There are many things that have power over us. In life there are many obstacles–most are self made. Most of our problems are our own fault, but none of us ever want to admit that, so we deny it. We deny things until we can deny them no longer.
She sits quietly, yet restlessly in a white armchair. She flips through pages of old pictures, memories of days gone by. The only sounds are her own breathing, and that of the clock ticking on the wall. The wall clock taunts her relentlessly as she turns the pages of the book. She turns the pages and with each page her life passes by.
She didn't want to admit how she felt... she didn't want to say it out loud...make it real. She was having a hard time. She was trying too hard to make everything seem normal seem ok. Everyone could tell something was wrong, but noone dared to ask. She closes her eyes for a moment, hoping it will all go away.
She hates time, wishes she could make it stop, make the clock on the wall go back in time. There were so many things she would have done differently. Or would she? If she didn't know how things would turn out, she'd probably make the exact same mistakes. She couldn't blame all of them on being young and stupid either.
She kept telling herself that it wasn't true. She didn't want to admit it, ever. When she finally did admit it, for an instant she convinced herself that no one else had to know. She could disappear and never come back. That was when she had nothing to lose. Now she had everything to prove, and even more to lose. There was no easy way to go about this. Either way people were going to be upset.
She looks around the room, hoping she'll find answers. The clock continues to taunt her. She hangs her head in shame. "What have I done?" she asks herself. She elicits no answer. She prays to wake up from this terrible nightmare, but she knows that this is no dream. Her life was too twisted for anyone to ever dream up.
She didn't want sympathy. She didn't want them to understand, she didn't want to explain. She didn't want them to ask. She simply wanted to disappear, or at the very least be able to completely deny the whole mess. She knew that soon–too soon she'd reach a point that there was no denying it. There was only so much she could do to keep them from finding out.
She feels the phone vibrating next to her. She pulls it to her ear.
"Hello?" she answers wiping away tears.
"I thought that I was going to see you today."
"Something came up," she lies.
"That's been happening a lot lately. I'm beginning to think that you're hiding something from me," he accuses.
"I'm not," she lies.
"Good. So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I don't know. We'll see."
"I..."
"I've got to go," she hangs up.
He stares at the woman across the table, but his mind is elsewhere. He tries to push it aside. He tells himself that he can fake it till he makes it. He swears that he can make it work. He had to make them happy. They deserved it. No matter what he would never be happy.
He knew that he couldn't go back. He knew that he was fooling himself, but maybe...just maybe he could make it work. How could he know this is how things would work out? Why did fate have to be so cruel?
Why did they have to be two lines who intersected for a brief moment, but had to run parallel to each other for the rest of eternity? He tries to get out of his own head. He takes a drink, but feels completely numb.
"Did you hear me?" she asks.
He shakes his head, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Maybe we should do this later. There is clearly something on your mind."
"There's not anything on my mind," he answers.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," he nods.
She faces the window in her office. She stares blankly at the building across the way. She's so lost in thought that she doesn't hear anyone enter the room. Her back faces the door. She remains in her trance-like state as he clears his throat to announces his presence. She continues to stare out the window.
She tries to stay out of her own head, but can't. She clenches her jaw. Don't cry, she tells herself. You can do this, she promises. She shakes her head in disagreement with herself.
He taps her on the shoulder very lightly. She looks at him intensely. "Don't ever do that again," she warns.
"Sorry," he hangs his head.
"Do you need something?" she gnarls.
"Maybe I should come back when you're in a better mood."
She shoots him a look.
"Right. Can we talk?"
"About what?"
"You."
"As much as I do enjoy talking about myself, I'd prefer not to."
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"There is something wrong with you."
"There is nothing wrong with me," she argues.
"I don't believe you."
"I don't pay you to believe me."
"What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing!" she insists.
"You're too quiet lately. You barely say anything at all, even when I set you up to knock someone down. It's like you're off in space, and you just don't care anymore. For someone who wanted this so much..."
"I don't want this."
"Since when?" his eyebrow raises.
"Just go," she motions towards the door with her hand.
"Fine, but I'll be back," he promises.
"I know you're like a weed. No matter how many times I cut you down you just keep coming back."
"Someone has to."