Chapter 32 // Natsukashii

                                    

                                          
Natsukashii: (adj.) of some small thing that brings you back suddenly; joyously back to fond memories; not with a wistful longing for what's past, but with an appreciation for the good times.
//
Is there a world for me out there?
Is there any possible way I can be "cured?"
Is there someone out there just like me?
I don't have hallucinations.
I just have a voice.
Hey, that's me!
Hey, I wasn't talking to you.
"Hi, I'm calling to make an appointme-"
"Please hold."
A piano's quiet tune played on the other end as the high pitched woman went away. I pressed the button to put my phone on speaker, then set it down on the hardwood floor. The piano rang louder and louder from the small speaker, and each chord bounced off the walls of my bedroom. It was meant to be a relaxing suite, but each time the pace decreased then unexpectedly slowed, it caused my nerves to skyrocket.
Why am I calling a mental health office so late in the evening? No idea. Why are they open, or at least, why is anyone taking calls? God knows why. The only thing I know for sure is that whoever my therapist ends up being, they won't judge me for the things I've done, they're not anywhere near California, and maybe they can tell me what's going on in my head. I'll be out of this place within a week, and no one will find me.
That's all that is, right? Just some thing going on in my head?
I made the mistake of calling Will. I felt so frustrated, so angry at myself, that I blocked his number minutes after the call ended. I should've felt relieved after we had discussed everything, but I instead felt a pulsing guilt banging at my head. 
But after thinking through the conversation I had with Sean, I spent the next couple hours trying to sort my life out. I've talked to Raylee about all the things floating in my mind, and she seems to somewhat understand. She gets that things stress me out a little too easily, and I may take things the wrong way, but she says that makes me human.
What is Sean doing here? Why did he come all the way from Wyoming, just to see me for, what, 10-15 minutes? A good 3 hour flight, just for a couple wasted minutes. It's extraneous, and he's out of his mind. It would make sense if it wasn't me, if it wasn't someone who had practically gone out of their way to shatter them without even realizing it. It would make sense if he'd done it for Ant, or even Isaac, but definitely not me. 
I thought about the things he told me, and the things I told him. He would talk like we were star-crossed, destined but unable. He talked about me like I was a cookie-cutter princess from a fable, and he was the dashing prince awaiting to have my hand. Are Sean and I anything like he believes? Not even close. Are we far from perfect? Absolutely. On the other hand, I was on the real side of things. I acknowledge the things I did in Seattle were wrong, and I didn't expect forgiveness. Frankly, I don't want it. I didn't want to hear about how much he's so infatuated, and how perfect I am to him. I could go without hearing the lies spat at my face.
I called Will because I knew that it would tear me apart if I didn't. I didn't call him to hear him say I understand or I forgive you, because those weren't the things I wanted. Quite honestly, I half-expected him to cuss me out and block my number on the spot. Part of me would have liked that.
"Sorry for the wait, can I get your name please?"
The shrill voice of the receptionist startled me. I was already starting to get used to the piano music, so her voice appearing again came as a slight shock. 
"Altadema Brighton."
"And how do you spell that?"
I picked my phone up from off the floor and talked into my phone. Even though I had recited my own name multiple times, for obvious reasons, it had somehow become something I had to think long and hard about. Every letter was something I had to count to in order to name it, and each time I paused, it was because I forgot how to spell my name. It didn't feel like mine. It felt like the name Altadema was given to a girl that was sort of like me: a blonde, early-twenties, nearly angsty person - but not to me, specifically. 
"Alright miss Altadema, are you looking to get regularly scheduled appointments, a single appointment, or is there any other arrangement you may be calling for?"
"Um, regular."
"Okay. And I assume you're calling to make appointments for a general counselor or therapist?"
It sounds weird, hearing all the words coming from her mouth like it's so simple to ask. Sure, she must ask so many people daily, but the normality in her voice gave me a chill. 
"Correct."
I tuned out her words for the rest of the call, but managed to give one-worded replies that suited her needs. Before long, I had a date set for the first appointment. According to her, it would just be a series of questions with my new counselor about my life in general, then we'd go into specifics. I wasn't excited, but I also wasn't terrified like some people might be before an appointment. I was more so relieved, that maybe now I can finally get closure on this thing lurking in my mind.
I traced my hand along each wall of my room as the lady went on about paperwork. She babbled on about confidentiality and contracts, then finally said farewell and ended the call from her end. The beeping snapped me out of my slow trance, and I found myself staring out the window. 
It was nighttime now, and the sky was a vivid, but dark, shade of blue. Some stars were becoming visible, but it was too early for the rest of them to show up. The sun had gone down sometime around a half-hour ago, when I was still on the phone with the oh-so talkative lady. My lights were still hung up, as well as my curtains. I could easily buy the two once I'm settled in at my new place, so why stress about making room for them? 
I tilted my head slightly towards the floor, my eyes setting on the murky vase with the yellow tulips still inside. I touched my finger to one of the petals, and instead of the softness I was used to, I was greeted with a brittle, rough edge. I had seen it coming, since they were so near wilting, but still caught me off guard. I brought my finger back and watched as the petal fell back with it. It broke right off, then fell from my finger as quickly as it stuck. 
Yellow tulips never seemed beautiful to me in the past. They were just one of those flowers that everyone would have around, but never acknowledged as their favorite. There were always roses and pansies taking their place as most beautiful and vibrant. They remind me of Sean, undoubtedly, but even then, I still buy a new bouquet of them every time they wilt. I just have that small spark of hope that if I just water them a little bit more than last time, they might live for once.
//
:)
Hi, what's good
-Jen