"So how do you feel?"

Seconds pass on the clock before I answer. "At the moment I feel fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes."

As much as I want to get better, I hate being here. The room feels claustrophobic and the look my psychiatrist has on her face isn't a good one. She looks like I'm completely wasting her time, which I most likely am. This isn't the first time one of our sessions has been like this. She looks at me for a moment before scribbling down something on her clipboard.

"So tell me what happened. What do you think caused your relapse?" She asks. I feel like I'm being interrogated.

"Well, I have a new neighbour who lives next door. I offered to help him unpack and he accepted. At the end of the day when we were saying goodbye, he hugged me and I flinched and ran out. I haven't spoken to him since then," I tell her, my eyes casting downwards. The ticking of the clock fills the silence in the room.

"I see. Do you think this has to do with your last sessions with me about the abuse you received from your father?" She asks.

My bottom lip trembles a little. I hate when she asks questions like this but I know it's part of her job to help me. I know that if I open my mouth to answer nothing will come out so I just nod my head. A tissue box enters my vision and I take a couple. You can tell my psychiatrist has done her job for a long time when she knows you are about to cry.

"Let's try an exercise. It's called 'I notice I'm having a thought that'. I know the name isn't appealing but this will help you. I've used this method on a lot of other people and had positive results. What you have to do is when you think about the abuse you suffered; you will either think to yourself or say out loud 'I'm having a thought that is about my dad's abuse on me.' You say this over and over again" she says, "then you say 'I notice I'm having a thought about my dad's abuse on me.' You repeat that for a while until your thoughts become less harmful to you and you are able to continue with whatever it is you were doing beforehand."

I nod my head and commit the exercise to memory. The clock strikes 2pm, signaling our time is up. We both stand up and she gives me an envelope, most likely my own copy of the exercise in case I forgot how to do it. I thank her before making my way home. My mind is clouded with thoughts that I don't notice that I've to my street. What makes it worse, I can see Kevin collecting his mail from here. My body stops working and I have to make the choice to stay where I am and avoid him more or go home and talk to him.  I guess it's time to stop avoiding my problems.

"Hey Kevin," I say. He looks up, surprise etched on his face. He offers me a smile before greeting me back. It's quiet for a moment before I speak up. "I owe you an apology and an explanation for what happened last week." "Come inside and we can talk about what happened, if you're comfortable with it," Kevin says. I smile and nod my head, both of us walking into the house. I step into the living room and look around while Kevin goes to the kitchen to get us a drink. The place looks so different without all the boxes, it looks beautiful. The cream colored walls complement the darker furniture perfectly and the chandelier brings elegance to the room.  Kevin comes back, the both of us taking a seat on the couch. I take a deep breath and look at him, surprised to see sadness across his features. "Are you okay?" I ask him, worry evident in my voice. He nodded, once again giving me a small smile. I smiled back and started to explain what happened.

"I guess I should start from the beginning. When I was ten years old, my father started to abuse me. Mentally, physically, emotionally you name it. At first it was a little insult here and there and a small smack when I did something he didn't like. It got worse from that point on. When I was 13, he would call me disgusting names, scream at me all the time and occasionally hit me really badly. One day, things just erupted. I came home from school to find the house a mess. There were clothes all over the floor, photo frames smashed and multiple other things were broken. I thought we had been robbed until I noticed some alcohol cans lying around. My father then came around the corner and screamed at me saying how 'everything was my fault and that I had to pay for ruining our family'. I had never been more afraid of my dad than I had been at that point. I don't remember much after that, I just remember waking up in hospital feeling really sore.

"It turns out my dad choked me until I was unconscious and started to beat me up. He punched me, kicked me and jumped on me. My mum came home to the house a mess and me bloody on the floor, barely breathing. My dad hasn't been heard from since. He broke both my arms, cracked four of my ribs, shattered a bone in my ankle and damaged my voice box. I was in a coma for almost a month before I woke up. Ever since then, I've had issues with people touching me especially men. It took about a year for me to let my own mother touch me at all. Every time someone got close to me, I would flinch away. That would explain why I flinched and ran away when you hugged me. I went to a psychologist after I had recovered physically. Everything went well and I was almost healed mentally and emotionally. I went back to her again today because I didn’t want my past abuse to control my life and how I interacted with people."

Silence followed for a long time before I decided to look at Kevin again. Tears were streaming down his face, quiet sobs racking his body. In all honesty, I didn’t know what to do, how to help him calm down. I've never had to deal with someone crying this much before, especially a man. I grabbed the tissue box off the coffee table and held it out for him to help himself to however many he wanted. It was when he looked up at me, pain shot through my body. Not physical, emotional. I hated seeing people cry, especially when it was my fault. As much as I didn't want to admit it to him right then and there, his tears brought back memories of my mum crying above me while I was in hospital.

"I'm . . . I'm so sorry for what happened to you ______. I'm even sorrier for bringing up bad memories and making you feel uncomfortable when I hugged you. I'm so sorry for making you go back to therapy. I really am sorry, from the bottom of my heart," Kevin manages to say, his words struggling to come out of his mouth.

"Please don't cry for me. None of it was your fault and please don’t think that any of it was. What happened to me years ago was not your fault. What happened the other day wasn't your fault either. There was no way for you to know about it so please, don’t beat yourself up for it," I say. The last thing I wanted when I came here was for one of us to get significantly upset. "I'm going to keep going to therapy until I'm a lot better. I will get better. I can get close with people physically, but I have to initiate it myself. Please be patient with me, I'll get to the point where people can touch me without me shying away from them. I promise."

Hey there readers! This chapter is well overdue. I hope it's not too short (because we all know i can't write long chapters) and answers some of your questions. I've been really unmotivated to write this chapter because I struggled with how to actually write it. 

By the way, for those who are wondering, the technique I used in this story while you are in the psychiatrists office is an actual technique. My psychiatrist suggested I used it and it actually works really well. I tried to explain it as best I could but if you would like to use it and want a detailed description of how to do it, message me and i'll explain it to you =)

Also, I hope you all had a great Christmas/happy holiday and enjoy New Years. Consider this chapter your present lol

Thanks for sticking around and i'll see you all next year with new chapters!

See ya!

~Minki