forever daydreaming

Minerva knew something had changed the moment she saw the dark circles under her eyes. She had not bothered to style her hair today, no makeup. She looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in the week since she last saw her. Deflated and defeated. Nothing at all like the bright, sharp, wicked woman she had come to know over the month and a half.

She feared she would break if pushed too hard. She had to be gentle, no more vague snark. This wasn’t deliberate hiding; it was a broken heart. You learned to spot the difference in this line of work. “Amelie,” Minerva said, making sure her own voice did not crack. “Tell me what happened.”

And so she did. Like a monotone, she revisited the event of the week with little emotion to show. That she had won an award, had invited her mother to see her accept it. That Unit Bravo had shown, and that her mother did not.

That it was just par for the course, so she didn’t know why she expected anything different.

Time to nip that train of thought in the bud before it grew into a decades old tree that refused to be cut down.

“No. It is not something you just have to accept from her. Unit Bravo showed you otherwise.”

Amelie looked blankly to the floor. “That just makes it worse.”

Minerva nodded, taking a deep breath. “I can see why you’d feel that way. But it does prove beyond doubt, that there are people who will be with you, and love you, and care about you, doesn’t it?”

“Morgan was really sweet, afterwards,” Amelie smiled, but it was worryingly empty. “She did make me feel better. They all did. But, it wasn’t-”

Who you wanted to be praised by?

Minerva turned, to stare at the paperwork on her desk. So much pain in those documents, from so many people. Sometimes, the load was too much and she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her couch and drown in wine. The things you learn in this job can be so harrowing, and this was no exception. This was a lifetime of neglect coming to fruition in a young adult who deserved far better than what she got.

What she despised, most of all, was the fast nature of therapy. Sessions were only an hour, fifty minutes, if she was being honest, so you can finish the proper paperwork and prepare for the next client, but that time limit was often not enough. Look at how far Amelie had come, telling the full events and now they had maybe ten minutes to talk about it? She needed more. She’d get it proper next week, but what about until then? A week more of fighting this emptiness, this reality.

And then what? The point of therapy was not to do it forever. They had one more session after the next, and then it was up to her to come back, with no obligation job wise to do so. Minerva just had to hope she would come back, and continue the work that she desperately needed. Most didn’t.

Running out of time, Minerva had to decide what best technique, rather the perfect words to get her through this week. She was committing the number one sin in therapy-- the idea that the therapist had all the answers and had to be perfect, when in reality none were, and no one did. The desire to help this person outplayed that knowledge.

But what was the best advice, what was the perfect way to keep her going?

Of course, when she came up with nothing, a terrible fear shook her. She needed to have something, anything, and with all the training and experience and hope that she could do something she should have it!

Suddenly, Minerva threw her clipboard across the room, frustrated at what it represented: a barrier between the theoretical and the human. She was tired of hiding behind it. She could come up with the most complex, deep, and scientific answer to Amelie’s problem-- and it would mean nothing. It would mean nothing, if not given the time to explore it. So, instinct told her to instead, stick with the most basic human connection known to history.

“I feel for you, Amelie. It is sadly very relatable to me,” Minerva said carefully. Calmly. “I would like to comfort you, with your consent. Perhaps a hug, if that is alright with you?”

A very grey point of discussion in therapy, how much you can and should physically touch a client. It’s mostly looked down upon, but can be done in the right circumstances. Considering the history of their sessions, it may yet prove to be a bad idea.

Humour glinted in Amelie’s dead eyes. Minerva was relieved to see it. “Isn’t that illegal?”

Minerva chuckled, shaking her head. “No, it’s not illegal. So long as it is professional.”

Snickering, Amelie paused to think. After a few moments, she nodded. “Okay.”

They stood at the same time. Minerva wrapped gentle arms around her, the universal back pat of comfort well practised at this point in her career. It was a silent moment, no tears shed. That’s what made it special. Two women with terrible mothers sharing a moment of respite with the other. Sometimes words were not needed. There was more work to be done of course, but it was the little things that kept people going.

Amelie felt very small in her arms. Almost like a child.

When the hug ended, Minerva smiled. “It’s going to be okay. You have a lot of people who are with you. Myself included.”

Amelie managed a smile. There was a flicker more of light in her eyes, colour in her cheeks. “I’ll see you next week, doc.”

*******

The week almost up, Minerva was tapping her pen against a blank sheet of paper, wondering if any of her previous notes were truly of any help. She had hopes that these last two sessions were not going to be the last after all, but it still behooved her to be as well prepared as possible. Her papers were spread out on her coffee table like there had been a hurricane in her living room. It helped to see the chaos, sometimes. Then, there was a knock at her door, and she got up from her very fancy and very comfortable couch, setting down her glass of wine.

It was Sydney. She had a game in her hands, one of her cozy farming simulators that she liked to play with others. “It’s been a long week,” she said, her eyes tired. “Let’s finish it off with some relaxation!”

Minerva stepped out of her way so she could come in. “I’ll get more wine.”

Certainly not a lunch shared, but just as good. As Sydney set up her game, Minerva poured a nice glass of red, for both of them—topping hers off carefully. It would be good to give her brain a break, a true one.

Sydney hadn’t offered too much advice after talking about ‘Foxface’ to her. Not as if she was expecting any, but it had been nice to voice this past month and a half out loud. It had untangled her thoughts.

She then packed up her notes, making sure they were not in the same vicinity of the wine and could not be read by a glance. Because she was focused on that, what happened next almost had a delayed reaction.

The sky turned red.

Minerva dropped her papers, staring at the window. An eerie jolt of electricity ran up her spine. They both trembled as they stood at the window, taking in the clearly unnatural state of the sky. How she knew this, Minerva did not know, but she knew Amelie was a part of it. She was in danger.

Sydney wrapped an arm around her, and Minerva did the same.