The Student & The Celibate Monologues

“Tell me about your relationships with your parents."

“We’ve gone over this before, "

"A request that you have flatly denied to elaborate on."

The tenacity of the man forces a sigh to escape me. It's either that or waste my energy snapping at him again like I did the last time he made the now redundant request. He just won't quit, will he? What part of " I don't fucking want to talk about my family," can't he still get?

I unfold my legs underneath me and lie on the couch to put my body at ease. My muscles are now relaxed, not like they were since I entered his office ten minutes ago.

I was tense as I waited in the lobby for him to see me because something heavy settled in my stomach since I woke up from a shitty nightmare this morning. It's a nightmare with different flavors I shall say, for the scenarios get more creative each time, almost every night it flashes before my closed eyes while I fight in deep stupor.

When I get a break from it, I see a deep dark hole. And I see myself falling into it.  I never reach the bottom because just when I am about to do so, I wake up. 

Many times today I picked up the phone to cancel the appointment. I had wanted to keep to myself because I was shaken. That's how I feel each time I have it, but it usually wears off by the time I eat breakfast and get ready for the day. 

But all day today I could not get over it. The pictures remained inside my head making me anxious. Yet I still come to him this afternoon because somewhere deep inside me, I felt that I had to keep it.

So I walked in, tossed my bag on the couch, sat on it, and started to meditate without saying a word to him. I wanted to do it at home, but home felt disturbing. Here, in his office, I suspect that after all tensions wear off, it can feel almost like coming home.

And thanks to my outfit today, I was able without being provocative to sit YOGA Style--legs folded underneath self, arms placed neatly on folded knees, eyes closed while I searched deep inside myself for things that I still can't find.

I know that he was amused while he watched me getting connected with my inner self on the couch while he waited for me to come back to the world we are in. Perhaps he was not. Perhaps he thought that someone pissed me off on my way here, thus I needed the time to recuperate before we started something that is slowly becoming a routine.

One thing you must understand is that it does not matter what he thought while he waited for me to clear my head. What's important is that I am now able to continue our session.

“Well then, Doc, " I toss toward him with an amused smile. " I guess you are missing the basic point here."

“Tell me about your relationships with your siblings. Brothers, sisters," he demands. Still calm and collected. Waiting patiently for me to respond. Rather than answering immediately, I decide to look at him.

He dresses casual today. Blue Jeans that molds his perfect butt and a white shirt that fits his wide frame and shows off his chest.  A chest that I can rest my head on to listen to a heart that probably beats for someone else. While we're at it,  does he have a girlfriend? Most importantly, does he need a fuckbuddy even if he has the latter?

It's so on the tip of my tongue to ask the question. And to make a few suggestions. But later I will. Plenty of time. I harshly cut off the smile that wants to spread on my lips as I look at his lips. Mine tingle nevertheless, I bite them softly to ease the urge. But still I wonder what he'd taste like. 

Stop it. I have other things to understand. Things such as the machine behind the eyes that now clash with mine that could have made other females cringe as they study me now. But I have no reason to feel uncomfortable under such close scrutiny. There is nothing to see.

Last time I was here, I was afraid to let him look into my eyes because I thought that I had things to hide, something to protect. Like a self. But I know it's not true now because what do you find inside an empty bottle? Air, perhaps you can symbolize it as life. But it's not life. It's nothing but air that propagates around us. Just oxygen. Stop trying to be fancy.

“I had a dream last night," I start, moving my eyes away from his to to stare at the ceiling. “I dreamt of my mother's death. It's a dream that I dream almost every night. For awhile now."

" How long?" he asks.

" Three years."

“She dies, " I continue. "Though I try to save her, she dies. My head is clear. I can tell when a death in the family will occur. I usually feel uneasy. I become irritated. Anxious. If someone does not die, then something incredibly bad happens. I dream of her dying Doc, but she never does."

“Do you love your mother?"

“Yes."

“It’s disturbing to watch her die often, don't you agree?" he asks, reasonably.

“I suppose." I mumble and lift my head to give him an irritated look. I do hate when he points out the obvious as if I can't get it on my own. But what I see in his eyes catches me off guard. Something close as suspicion. No, it is suspicion. I don't know why.

“You have just declared that you can predict certain events, do you think that your dreams signify anything?"

“Well she never dies, so that's something. I have heard somewhere that when you dream of the death of someone, it means that the latter will live longer.  If it is true, then Mom is going to be around for a long time."

“Do you want her to?"

“Of course I want her to--, " as soon as it comes out, a bell rings in my head. “What the hell are you talking about?"

“Do you love your mother, Katherine?"

“Yes," I exclaim. “She’s my world,"

“Liar."

“Excuse me?" I get off the couch, slowly. Because I need to stand. I don't know why but somehow I know that I can't lie down on the couch anymore.

I clip. “I don't know where in hell you are going with this, it better not be some shitty shit you want to pull on me and put things that are not supposed to be here, here to get me all confused."

“Like what, Katherine?"

“I don't know. Some stuff like, I hate my mother and that is the reason I am having all of these dreams of her. How do I know?"

“What do you see in the dream?"

“Different scenarios. She eats some stuff she is allergic to and dies. Heart attack. She kills herself. It's all mixed up."

“What is your role in the dream?" he asks. I stop pacing and give him a blank look. I don't get it.

“What do you mean?"

“Are you the protector? The character that shelters her from getting hurt. Are you the perpetrator--?"

“You’re crazy." I whisper, deadly. He cannot be serious.

He stands up from where he sat behind his desk since the time that I came in. His full six feet and over self walks toward and then towers over me. Other times I would have been either amused or irritated--I suppose because I have not known him that long.

I know I'd feel this way because I have met many men who have been way taller than I am, and they have stepped in front of me this way trying to intimidate me with their height. You know, thinking they are all that only because they can't stop growing and that I have stopped since I reached fourteen?  And that's how I usually feel most of the times while they look down at me. 

However, something unfamiliar spreads inside me while I look at this one. It dissolves the heavy thing that was inside my stomach since this morning and forces me to take a step back on my heels.

“What is your role in the dream Kate? What do you feel each night that you sleep and you watch your mother die? Why not your father? Why not your siblings? Why is it your mother?"

“I don't know--"

“Yes, you know." He cuts me off. “Think. What did you feel the first time you had the dream? Grief? What emotions did you feel?"

“I don't know. It was a...long time ago."

“You remember,"

“I don't remember."

“Dreams, Kate, are powerful ways you communicate with yourself."

“You don't know what you are talking about," I snap and push his hand away. “Step back. "

“What did you feel the first time you had the dream?" he persists.

" Step back, you are crowding me,"

" Was it sorrow? Was it eagerness? What was it?"

“I was disturbed," I say. To my horror, I continue shakily," maybe anguished, I don't know. How the hell would you feel if you keep watching your mother die?"

“And what about the nights after that, as you continue to keep having the same dreams?"

“Disturbed still. That's how I feel every night."

“Liar."

“Stop calling me that!"

“Are your siblings in all the dreams, your father?"

“Only in the last one."

“Why the last one?"

“I don't know. Just because. I don't know. I never questioned it. It is just a dream."

“You accept it."

“Yes, no. I don't know. What do you mean I accept it?"

“You accept having the dreams. If you don't question it, you don't look for ways to change it, then you accept having the same dream constantly because it gives you something, Kate. It satisfies something inside you. What do you think that means? What do you think it is?"

“That my brain is messed up?" I laugh, nervously. " That I am fucked up,"

“Think deeper,"

“I don't want to think deeper. I think and think, and I find nothing inside me. There is no need to think anymore."

“Sit down, Kate."

“I think well when I stand," I reply automatically.

We both fell silent. The silence between us is so thick you could have cut it and eaten it. He walks back toward his desk. He leans his butt on there.

" It's nothing. It is just a dream, " I whisper. " It's nothing."  

“Tell me about your relationship with your family."

 “Kate," he prompts when I stay silent. I give him a dirty look. He knows to never rush me. But today is something different, he is disturbing me rather than finding ways to make me be at peace with myself.

" Kate--"

" Yes," I snap. “We disagree. We agree. Proverbial Family thing."

“Do they approve of your profession?"

“My family is extremely traditional. So, no. They don't approve."

“Do you speak to them?"

“Yes, " I reply, simply.

“Do you miss them?"

“I said I spoke to them,"

“Do you miss them?"

“No."

“Have they stopped welcoming you home the day they found out that you were in show business?"

“Just call me a whore and be done with it. There is no need for formality here,"

“Have they?"

I sit back on the couch and fold my legs. "What do you think?"

“Have they?"

“Yes,"

“Do you think this is the reason you are having these dreams?"

And then it really does hit me. “This is it, right. That's what you want to insinuate, right. I am watching my mother die almost every night because I hate her so much that I want to kill her along with my entire family for judging me and declaring that I am not one of theirs. "

“Do you think so?"

The cruelty of the question makes me gasp. And with anger I whisper, “No, I don't think so. I love my family, " The tears catch me off guard, that's all. “I would never hurt my mother or my brothers and sisters. I would never hurt my father. Though, they don't want to be a part of me and resent what I do, I would never lay a finger on them."

“Do you feel it's true, Kate?"

" I don't need this from you," I sniff. “I know who I am. And I never hurt anyone. I may be many things but I cannot hate to the point that I want to physically harm others. I need to go, this is over. "

I turn and give him my back to let them fall. Crying releases stress and makes a woman feel at ease. The more they burn my cheek, the more disturbed I become.

Maybe five minutes have passed by. I don't know.

" My mother loved me. She loved me so much that it was impossible for me to be myself. It's what Mom wanted that I did. It's what Mom said that was best. And then whatever I wanted stopped to matter.

So I did it. I thought that if I did something outrageous then she would hate me, and then I'd be free. I could handle hatred. But disappointment I never expected. Complete ignorance. Such resentment toward me.

I graduated university. I opted to apply for a normal Job. I became a stripper. Father was not furious. He gave me a look that hinted that he always knew that I was a repressed whore waiting to hit the streets.

I figured that they'd be mad and get over it. I never expected the cut off. I care less about the money. They simply stopped. We greet each other if we happen to cross the street together as strangers.

But still, I was contented with myself because I was free. That's what I wanted. I got it. I just did not expect it to be this way. But I got what I wanted. That's all that matters, I guess."

I stop and rub my eyes.

" Bathroom?"

" On your right."

" Right."

I opt to look in the mirror as I rinse my face. I opt to dry it. I close the bathroom door.

" Kate,"

" Yes?" I give him my back and walk toward the couch to collect my purse.

" You can't step out of the shadow if you don't want lights. " He says behind me.

I hear him shuffling through his folders. He is probably straightening them, getting ready to leave for the day.

" What is this supposed to mean?" I ask, almost resigned.

 “Think about it, Kate."

I collect my purse from the couch. The door closes quietly behind me.