𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝟏𝟖+

chapter six

RONAN

"TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF." The woman sitting across from me was oddly peculiar. Her body language projected a sense of superiority, as if she believed her job title made her better than others. One leg was casually draped over the other, and she held a notepad in one hand, with a pen tucked into the small pocket of her yellow blouse. I couldn't help but grimace at the sight of her outfit. The combination of the yellow blouse and the red pencil skirt was simply otvratitel'nyy.

I've only been sitting here for the past five minutes, and I am already starting to feel anxious. I can never stay in one spot for a long time due to certain reasons. Her asking me this question only makes it worse because I have no answer. I don't want to speak about myself. I don't even want to be here, but I was forced by my brother and his odd fiancé, Stella, or as I like to call her, "blondie."

"It's okay if you can't answer the question. Not all my patients speak during the first session. Usually, we would sit here in complete silence for the rest of the forty-five minutes," she says, adding a high pitched laugh.

For the whole five minutes-now seven minutes-I've been sitting here, I've been staring at the white vase with crackles in it. I guess it's supposed to be some type of art because the crackles look like it's about to break. It's not that pleasing, but that's the only thing my eyes focus on. I can never focus on one thing due to certain reasons.

"I've gotten a lot of information about you from your brother, Nicholas, and your soon-to-be sister-in-law, Stella, right?" she asks.

"She's not my sister-in-law," I finally speak, catching her by surprise. "Yet," I add afterwards.

From the corner of my eye, I see her remove the pen from the pocket of her blouse, and she begins to write in the black notepad. I wonder what was so important about what I just said that it's worth writing down in that ridiculous notepad.

All of this was bullshit. The only reason I agreed to do this was to get away from that house. Besides, Nicholas and his fiancé wouldn't stop giving me shit about it. I had been avoiding it since last month, but I finally decided to show up today because I couldn't stay inside that house any longer. I've been stuck there for the last two and a half years, and now it was being taken over by someone who made the discomfort even worse. The truth is, I needed to be alone. But every time I tried, I ended up in situations involving more than two people.

"We have about twenty minutes left. If there's anything else you'd like to say, you're free to speak. This is an open, safe space where you can talk about anything without worrying about being judged or misunderstood," she tells me. I don't listen; instead, I tune her out and pretend to listen, although I'm sure she knows I'm not, judging by the tone of her voice.

I could easily read people. Some would say it was a God-given gift, but it was just something I had adapted to in my past life. Living alone on the streets of one of the most dangerous countries teaches you a few things. Growing up in Russia is one of my biggest regrets and the most challenging part of my life. I was just ten years old, taking care of both myself and my little brother.

First, it was my dear mother. She had grown tired of my father's abuse. It started with emotional abuse, then turned physical, and eventually reached the point where she could barely even talk because everything she did upset him. So she left. She left Moscow, Russia. She left my father, and she left me and Nicholas. Our father left, dear old papa. After mother left, it was as if his whole world shut down. He barely came out of his room, which affected us because he was the only person we had left, the only one we could depend on. But we couldn't. Some nights, I had to scavenge just to find food for us to eat. Most of the time, there wasn't enough, so I would give it all to Nicholas because he truly needed it, and it was my duty as his big brother to make sure he was fed.