’

Now it’s my turn to smirk - nothing.

Nothing at all.

I’m only doing this as a favour to Alex, to bury the hatchet, to allow him to heal from my actions and rebuild the bridge I had burned with my recklessness. He has thrown me a branch and I’m grabbing it with every intention of not letting it break. To rekindle our friendship, hoping I’m not gonna turn it into ashes in the process.

I agreed to seek someone out to ‘talk’ about my selfishness, my rushed decisions, driven and fuelled only by my addiction. Alex thinks talking to someone with expertise will help me understand my choices, understand myself, which in turn will make it easier for him to forgive me - once I work through all that’s holding me captive. I don’t think he wants to accept that I already understand myself.

I know myself.

I want to be a captive, a prisoner of this life.

I know he thinks that this ‘experiment’ will help me change my mindset - it won’t.

I am wired like that for a reason. And I am well aware of that reason. It’s just that I choose to carry on, I don’t want to change.

I don’t need to talk to someone to understand that I have hurt Alex and redeem myself for my past actions. I did learn a lesson from our break and I know now how to behave around him to keep our bond. Call me selfish - I already know I am, but I don't need to talk to anyone about it. And Alex needn’t know that I won’t be opening my heart and mind to this particular gentleman. I’ll just do my time in this office, take my punishment and stay clear in the future of Alex’s peers.

I would never allow anyone to poke through my head or slice open my soul and see what comes out of it. I’m my own judge and executioner and have been for as long as I can remember.

My choices, my lifestyle, although it bothers others, it’s giving me a sense of freedom, something I’ve longed for since I was little. Something that’s been refused by my family, by society’s norms - or what it is assumed to be normal. A freedom I have decided to take for myself, escaping the shackles of presumed normality and dancing to my own rhythm.

I realise I haven’t answered Silver Fox’s question and his patience is something that amazes me. His eyes bore into me, searching for my thoughts to materialise on my face - I know he has an inner lie detector, but it’s time I take back some of that control I have recklessly given him.

‘I don’t know’, the lie slips past my lips easily, but I mask it behind a smile while holding his eyes. It’s safest to continue with the same line of answers. If he knows I’m lying, he doesn’t confront me about it, giving me a dazzling smile in return.

‘It’s okay. Not everyone who seeks help knows what they’re looking for. That’s why I’m here. To help you discover.’

I nod in acknowledgement. He is right, of course. Some people don’t know what they’re looking to heal - trauma is just so deep, they don’t realise the monsters it hides, they just know there’s something there that needs tending to, hence why they seek help.

I, however, know all there is to know about me and my ‘trauma’, but decided to embrace it. I don’t need to draw any conclusions. I may not have all the answers, but I’m not looking for any either.

‘Now, I know this is just the first appointment and we can’t delve right into the issues, but is there anything you would like to talk about in the remaining time? Something you want to take off your chest? I know we don’t have much time left’, he breaks eye contact to look at his wrist, the watch telling him what I already know - only ten more minutes left. ‘But we could, perhaps, open the conversation door for the next appointment? Or perhaps what your expectations would be?’

I shake my head, portraying the image of a diligent student, who understands what the assignment is but has no further questions.

‘I just wanted to see if we would be a good fit. It’s not easy for me to open up and talk to others. But I don’t feel the same resistance when it comes to you.’

He nods his head in agreement as I continue my rant. ’So if it’s okay with you to continue this ‘partnership’, we can start from there. See where this takes us. Me, I mean me.’

I flash him an apologetic smile. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m not flirting with him, and yet I come across as if I am, and to top it up, I’m doing a terrible job at it. I’m ashamed of my slip up, and that’s not me. I don’t do slip ups and I’m most definitely not ashamed of any of the words that come out of my mouth, especially not the double meaning ones.

I’m a shameless woman and I’m proud of it.

But I didn’t mean to insinuate anything by saying ‘we’. Not in this case. I don’t know why my reaction is this way. Why do I care about what he might think? Because I didn’t miss the glint in his eyes before I corrected my sentence. What is going through his head. What unprofessional thoughts has my slipping mistake awoken inside of him? Because I know for a fact that it wasn’t his professional care and duty to help me grow that has caused his reaction.

‘What did you have in mind?’

I gawk at him. ‘Excuse me?’

Now, I know that his question has a double meaning. I know because I, too, play this kind of word game with others.

His grin is shameless. ‘I meant, how often would you like us to meet? To see me? One session per week, or do you think you’d need it more than once a week?’

See? Utterly shameless.

“Oh. No, once a week should be fine.’ I don’t need to inform him that these little meetings have an expiration date already set in.

‘Three months, Holy.’

The laugh explodes in his face while I shake my head. ‘You’re crazy. Eight weeks, Alex. That’s two months. And if I think I need more, then I’ll carry on. But for now, let’s start with eight. We don’t want to scare away the poor doctor, do we?’

‘Okay Miss Day. You can set that up with my secretary, see what day is best for you. And I will see you at our next session.’

I take that as my cue to go. I don’t need to check the clock to know that our time has come to an end. To my astonishment, one hour has gone by quicker than I expected.. ‘Yes, of course.’ I say and stand up at the same time he does. ‘Thank you, Dr-’

Damn it, I knew I should have checked his name again before coming here.

‘Dr Paul’, he offers, a sly smile on his lips.

Weird. Shouldn’t he introduce himself with his last name?

“Dr Paul. Thank you for today.’

‘No, Miss Day. Thank you for coming.’ He shakes my outstretched hand. ‘It was lovely to meet you and I do look forward to our next appointment.’

Before I can read too much into his statement, he turns around and heads for his desk, placing the notebook on it before sitting down and flipping the pages from an already open book that’s on his desk.

Whether he’s checking who his next patient is, or he’s just rudely dismissing me, I can’t shake off the feeling that his final words meant more than what he was saying. But I don’t have any more time to see what he was implying. I head towards the door, turning my head for a quick glance before stepping completely out of his office, and our eyes lock for a moment as he too looks my way.

A secret. There’s a secret glinting in his eyes. And I’m going to find out what it is.