text: “Well, if it’s up to me--” “It is up to you!” “No, I can’t. You know I can’t!” “Silvia!” No! John! The sound of shattering China brought Silvia back to the present. “Oh, come sit down Silvia,” said her therapist. Silvia dazedly reached for the broom next to the kitchen doorway, “No, I’ll clean it up. Tasha, her therapist, put down her notebook, “Silvia, you should sit. I’ll get it.” Silvia came out of her daze as anger bubbled within her, “I can do it!” she snapped, seizing the broom handle. Tasha’s voice was firmer, “Siliva, give me the broom. Sit down.” Silvia gripped the broom’s handle so hard the wood started to smoke under her grasp. She glared at it as flames started to rise from the wood. “Silvia!” yelled Tasha. “Silvia!” No! John! Silvia let go of the broom that was now a column of flames. She sat on the sunflower-patterned sofa as Tasha blasted the broom with a fire extinguisher. Silvia slipped once again into a stupor, gazing at her wedding ring as Tasha retrieved a new broom from the pantry. After finally cleaning the smashed teacup, Tasha handed Silvia a plastic cup of water. She then sat herself down in the loveseat across from Silvia. The loveseat was orange and clashed horribly with the sofa Silvia thought vaguely. But then again, Silvia didn’t like the color orange. Tasha picked up her notebook again and waited. “I heard his voice again, just now,” Silva said, “I used to only hear and see him when I slept. Now it happens during the daytime too.” “Why do you think that is?” Tasha asked soothingly. “I’ve had more time to think about it since they fired me,” Silvia muttered. “They didn’t fire you,” Tasha corrected as she scribbled some notes, “It’s a leave of absence. They said they’d reinstate you as soon as--” “I don’t hate myself anymore?" Silvia interrupted, "Well, they might as well fire me then.” “Hate is a strong word,” said Tasha. “Yeah, not strong enough,” Silvia answered, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “Why do you hate yourself,” Tasha asked calmly. Silvia didn’t answer right away. She noticed the clock on the wall behind Tasha had stopped ticking. “Your clock’s dead.” “That’s fine,” Tasha answered. “No, it’s not,” Silvia retorted, “Where do you keep your batteries?” “Siliva, let it go.” “NO!” Silvia burst, “I can save it! I-- I mean... fix it.” “I know you can,” Tasha said, putting down her pen and taking a sip of her drink, “Would you say that fixing things has become... an obsession?” “No,” said Silvia in a strangled tone. Silence. No ticking from the clock. Silence. No sound of his heartbeat. Silvia stood, “Batteries! Where are they!” Tasha put aside her notes and stood too, “Relax, Silvia. If it really means that much to you, I’ll change the batteries, but you stay here.” Tasha waited until Silvia begrudgingly lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, then darted into the kitchen's junk drawer for batteries. Silvia plugged her ears as the sound of Tasha’s rummaging reached her. She could feel herself inching slowly off the sofa the longer Tasha searched for the batteries. It seemed to go on forever. The sounds of clutter shifting grew louder! I have to help her!! But she asked me to stay, it’s out of my control!! NO, nothing can be out of control ever again! With a yell, Silvia sprang from the sofa and tore into the kitchen. “Tasha, please let--” Tasha stood holding a fresh pair of batteries in one hand. With the other, she was continuing to make a ruckus in the junk drawer. Embarrassment engulfed Silvia as she realized she had just failed a test miserably. “You lasted almost three minutes,” said Tasha, closing the drawer. She stopped the timer on her phone, which rested on the counter. “A new record!” Silvia’s face burned, “This therapy doesn’t seem to be helping much.” “It’s only your third session,” answered Tasha, motioning for Silvia to go back to the living room, “It’s going to take some time.” “I hate time,” Silvia retorted as she sat back down on the sofa. “You hate a lot of things today,” Tasha said as she took the clock off the wall, “Anything else?” “Healing magic,” Silvia answered, her throat tightening. Silvia felt her hand light on fire again. She watched in disgust as the orange flames emanated from her fingers. She didn’t like the color orange. “You know, if I wasn't your therapist, that might be offensive to a healing mage such as myself.” Tasha popped the new batteries in and replaced the clock. She finally picked up her notebook again. She gave Silvia a sarcastic grin. Silvia sighed, “Sorry... wait, you're a healing mage?” Her hand suddenly extinguished with a puff of smoke. “Yep,” Tasha said, jotting down some notes. “Then why are you a therapist?” Silvia asked, “Why all the talking? Can’t you just heal me?” Tasha shook her head, “My magic only works on physical wounds. Your mental state is not physical.” She shrugged. “We all have limitations, Silvia. Sometimes we can overcome them to a certain extent. That’s why I became a therapist. But some limitations we just have to learn to live with. Such as... not being able to control everything.” “I know, I know!” Silvia groaned, laying her head in her hands, “It’s involuntary. I wasn't always like this.” “I know,” Tasha nodded. There was a moment of silence, then Silvia whispered, “Will I ever... you know... get back to normal?” “No, not completely, I mean,” said Tasha closing her notebook, “Progress is what we’re after and I think we did make some good progress today. I’ll take that cup for you.” Silvia hastily grabbed her cup, “No, I can--” “Progress, remember, Silvia?” said Tasha with a smirk. “Yeah, right. Ok, you c-can take my cup,” Silvia’s hand shook as she gave Tasha her cup. Tasha took it and led Silvia to the front door, “Really great work today, Silvia. I’ll see you again Friday. Try to practice the techniques we’ve been working on.” “Right,” Silvia answered with a shadow of a smile, “See you then.” On the steps outside Tasha’s office, Silvia paused and looked down at her wedding ring, which glinted in the sunlight. I’m sorry, John. I never imagined it would be this way. I didn’t know it would leave me so messed up. But I’m trying to fix it, John. I’ll find a way to fix it... for you.