World... Upside down?✔

Chapter eighteen

Silence ruled the room.

I never had done something like this before and I was feeling so uncomfortable. That woman wearing suit was looking at me like if she were studying each one of my movements.

I felt like a lab rat.

The walls were pastel green, and she was sitting in a couch in front of me, with her ankle leaned above her other leg, and a notebook over it, writing things down even though I still haven't said anything.

What is she writing? About how I look? How I dress? My posture? About the fact that I'm not saying anything?

Her hair is grey and she's wearing glasses and a tie. It seems like she's smart, I imagine she surely has read lots of books during her career.

That's why I feel self-conscious, maybe she can see through me. I'm going crazy as I watch her write.

This silence is getting very, very loud.

"What do you write?" I can't stand it anymore and I ask. I'm going to kill my father for making me come here.

She looks at me, raises an eyebrow and smiles a little.

"I don't know, what do you think I'm writing?"

What does she mean?

"Why are you answering my question with another question?"

"Why do you think I'm doing it?"

Is she trying to confuse me?

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking." I answer.

"I'm pretty sure that every time you ask a question, you assume a possible answer. I wanna know what you suppose."

I frown.

"If I wanted to talk to myself without having an answer I would speak to the mirror, or I would open a philosophy book."

She finds that funny.

If I knew this is what coming to therapy was about, I would've never agreed.

I decide to answer her first question.

"I hadn't said anything and you were already writing, so I thought it was about my posture, gestures, or how I look."

"And how did that make you feel?"

I start playing with my fingers.

"Judged."

She continues writing down in her notes.

"I am not here to judge you, just to listen to you."

I nod.

I try to imagine her in my reality. Would she be the same?

I look around, there's paintings hanging everywhere.

She grabs some papers and reads them.

"You father told me that you say you're from another world."

I pass my hand through my hair.

"That's right."

"Tell me, how did it work?"

I tell her everything, from how things were before, until I got to this moment. Including the origin of my bruises. It takes me a while and the lady asks me a lot of questions in the middle of the story. I can tell she's trying to understand me.

"You claim you had a strong relationship with your mother. Why didn't you contact her once you woke up in here?"

I think about it.