• gehna09 14w

    It's eerily quiet in his office. The only thing I could hear was the pitter-patter of rain against the windowsill and my fingernails tapping against his mahogany table. And the only light that entered the room was from his dimly lit vintage lamp that sat across the room in a corner. Forlorn sans any companion. I resonated with it. It was just like me. Sitting alone with it's thoughts.

    Jahoda, a humanist psychologist, once said that one of the factors of imbibing positive psychological mindset was perceiving reality as it is. I think that's where the artists deviated. They read too much into the lines. That's why I quit being one.

    He sat across vacantly looking at me in the most inconvenient way possible. I was uncomfortable. But it was okay too, because I put myself in that position. He straightened his twead glasses and reiterated himself as if he wasn't articulate in the first go. I really despised this part of him. Questioning me about things that I despised talking about.

    “Well, staying alone with my thoughts wasn't comfortable, so I quit it. What more do you want to know?” I murmured.

    “Is it worth it?” he got up, treading across the room, pulling out a random self-help book from his ginormous bookshelf that ran up to the ceiling. I didn't want another one. I already had too many with me, without an iota of motivation to read one.

    “Don't worry. This isn't for you.” he said as he came back with it, resuming his stance.

    “I told you already, it's scary, the job, living, and now...even you.”

    “You run away too much. And the thing is, that you can. It's the worst part. You won't even hesitate to leave me if your fear overpowers you. Regret, people's emotions, reality, guilt, all of this means nothing to you. Does it?”

    I had no answer. He went on with his soliloquy on how flawed I am as a person. And I zoned out. The fading glow of the lamp was far more fascinating than his speech. He snapped me out, scolded me some more and got me tea. I really didn't know what to do.

    “Have it, you'd rather do things your own stubborn way than listen to me.”

    “Thanks.”

    “Do you even know why I stop with my revolting these days?”

    I laughed. I laughed till my stomach hurt. It looked like I was having a manic episode. But I wasn't. I was laughing at his hypocrisy.

    “you find this funny?” he clenched his fists. his breathing got audibly heavier. It was rare to see him like this.

    “you're a hypocrite.” I gasped

    “I never said that I'm not afraid. I just don't run away. Why do you love to test my patience so much?” he said as he walked away. He was fuming, but still under control.

    I, again, had no answers. I didn't want to hurt him like this. But this was no sappy romantic comedy that a kiss would solve things.

    “Fuck it.” he walked over to his cabinet taking out a bottle of whiskey. I knew he'd be annoyed and then he'd cry out of his wits. Which is did. And I hugged him. He does hate me, but not enough to leave me.

    When he almost passed out in my arms on the nook of the couch, I whispered in his ear, “I won't run away from you. Don't worry.” And he fell asleep.

    ...

    I ran away though. You see I am a coward, and a liar.
    ©gehna09

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    Jahoda, a humanist psychologist, once said that one of the factors of imbibing positive psychological mindset was perceiving reality as it is. I think that's where the artists deviated. They read too much into the lines. That's why I quit being one.
    ©gehna09