Dr. Hans is a middle-aged man in his 40s. He's the face I've grown used to over the years-the steady smile that never feels like its hiding ridicule. His beard, with its mix of brown and gray, makes him look safe, grounded, like someone who has seen enough of life to listen without rushing to judge, like someone who would never hurt anyone; let alone murder. The warmth in his eyes still make my stomach twist at first, but then I remember how many times he's waited patiently for me to speak, never frowning, never looking at me with disappointment. Even the way his hair falls neatly in place feels reassuring now-familiar, stable. Three years ago, I couldn't have looked at him for more than a second. Now, I can hold his gaze a little longer, even if I still fear him a bit; it doesn't feel like danger-it feels like trust slowly built over time.
"It's good to see you again Fiona. How have you been?" A voice that I have heard every Monday for the past 3 years said in a soft, low tone. The Therapy has begun.
"Good." Not really. Well it was good before all that bumping into an alien like stranger whom I doubt is a human, getting lost and panicking happened.
"Has anything happened in the time I didn't see you? You know you can tell me anything right?" I wonder just how many times he said that to me. Perhaps I should just tell him.
"Well-"
Expect the part about the 'things' I told him everything. Dr. Hans listened to me quietly, not saying a thing the entire time. After I finished speaking, Dr. Hans looked genuinely happy. He said he's proud of me for handling that situation without crashing out. He then said that I must be tired and that we could just have the session for 30 minutes today. I never thought that I could be so happy at the words of another person.
And just like that, 30 minutes had passed. But maybe because I was really exhausted, it felt like 60 years had passed instead of 30 minutes. I was never that happy to be able to go home. I got up from the sofa and started to walk towards the door. But I stopped midway.
For a while now, Mr. Hans looked like he wanted to say something. He always told me if anything came to mind except things he thought would make me uneasy or things I wouldn't be able to do. I thought for a while and did something I would've never done in the past. I went back and sat down again. Dr. Hans looked very shocked. I don't blame him though, the moment the sessions finished I always left like lightning. Even I am surprised by my own actions. It seems I really am changing. Will I actually be able to overcome my fear?
"Fiona?" Dr. Hans is looking at me like I'm about to say I have cancer.
"You looked like you wanted to tell me something." I said in a low tone.
Hearing my answer, Dr. Hans was first surprised, then proud. "So you're finally able to look at someone long enough to understand they want to say something." He said in a whisper. "Maybe you are ready."
"What?" I asked him cautiously. Why am I suddenly getting a bad feeling?
The streets aren't that empty anymore. There are more people than earlier this morning-voices overlap, footsteps echo, and laughter bursts here and there. My chest tightens at the sight, I instinctively pull my shoulders in, as if I could shrink myself smaller.
Every passing glance feels like they are going to chase me, hurt me, kill me. Sometimes, I wonder if I was a little older, if I wasn't 9 back then, would I have not thought of humans as monsters? Would I have been able to recover faster? If I couldn't see those gruesome 'things' would things have been better?
To distract myself from the fear I get every time someone walks by and the thoughts that absolutely does not help, I keep my eyes low, fixed on the pavement, counting cracks and tiles. But I still can't bring myself to stop thinking about the 'homework' I was given.
The conversation that I had with Dr. Hans a little while ago:
"You've come a long way in these 3 years. But remember this Fiona-progress isn't linear. There will be setbacks. So don't slack off and continue to practice those relaxation techniques and cognitive restructuring strategies we've worked on."
I nodded slightly. I never thought of slacking off.
"The thing I wanted to tell you is that you should consider joining a small, structured group activity, like a book club or volunteer club. I believe that it will help you greatly."
At that, I was absolutely thrown off. I'm still trying not to flinch when someone says hello; and he wants me to join a club? IMPOSSIBLE!
"Will you be able to do that?" He asked me that with a really hopeful expression. As if he's sure I would be able to pull it off. How was I supposed to say no to that expression? I don't think I can do it. Even if it's been 3 years, I am still too afraid. But he was looking at me so hopefully that I ended up saying yes.
I will just pretend like I tried and it didn't work out. And boy was I wrong. Who would've thought that I would actually end up joining a club? And a club full of odd people at that? Without a clue of what was going to happen in the future, I walked back home. Thinking I won't have to come out of my room until the next session.
The gloomy sky is starting to get clearer. The streets have even more people now. And that means a lot more of those 'things'. Too many things happened today. I totally don't want to be in the middle of dozens of people right now. And I absolutely don't want to see more of those disgusting, bloody, horrifying worm like 'things'. My last bit of energy died down after talking with Mr. Hans. Now I just wanted to go home quickly and sleep.
But it seems the world has different plans.
I saw him again. Just a few steps away is the boy from earlier. The strange boy who I didn't know I would continue to see often from now on. And the boy who I didn't know I would shed tears over.