Darkroom [18+]

01 | Forge

AURORA

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My father's study is big and full of things that make it look like a man's office. There's a wooden desk, armchairs, a sofa, and shelves lined on the walls with books and pictures of our family. One window looks out at the backyard, a straight path to the garden. Sat at the end of a long hallway, it's the quietest room in the house, the most private. With the doors closed, I'm sure you could get away with anything you wanted in here. No one would hear a thing.

I'm sitting on the couch. Across from me is my therapist, Vivian. I've been seeing her every weekend for a month now after an argument with my father. He suggested I might need help working through my feelings. Maybe talking to someone might help you understand that I only want the best for you. You have to know I'm not the bad guy here, he said. He was so sure of himself, him not being the problem.

Vivian is a good person. I like her. Less than a decade older than me, we understand each other sometimes, though it's mostly when I bring up a show I've been watching or a song I like that just released. I like Vivian because that's as far as our conversations go. When she does ask me questions about my father or school or how I'm feeling about my life currently, I turn it back on her. Ask her how she's doing, if she enjoys her job, what she likes to do on her days off. Vivian always sighs when I do this, but she continues to indulge me in the hour we have together. She receives a check whether I speak or not.

Today, though, is different. She sits in front of me, coming off more reserved than usual. She looks at the door every few minutes as if anticipating someone to barge in. I wait for her to start. I'm never the one to speak first.

"So, Aurora," she finally says, returning her attention to me. "I think it's time that we start being a little more...honest in these sessions. I've gotten to know you quite well these past four weeks, but I believe you could benefit more from our time together if we started to discuss the reasons why you decided to start receiving therapy in the first place."

She looks at the door again after her spiel, and the gears in my head start to grind and click in place. It's obvious now, the concern and anxiety on her face; the sudden push for more of my candor is because we're being listened to. I can only assume that my father had loosely threatened Vivian for not gutting me as fast as he'd liked.

I do my best to give Vivian what she needs without giving away too much.

"For starters, I didn't decide anything," I say. "My father suggested I do this."

She sits up in her chair, curiosity brewing. "Why?"

"He believes I'm having a hard time."

"With what?"

I scratch the back of my hand, telling it like it is. "Marrying Tryp."

"Are you having a hard time with that?"

I shrug. "I don't think I am."

"Why do you think your father assumes you're having a hard time?" Vivian asks.

It's an easy answer. Anyone could see that I was. Anyone could assume that I was unhappy and, in turn, tell me I was being ungrateful and taking all of this for granted. But none of them know why. My life had been arranged for me long before I was born. I'm having a hard time accepting that I'm getting married because it wasn't my choice to do so. It's as if I'm always looking right through everyone, fiance included. I'm here, a statue oddly placed in the middle of a field, while everyone else around me is just idle gusts of wind, barely brushing against me, constantly moving past.