I readjusted myself, letting my head sink into the soft pillow. My body's tension faded away as I took deep breaths. Looking around again, I see the friendly posters adorning the office space. One about motivation, another about clarity. Now setting my eyes to the therapist in the room, I begin to think about our session. It's almost over, but I shouldn’t expect much just from our initial meeting.

"Mr. Coeus, I do want to thank you for coming down here to talk with me." She looked at me, a nice sense of calm behind her eyes. "You can call me Sean." I try lightening the mood, even though not much has happened anyway. I can just feel the released tension swarming my brain again. "Alright, Sean. If it would make you more comfortable being on a preferred first-name basis, I’d be happy to oblige. My name is Agnes." She smiled, before looking down at her clipboard. "Well, Sean, you are quite interesting. You said you like to go hunting in your spare time?" I nodded, the memories swirling through my head. "Yeah. Me and my father would go into the woods when I was younger. We'd camp out there, make s'mores, all the good stuff. It was a blast." I could tell she was writing down notes fast while actively listening to me. It was kind of impressive how fast she was able to write without looking down. "When was the last time you guys went?" Realizing how long it has been, I start to lose the smile I just earned. The dots of sadness finally connect in my brain with a line of melancholy tagging each one.

"Well, he's not as fast as he used to be, being in his 80s. Instead, he spends his time in retirement watching TV and whatnot." I look towards her desk, attempting to find something to divert my attention to a brighter subject. "I've got to learn so much about you. I know this is only our first session, but I want to test the waters a little if that's alright with you?" I sit there, hoping she isn't talking about what I think she is. "I know it must be hard to come to terms with what happened to you. Some people never get over traumatic events like this one. So, according to what you've told me and the file I was sent from the Brilton Police Department, I have just a few…questions about your 'event' with Gemma. Is that alright?" I nodded, trying to stop myself from imagining the gruesome sight. I can feel fear as I close my eyes, not having prepared for the inevitable. "On the night in question, what did you do when you first came to your senses?"

I could already smell the smoke coming from the engine. The airbag had disorientated me. A headache was already starting to form, pounding from the inside of my skull. The lights flickering, the sound of hissing, and the feeling of dread coursing through my system. I had to go through the passenger door to get out, my feet meeting ground. I looked across from me and saw the accident I caused. I quickly ran over, not able to go to the driver's side. I went around, sticking my hand through the newly shattered window, unlocked the door, and opened the passenger side door. She was spitting up blood, and a lot of it. The airbag was deflating and landed on her, like a sad pillow that punched her in the face. I leaned in, needing to check her vitals. I only had so long before she would either die from shock or blood.

"I stayed in my truck."

Her body leaned over, and my greatest fear came true. I watched as her intestines fell out, blood soaking into the leather seat. Her stomach was hanging out, dangling there like a cat toy. My stomach dropped about six feet, vomit flooding into my mouth. She looked no older than 20, I had ended her life far too soon.

I could feel the doctor's eyes piercing my skin, her pen scribbling away at her clipboard. The ticking of the clock was driving me mad. "So, after that, you called the authorities?" I glanced at the clock, then back at her. "Yeah. I watched her collapse from inside my truck and called 911." Her blood was on my hands, not literally, but her time was up. "I wanted to save her, but I-" Closing my eyes, tears began to form. I stifled them back, refusing to cry in front of her. "And when the paramedics arrived, what did you do?" They swarmed the car like bees to a flower, unable to do anything. "I told them what happened. I swerved from a deer and she T-boned me. Took a while for the jury to bite that meat from the hook but it happened." She looked at me, seeing how close I was to crying. She must’ve understood my situation was extremely troubling. "Let's change the subject for a little. We might not be well-equipped to handle a situation such as this one so soon. Why don’t you take this stress ball and squeeze it while you talk about something that made you feel good recently? It could be anything from yesterday to even five years ago. Distractions can help people escape a situation for a bit so they can come back more prepared to invade the toxic fortress that's been laid in their mind." I look at the stress ball, it's a purple squishy texture with white sand on the inside as I squeeze it. I was skimming through the memories in my brain, trying to find something that I could talk about that brought me even a small sense of joy.

"I was promoted recently." I didn't speak very loud, only enough for it to register in her ears. "Oh? That sounds wonderful! You must've worked hard to get the new position!" As if. "Well, my father originally owned the museum many years ago. It was all about what it meant to be an artist. People from all across town would make submissions. It was beautiful, we were able to bring so many people together. My father decided he wanted to get out of the business so he could retire. Thankfully, he let me take the helm. But..." My stomach began to twist and turn. I hated the feeling of the sour turn I knew the conversation was about to take. "...recently, it has been very stressful to think about anything else. I have to run the whole operation and it's far more than I was expecting it to be with so many new employees coming on board and speaking with artists who don't understand what they want to make and they cant understand anything about how to actually make art besides-"

Pop.

I could feel faux-sand oozing down my hand. The big glob was followed by a small strand following it as the whole mixture fell to the floor with a satisfying plop. "Maybe we should just wait till future sessions to talk about everything. I already have quite an understanding of you. Here, this is my number. I’m sure the receptionist gave you my business one but this is my phone number." She handed me a small slip of paper. "Please feel free to call me anytime you need." I faked a smile, an aura of guilt already finding me and preparing to follow me out of the building. "Thank you." I force the phrase out of my lungs, standing up. "I'll see you next Wednesday." I went for the door, slowly grasping the handle and opening the door. Exiting her office and walking to the front, I had a world to face.