Fires

"By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire." I began, my eyes trained on the floor.

I sat in a dimly lit therapy room, the colors resembling the warm feel of the autumn season. It had taken me six months to tell the woman sitting before me what I was forced into therapy for in the first place. Now that I had spit out the first sentence, a wave of existential dread flowed over me. What the Hell was I even doing here? I strongly believe therapy is overrated, but then again, when you aren't paying for it, you don't have much of a say.

The therapist smiled, though I knew it wasn't genuine. It never is with the professionals, so it seems. She didn't say anything, merely stayed put, with one fish-netted leg crossed over the other. I knew what she was doing, so I didn't keep her waiting. After all, the sooner I talked, the sooner I could bail.

"At the time, I couldn't tell if the fire was real or just part of my hallucinations. I still can't fully decipher the difference. All I know is that either way, I felt the heat. The whole atmosphere seemed to be lit up in flame." I paused as blurred thoughts of his soft orange sweater flashed through my disturbed mind. His tired and pale gray eyes followed, just as they always did. I suppose the pain I felt in my head showed on my face because the therapist offered me a bottle of water. I hesitantly declined, although I had a weird feeling I might regret it later.

"I went about my day as I always did, constantly aware of what I absolutely had to face at some point. Eventually, the time came when I couldn't fight it off. I couldn't sleep without a rapid reminder of the way we left things off. I couldn't think straight for even a second without being told how bad I screwed up. It sounds so damn cliche when I say it out loud." I paused as I was instantly flooded with the whole scene for the millionth time in this session alone. This time, however, I closed my dull black eyes and just watched.

And there he was, standing, staring. The unbearable silence the two men had shared for God knows how long still haunts him. He had never been so terrified of his own front step before. The painstaking scene of the other man crying was enough to make him shake. The feeling of two broken lovers could be felt from a mile away from these two. 

Neither one of them could gather the strength to talk for quite a while. Months of damage had made their connection fade, and each one had their own reasons to blame one another and themselves. Finally, he could stand it no longer.

"I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner. I should have owned up to my mistake the moment after it happened, and yet here we are. . . ." His voice trailed off as his eyes fell to the ground, the leaves in particular. The fire was still there. The hot (perhaps imaginary) fire. 

"I don't want to listen to an apology, Josh, and I'm not going to give you one, either. We're grown men, and it's time we start acting like it. I just want to know what was going through your damn head! I thought you had all of this sorted out? You promised me you wouldn't bring me back into your life if you still had so much going on.'

Josh stared, his expression blank. "I. . . .I don't know what I was thinking." He admitted shamefully. "I was just. . . .I was so exasperated by all of the things they were saying. I needed a break, but I couldn't see that until it was too late. Instead, I tried to push through this ash and smoke, and I. . . ." He pauses, looking back into the gray eyes of the other man.

I managed to snap back into reality before the therapist had to start screaming.

"You know, I always did hate autumn," I said, a small smile spreading across my pale, tired face. "All the different warm colors. It never was my vibe. Sometimes, I envied how much he appreciated fall." My eyes ventured up to the ceiling. "He always wore this fuzzy orange sweater with brown leaves across the chest. It was the softest thing I'd ever felt. He said it gave him comfort. He always kept his hair dyed brown or red. He didn't like his original black hair. He always said it made him feel too serious. Still, I always wondered how his hair looked so lively. There was no way all that dye was good for him." I know I'm just wasting time, but I was enjoying this, so I kept going. "The one thing I'll always remember is how careful he always seemed to be. He had this superstitious belief that if he gave away too much at one time, he'd be doomed never to speak again. Lord knows where he picked that one up." I laughed softly. I realized I could talk for hours on this subject.

My mouth felt dry. I was starting to regret not taking that water as I felt burning tears form in the corner of my eyes. "I took that man for granted. The worst thing about that is that I know he could never appreciate me enough. It really is the little things that can make your life impossible. It's also a little disappointing to know I dwell so much on that fact." I rub my eyes, sighing in a mix of contentedness and exhaustion. Those seemed to be your only two moods nowadays. 

"I should have realized I needed a break. Instead, I tried to push through this ash and smoke, and I," I paused, closing my eyes again and allowing the burning tears to stroll down my cheeks. "And I started a fire."