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“I had a rough night,” I say all these nerves begin to solidify and I’m acutely aware of my own defensiveness.
She says nothing as she closes the door and sits. I assume she’ll sit on the other side of the desk and pity me like Miss Uptight, but she sits right next to me in the second chair, crosses her legs and leans into me. Like a mother would. Or I guess I assume that’s what a mother would do. My mother never did.
“What does rough night mean to you?”
Right out of the gate she asks a question I can’t answer. I lean my head back and stare at the water stained ceiling. I can feel her eyes on me, and I’m convinced I’ll never get used to it.
“I drank too much. That’s what it means, I guess.”
Silence permeates the room and my heel bounces, the heel thumping against the hardwood. Shunta is as calm as I am when I step into the flame engulfed forest. To me this space, this silence is deafening. I want to coil in on myself like a water line. I wipe my palms on my jeans to rid myself of this evidence of my discomfort. She stares at me, everything from the shadows rises to the surface and panic swells inside. I can’t keep it in. I can’t hide from this woman and I simultaneously hate her for it and want to submit to it.
“I don’t want to be here.” I finally blurt.
“I can see that,” she replies with a hint of amusement in her voice. I open my eyes and she’s patiently waiting for me. Her dark maroon lipstick absorbs all light into her smile.
“This kind of emotions shit isn’t really something that comes naturally to me. There’s only ever been one person I could talk to like this.” I gesture between us and I regret saying it. I have a feeling I’m going to regret everything I say to this woman.
“Who is that?”
“The mother of my child.”
Her eyebrows quirk up and I’m sort of proud of myself for throwing her even if it was a micro flinch.
“I wasn’t aware you had a child,” she says and it’s my turn to laugh.
“I wasn’t either. My girlfriend in high school. We got pregnant. She took off for ten years and then shows up out of nowhere with a ten-year-old daughter. She looks like me.” I shift in my seat, slumping further.
“That must have been a shock.”
“A bit, yeah.” I trace the brown outline of a water mark with my eyes.
“And while you’re dealing with the death of your crew member. That’s a lot for one person, Alexander.”
“I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.”
“With alcohol?”
Irritation digs into me swirling phrases through my mind at rapid speed.
Do you often take the edge off?
Are you trying to fuck this up?
Dude, are you drunk?
“Why is everyone so fucking concerned with alcohol? I’m not an alcoholic. I’m not him.” I sit straight up.
“Who’s him, Xan?”
“My father,” I say throwing my arms out like a child. “My useless drunk father who forced me to be like this. He forced me to be this guy. I’m not him.”
“Of course, you’re not.”
Silence falls across us like thick smoke, choking me. I need to clear it.
“There, are you happy? I told you what you want to hear.” My head is pounding and sweat beads on my forehead.
“Why would your struggle make me happy?” She hasn’t moved a single bit since she sat down and I’m squirming around like my chair is made of needles.
