"I have a problem," sighed the woman with chestnut hair, now tied up in a messy bun, her voice echoing softly in the pastel-coloured room.
She did indeed have a problem. But then again, what normal person only has one problem? One problem is easy enough to handle; it's when there are multiple issues—oh, that's when things start to get exciting. People don't often seek help from others, and they rarely reach out to someone specialized in this particular branch of psychology.
Maybe we're just too young. Too young to feel something real. Too young to feel the loneliness clawing at our souls, too young to understand life, too young to know how to love without hurting. Too young to... to live in darkness.
Sure, sometimes it's good just to sit and reflect on what's happened, to remember the things that hurt or disappointed you, or simply left scars. But spending too much time in the dark can lead to depressive, anxious states.
The woman in front of her took a sip of water, listening. Just listening. She'd been doing this for three years and would probably continue for the rest of her life because she felt that this was her purpose on earth. And after all, how do we know what our "purpose" is in this world? How do we realize that what we do, or what we will do, is going to have such a huge impact on us? These questions had been eating away at Tatum for a while—what if her purpose on earth was something else? What if she was supposed to do something remarkable? Could she even handle that kind of responsibility?
Tatum broke the silence."I keep having," she began, pausing as if to find the right words to make herself understood, "these visions... flashbacks about my family."
"What exactly do you see?" The other woman's voice sounded both curious and surprised.It had been a long time since she'd last had these.
"I don't see anything," Tatum murmured, biting her lip and staring into the distance. "I just hear things. I hear laughter, I hear myself laughing with my mom," she added, swallowing hard as if trying to swallow her bitterness, "but when it comes to seeing..."
The brunette closed her eyes as if she wanted to relive those visions, with an indescribable longing. Her sigh deepened, and her head fell into her hands. She looked shattered.
"It's all so foggy, Martha, so blurred that even the laughter sounds like an echo like it's hundreds of meters away from me."
"Often, our bodies go into alert mode when we feel that something from the past is affecting us in the present. It's as if our minds try to protect us from painful memories, trying to blur or distort them to lessen the emotional impact. But these visions, even if they're unclear, can still be meaningful. They can signal important things about past experiences, a reminder that it might be time to explore them more deeply to understand your own story better."
Tatum sighed loudly and let her head drop onto the arm of the couch, stretching her legs out along its length. What story? What emotional impact? She hadn't understood anything happening in her life for years now—since then. Since her parents died. Since she'd been left alone, forced to pull herself together and face that pivotal moment of realization—she'd have to grow up and start all over.
"I don't understand anything anymore," she concluded, letting one leg fall onto the wooden floor of the office and covering her face with her arm.
"Maybe you just don't want to understand anymore. Is that it?"
Tatum bit her lip in frustration and exhaled loudly, staring up at the white ceiling with its golden details. Could that be it? Could she just not want to understand? Or could she simply not understand? This constant tug-of-war between her and her mind was so exhausting and torturous that she felt she might break.
"Yep, that's it," she whispered, though she was sure it had been heard. "Well then," she said, standing up with a big smile, "it's been a pleasure seeing you again today, Martha! Let's stay in touch!"
With that, Tatum headed slowly toward the door, but she heard the woman's voice behind her as if calling to her like a mother:"Stop running from your feelings, Tate."
The brunette smiled, looking down with a wry grin, and turned to face the woman who had always been there for her.
"You know I'll do that until the day I die, Martha. Because I'm a coward."
"You're just tired," Martha said with a sad smile, a trace of melancholy in her eyes.
Martha was so aware of their relationship now that she no longer treated the brunette as a patient. Instead, she saw her as a friend. The advice they exchanged was deeply personal and special, yet professionally limited, so both knew exactly when it was time to stop.
"I'll be fine, miss; relax!" Tatum said, leaving and trying to lighten the mood.
---------------------------
Tatum's feet rested lazily on the glass table, the cool surface a subtle contrast to the warm summer breeze coming through the open window. She savored a spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream, letting the familiar taste take her back to simpler times.
Her mother used to buy her this very flavor whenever they went to the park. Back then, it came in a cone with two precariously balanced scoops, and her tiny hands always struggled to keep it from toppling over. Those memories tasted sweeter than the ice cream itself.
She could still hear her mother's playful laughter and teasing words: "I don't think you'll ever love anyone the way you love mint chocolate ice cream or salted lollipops."
And she hadn't—not yet, anyway. The thought made her grin wryly as she took another bite. Maybe her mother was right. Love, at least the kind she'd seen in movies or heard in songs, had never come close to the joy of her simple satisfactions.
Her nostalgic moment was interrupted when Vivienne stormed into the office, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Kyle followed close behind, clearly unimpressed. Vivienne's eyes darted to Tatum's legs, propped unceremoniously on the desk.
"Didn't anyone teach you manners?" Vivienne snapped, her voice laced with irritation.
Without missing a beat, Tatum scooped another spoonful of ice cream, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.
"Oh, they tried," she said breezily. "But I get bored easily, so I took a break. You know how it is."
Kyle groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath as Vivienne glared daggers at the unbothered brunette. Meanwhile, Tatum continued eating her ice cream.
Tatum was midway through another bite when her hand suddenly met empty air instead of the cool metal of her spoon. She blinked at her now-empty hand, then at the ice cream container, which had vanished.
"What the—"
"You've got great taste, I'll give you that." he said around a mouthful, grinning like a kid who'd just gotten away with sneaking cookies before dinner.
"You're welcome," he said, flashing a grin.
"For what?" she hissed, her green eyes narrowing as she turned to face him.
"Saving you from yourself." He took another indulgent bite, making a show of savoring it.
Tatum's hands clenched into fists. "Mr. Kyle. I don't share. Anything. Ever."
Kyle raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by her escalating fury. "Really? Because it seems like you're sharing now."
"Mr. Kyle." Her tone was sharper now, her voice teetering on the edge of a full-blown threat.
"Oh, relax," he said, leaning back like he owned the place. "It's just ice cream. You've got, what, ten other containers in the freezer? Do you label your food in the office fridge too? 'Property of Tatum—Touch and Die?'"
Her glare could have melted glaciers. "First of all, that sounds like a great idea. Second, I'm serious. Give it back."
Kyle took another bite, completely unfazed.
"I will end you," Tatum growled, lunging towards him.
This time, she managed to grab the container, but Kyle didn't let go. They both ended up gripping it, locked in a ridiculous tug-of-war over a pint of mint chocolate chip.
"You are a grown man, and you're stealing ice cream like a five-year-old!" Tatum shouted.
"And you're a grown woman who's about to throw a tantrum over sharing!" Kyle shot back, laughing as he held firm.
Tatum didn't dignify that with a response, instead turning her attention back to her precious ice cream.