[h3]NW1[/h3] >DR CHAKWAS’ OFFICE >SEATTLE >20.07.19 [right][i]”I’m gonna miss you Peebs,” came the soft voice of the pink-haired girl sat upon the table, cross legged as she helped herself to the chips from the bag. The grim and deathly photos spread out across the desk of little interest to her. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here, not us anyway,” she sighed wistfully. Dipping the chip into sauce. Pari’s gaze was on the photographs - staring at the clawed hands pictured, at the sharp teeth along the jaw. The lack of life in the yellow eyes. The bag of chips of little interest to her. “You are?” She asked, looking up to meet the bright gaze of her colleague. “Yeah,” the girl nodded, biting down on the potato. “I mean, look’t what I’ve gotta deal with—“ Her hand motioned to the two men in the other office. One of whom was tearing through his own bag of chips with a voracious hunger - curry sauce spilling from his chin to the polo shirt. His hair scruffy chestnut, eyes blue as ice. The girl groaned with disgust and rolled her eyes. But Pari was drawn to the neater gentleman, the one who was leaning back in his chair, a hand running through his long dark hair, and then through his beard as he yawned. “He likes you, you know.” The girl added with a coy smile. “Really likes you.” Caught out in the act, Pari tore her eyes from him and looked back at the girl. “Yumi… Are you stirring the pot again?” She asked playfully, finally folding the images back into the envelope. “Nah,” Yumi responded with a laugh. “Like I said, we don’t get many visitors and I reckon you made an impression on him,” she smiled. Smug. Pari shook her head and tutted, it wasn’t just a pane of glass between them… As much as she felt something of an attraction to him too — they both had wounds. Deep wounds. She took a chip and dunked it. “And you like James, and he likes you…” she toyed, biting her own chip with raised brows. Yumi gave a glare, but there was no malice behind it, and she soon started into a laugh. “Maybe he does, but I like to treat him mean,” she shrugged and laughed again. “He’s too crude, anyway. “You and Evan are kindred spirits, since he lost his wife and that—“ she added, before realising she’d said too much. Pari’s head tilted curiously and she placed her chip back into the sauce slowly. “What do you mean?” She asked, the heat in her voice rising. Yumi grimaced and shrugged her shoulders again. “I… Did a bit of research on you, saw a few things, read things… You know, just a bit’a recon.” She bit her lip and scrunched her nose, running a hand across her chest as her breath held. “Are you mad at me?” Yumi asked, her nose remained scrunched but it was clear in the rest of her body language that she wasn’t too apologetic. She had to think about that, and decided after a pregnant pause that she wasn’t. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding on to. “No, I’m not mad. You were curious about a strange consultant on your team, nothing to be angry about,” she smiled warmly, finishing her chip. Truthfully, it felt liberating to know that Yumi knew about her past and hadn’t been deterred or had her opinion changed, hell, it was nice the she thought so highly of her in the first place. “Can I ask you something personal?” Yumi said, her voice low and her eyes pointed at the table. Pari nodded, poking around at the last of the chips for the crispy ones, “Sure.” “What does it feel like to die?” The girl uttered, taking the chance to ask in her stride, she meant no disrespect in the question — that much was true, and for the first time in forever, Pari felt not recoil or anxiety about talking about it… “It feels like…”[/i][/right] “Miss Bhatt, are you alright?” Pari’s eyes shot open, rich mahogany eyes with flecks of gold sat around the pupil. “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking…” “About your trip?” “Yes, that and other things…” Pari said slowly, sinking back into the chair, letting the tension ease out of her shoulders as she picked up a cushion and held it to her stomach. “You told me it was a vacation with your mother, a medical conference?” the therapist asked. An older woman, her hair was spun with grey and her glasses were on a golden chain, tipping off the bridge of her nose as she looked across the room to Pari. She was warm, and comforting. Even the office was, everything was round and soft and colourful… It set Pari at ease and she smiled across at the woman. “And how are you and your mother now? I understand you’ve had a [i]tense[/i] relationship since your overdose?” she asked, her head tilted while her fingers played with the pen in her hand. “Tense…. I think so, yes,” Pari answered truthfully, even if it was a bitter truth. “She has a habit of looking for drugs and alcohol in my home when she thinks I’m not looking.” “Mothers can be like that, we want the best for our children. Even if this makes us look overbearing.” Pari sighed again, frowning, “but this lack of trust… It’s a giant wall between us. I’m a failure to her. I couldn’t be a doctor… I was an addict… I stole from her…” The last part came out softer, ashamed. They’d talked about it before and it seemed to sting every time. “Then to top it all off, I missed her conference.” The therapist sat calm, lowering her pen and simply allowed Pari the time she needed to clarify on the event. “My work… They knew I was in London and they asked me to consult on a project there last minute.” Pari paused and looked the therapist in the eye, her expression had hardened but her eyes held water in the corners. Through a clenched jaw she continued, “a really important event that meant a lot to my mother -- and I missed it.” [i][right]“What is going on? Why can’t you be there tonight Parinaaz? Can’t you see this is important for me -- this is why we’re here!” Dayita said, strain evidenced on her face - thunder etched across her brow. “You don’t just get to dump something on me like this and pretend it’s nothing, I’m your mother.” She stepped towards Pari, placing a hand over her daughter’s wrist. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t have time for this,” Pari began, refusing to meet her mother’s eyes with her own, nudging out of her touch. “I’m tired of “I don’t have time” or that I “wouldn’t understand” - I’m your mother, I want you to make time to make me understand, I brought you here to support me -- not to disappoint me... Again!” “It’s like you think I planned this?” Pari said, exasperation evident in her expression and in her husky tone. They’d had this fight before. “Do you have any idea…” She sighed, placing her hands flat on the dresser and leaning into it. “I want to be at your conference, I do.” Pari said near silently, desperately. “But do you know how dangerous my job is? And how lonely?” She choked, feeling the emotion well in her throat at her own confession. “I would love to be at your conference, I would love to be at more family dinners, God I’d love to just do nothing… But I can’t.” It was clear in the way that her mother marched to the door, purse in hand, that the argument was about to end. That they would reach no conclusion, no agreement. That they would be stuck at the same impasse that they always brought themselves too. “Oh just do what you want, like always— to think I thought you would do something for me!” Dayita eventually scalded, clucking her tongue, the fury leaving her own expression as she made her way towards the door -- leaving behind only the ghost of her perfume after the slam of the door. Pari slid down to the floor, a tear running across her cheek. It wouldn’t be the last time they would have this fight. The circle would begin again, a vortex they would surely drown in before they escaped it. [/right][/i] “Take your time,” the therapist said, pushing a box of tissues across the table towards her client. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the woman as she took several long, shuddering breaths - holding the tension in her jaw the whole time. “Just let it out,” she said encouragingly. Pari shook her head, “I’m okay,” she lied, breaking eye contact to stare at a vase of flowers. Peonies. “I just, I don’t know how to reconcile everything…” she whispered, dabbing at her eye with the back of her thumb. “Be good at my job, get my work done. Be a good friend, be a good Hindu… Be a good person, don’t disrupt people’s space, be kind, help people grow, nurture them. Be a strong woman.... “Be a good daughter.” That did it, the weight that left her chest in that breath was like the finger that had been in the dam for too long. It was instant relief and instant agony all at once. She leaned forward in the seat, placing her head into her hands to sob. The therapist once again observed, jotting down her thoughts onto paper. Only the nib of the pen scratching the paper made noise in the room. “You try to do too much,” she said after a pause. Allowing her words the room needed to hang in the air until Pari lifted her head, ready to receive them. “You try to fix everything and everyone around you, to avoid fixing yourself. You project the image that you have all of your ducks in a row, don’t you? So nobody asks if you actually do” she explained, running her gaze over Pari’s outfit. Her thin lips spoke the truth that Pari had been burying, and as the therapist caught her watery eyes she could see the truth ticking over. The woman’s blotchy face was in stark contrast to the rest of her. Immaculate, not a smudge or crease anywhere across the tailored trousers - the colourful shirt crisp. Even her hair was perfect, not a stray strand to be seen. “Maybe,” Pari breathed. Her fingers nipped at the satin again, working the fabric, as if she was wringing her confession from them. “I keep myself occupied.” She shrugged nonchalantly, taking a shuddered breath as her eyes glazed over and stared out into the middle distance. “If I don’t keep myself occupied I’ll get bored, or think too much about…” She pulled her smile to the side and chuckled caustically. “I think I just used to have a real fire, you know? Now it’s just… Artificial.” The therapist nodded in agreement, or in understanding - the line between the two was so blurred as they dug deep. “You’ve locked yourself in a bit of a shell of routine, and what you’re trying to be contradicts that. You want to be a supportive friend but you hold people at arm's length. You want to be better with your family but you’re hanging on to guilt about what you did in the past - using work as your shield to escape that. This [i]Divine Mission[/i] of yours? To save the world?” the therapist sighed and placed her notebook to the side, placing her hands into her lap. “You focus so much on that, that you miss everything else around you. Tunnel vision, Miss Bhatt.” [right][i] She could see Big Ben from the window. His peak in the distance. She heard him ring out, three loud bongs until silence. The echo of a smile tugged her painted lips. “You don’t get to sit quiet, you need to watch for more like this one,” she explained - carrying authority on her tongue and severity in the deep wells of her eyes. They were deep and dark, shadows haunted her stare. “We have to keep going, tomorrow it starts aga—“ “Pari for once,” Evan sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his fingers into the air with disapproval, “you don’t have to have the last word every time, yeah? Just shut up and let’s celebrate this. We won today.” She looked at him, glowering right back at her - and even though he had admonished her, she couldn’t help but smile, and still she found herself drowning in that piercing emerald glare. The only eyes that could have cut her down from her pedestal. “Alright, alright-” she conceded, finding that it didn’t pain her to do so. There was no sting from admitting defeat. She raised her hands. “Let’s celebrate then…” From the corner of the room, Yumi looked up from her phone screen - a large pink bubble popped against her lips. “Shopping trip,” she suggested, “and we’ll take the big red bus around. Sightseeing. I’m not letting you go without us just hanging.” “We can do that,” Pari replied without breaking eye contact with Evan. The shadows had drifted along and away. [/i][/right] “My advice, or, at least my challenge for you Pari is to do more things that scare you.” “What do you mean? I confront fear a lot,” Pari replied, almost defensively. “That’s what I mean. You have an answer and a reason for everything, don’t you? For goodness sakes, send your mother some damn flowers. Call her once in a while… Throw her a line and you might find she loosens the collar on your neck...” The therapist said, and as Pari listened, it all felt to her like the most obvious thing in the world. So blindingly obvious that of course she’d missed it. “I [i]do[/i] sometimes miss the forest for the trees…” Pari said with a sigh, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Tunnel vision,” she chuckled sardonically, raising a finger up beside her to punctuate her realisation. “You still have that fire in you, Miss Bhatt. It never, ever left. I look at you?” The therapist shuffled forwards in her seat, taking her glasses off as if she was about to unload a great secret, or deliver a wisdom. Pari found herself leaning forward too, her hands interlaced. “For everything that you’ve survived and gone through, it hasn’t made you mean or cold. You’re too good, and you’ve worked too hard to get to where you are. Take it one day at a time. Scare yourself. Try something new. Nurture your own fire for a while, okay?” “I’ll…” Pari stopped herself, realising she was about to tell the therapist she would try, but she knew even by herself that she needed more certainty going forward. A promise to herself that she [i]would[/i]. “I can do that.”