My Distraction

Chapter Three

April

I am dreaming. Away from the hospital room. In my dream, I see art. Beautiful art.

The events of the accident replay as the pink, yellow and grey splatter of art on the surface disappears. Where is the black and blue? The most important.

I do not have to wait long. It comes. The dark corners of the streets carrying it. It was a good grey Honda. It hit me. I hit the floor in a matter of seconds. The black-blue. It comes running, running to me. He screams something.

I feel a presence, not in my dream but in reality. It awakens me. My eyes refuse to fly open like it normally should. Instead they flutter.

The presence of the person retreats. The white of the room reaches my eyes, even without them been open. But in a second it disappears like a mist. A peck. I feel one on my cheek. It calms me.

A few seconds later, I hear the door open. It does not close immediately. It is like the person is unsure on whether to leave or stay. The figure finally chooses to leave. I pry my eyes open. But before that would even happen the figure is gone. My eyes focus on the door, willing the door to open and for the person to come back in.

The nurse comes back in. I do not think it was her that pecked me. It could not be her. Patients and nurses maintain a professional relationship. Although, I think she wants more .

"Hi." She beams.

"Hello." I croak, returning her greeting.
"Better?" She asks.

"The pain in my head has lessened a bit."

"That could account as better." She smiles.

"Really." I attempt sacarsm.

She nods. "Just keep taking your pills, you'll get through this."

I smile, a real one. The thought of getting through this is really exhilarating.

"Where is he?"

"Who?" She asks a question of her as she fidgets with her clipboard that I have soon noticed she carries everywhere.

"The person who brought me here." I try to sound unconcerned, as I study her face for expressions hoping for her to tell me his whereabouts. I just need to know.

I notice she seems shaky, once I ask her. She must be hiding something

"Well he's been gone since the last time you saw him." She answers and she is lying.

If this woman thinks she can lie to me and get away with it, she needs to think again. Four years study of psychotherapy did not go down the drain. I see she is lying.

I know she is. Her sudden shiver and also her continuous rubbing of her palms on her hospital dress shirt, shows that her palms are clammy from all the lies she is telling. But what could she be hiding?

"Do you know anything about him?"
I decide to play along. I ask questions and she answers.

"Like what?" She asks, pretending to be removing lint from her dress shirt, which is almost impossible since her dress shirt has been neatly ironed and is free of even any lose thread.

"His age, address, anything at least?"

"Well, you sure sound desperate." She smiles, finally finding courage to look up at me.

Well she is not wrong about that. I am desperate. Very desperate.

"Well you said I should thank him, how would I do that without what I am asking you for."

I retort, attempting a glare at her.

"Well y-you can..." She stammers.

"Can what?" She does not answer.

"You are hiding something." I press.

"How would you know?" She says giving me a look. This kind of tactic is what I deal with everyday. She wants to change the topic.

It is just to obvious. She will go question after question. Then hopefully, for her she might get me to forget about the main point we were discussing about. But not me, I am psychotherapist. Such tricks cannot fool me.

"I just know."
"Now please let me know something, anything about him." I beg.

She finally takes her focus away from her clipboard and looks up to me. Now I am left with a feeling of hope.

"I can't."