He rouses slowly with his curly hair covered in forest mud. He grunts at the sudden dryness of his throat. Prickly splinters feel as if they were rising and falling in his heavy chest. Into the deep thicket stands the figure of his deceased girlfriend. He tries turning away but she stands in every which angle there possibly is.
“What do you want?” he murmurs over the loud breeze. The figure stays put, seemingly looking down at her feet in deep thought.
“I don’t see you fighting anymore,” her voice is empty.
Sam shuts his eyes while creating fist to focus on awakening. “I’m sorry baby,” he speaks.
“If you’re sorry find me,” his eye shot open.
“I am here.” She pressed her fingers to his temple, and just like that he arose.
“The shit is still fucking crazy.” He moaned. “It’s so realistic.”
“And I understand that, but you have to start asserting yourself and practicing the things that I give you. Like for starters, you never turned in your trauma worksheet,”
He settles on the edge of the couch. “I know. I know. I’ve been behind.” He reaches for the cold cup of coffee.
“More than that. You’ve been absent. I’ve had to practically beg you to come in,” she told, pressing her pen behind her ear. “We psychiatrist actually care for our patients you know.”
As the small room enters a haul of silence. Andrea uses it to compile a splay of papers together in a folder.
She presses her pointer finger over her lips before saying, “Let me ask you something. Do you see yourself going through full recovery?”
“Yes ma’am” he nods, “I do.”
“So, give me something. Let me in,”
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Andrea opens her notepad.
“While everyone went back to their lives, I was stuck. That’s all I can say”
“Well, what I want you to know is that no matter how hard things may seem there will always be someone there.”
He presses a cigarette to his mouth. “Sure,”
A bird whistles high enough to distract them for a few more seconds, then Sam looks at her.
“Thank you for your time,”
“Sami you have fifth teen minutes,” she protests, but he begins to rise, removing a blue lighter from his shirt pocket, heading for the door.
“Have a safe holiday,” he tosses over his shoulder.