Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

21 | The deed-like apology

Leonardo

After a week into therapy, I already felt light. Light wasn't a word I'd use freely.

For a long time, I felt rotten. Putrefied by the past - of deeds done and words spoken - I wasn't sure there was anything left in me that could be salvaged.

The wreck that was my body and soul was irredeemable.

Yet, there I was, letting my therapist know that I was doing well. Better than what I assumed to ever feel.

Within this one week, I felt the need to speak more and let the doctor how I kept myself going. And remain sane. The rest was fluff stuff.

The PTSD, night terrors or the anxiety of letting Zemira know about my amputation, all resurfaced faster than a burst-opened dam.

My therapist was digging deeper to know more. Dredge up stuff she knew I kept in the reserved corner of my mind, unwilling to accept I was an addict.

I also knew a day would come when she'd find out. Or worst, I'd convey. But till that day arrived, I was happy with my current state.

The elevator ride to my apartment wasn't always smooth.

I lived in a rather populated side of the city with mostly after-college graduates renting the place. So to see someone passed out in the elevator or a full-on drug-induced make-out session wasn't out of the ordinary.

Even at my insistence, Zemira wasn't willing to let me move from the place.

She liked the ordinary life I lived in. Her brownstone was heaven as compared to the dirty-infested dinge I lived in.

I hated it. It was a temporary setting before I moved out after finding a job. Every time I bought the topic to move to a more civilized and less noisy location, Zemira shot it down.

She was enjoying the lower-middle class and student life experience all at once while living at my place. There were times when the heater malfunctioned, and water in the taps turned to various shades of brown. 

Nothing vitiated her stance.

She loved everything - including the creaking floorboards that cried louder than any horror movie banshee.

I opened the door to the empty hall where I'd grown accustomed to her - lounging on the couch like some stonehead who wasn't ready to face the day.

Turning towards the corner of the hallway leading towards my room, I heard Romeo's happy feet tap. He trotted outside the room, leaping into my arms as soon as he sensed me.

"Hey, buddy..." The dirty, smelly dog who loved hugging every puddle he found, was a sight for my sore soul. An ice pack on the distressed days. "Where's my girl?"

Woof

As if he knew what I asked, panting, and wagging, he ran into my bedroom.

On the bed, Zemira sat, legs curled to her chest near her laptop, hair tied in a messy bun over her purple headsets and palms cupping her favourite beverage - hot chocolate with a hint of mint.

I never knew how someone could love mint in their beverage, chewing gum or anything.

Every time she took a sip of her steaming drink, her eyes fluttered shut. Engrossed in whatever she watched to ignore the intruder - me.