The door opened, and the storm had returned. The downpour was as heavy, the gale as forceful, and the house as flooded as before. Though expected, the scene was still poignant to look at.
“Hi Kathryn,” Clarisa greeted warmly. She was clad in a casual knee-length dress that brought out the blue in her eyes, and the fact that she wore minimal makeup lowered Kathryn’s already shaky self-esteem.
Kathryn responded with her trademark hostile stare.
“I might need to move around the living room for a bit,” Clarisa informed as she surveyed the degree of the degeneration she had to reverse. Kathryn understood immediately that it was the Darkness, and shifted aside. Clarisa placed a hand on the front door to warm up her powers, then took a step into the house. The puddles disappeared beneath her feet and the clouds stopped raining where she stood. She covered the rest of the room a step at a time, simultaneously drying the furniture by trailing her hand along them. Kathryn experienced a soothing sensation through her soul, now able to feel the effect of Clarisa’s powers more intensely. When the task was accomplished, Clarisa smiled, proud that she had managed to clear the Darkness without Leo’s assistance. The clouds, of course, remained.
As Clarisa closed the door, Kathryn took a seat on the couch and told her, “Next time just teleport in here. I’m too lazy to answer the door.”
Clarisa raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I’ll take note of that.” She sat down gracefully on the sofa opposite Kathryn. There was a moment’s silence, and Clarisa took this opportunity to observe Kathryn's temperament. The teen avoided eye contact, picked at her nails, and was clearly still unwilling to be involved in the session.
“Kathryn,” she began gently, “Before we start the actual counselling process, I thought I might get to know you better this session. I’m going to ask you some questions, is that okay?”
Kathryn glanced up in her direction, then looked down at her fingers again. Clarisa took that as an acknowledgement, and asked,
“How are you feeling today?”
Kathryn cringed. The first question always had to be that hardest one.
“What do you think?” she mumbled.
Clarisa decided not to press it.
“What's your full name?”
“Kathryn J Martinez,” she said dully. “J stands for nothing.”
“And your age?”
“Sour sixteen.”
“Your mother's name and occupation?”
“Jemima, but people call her Jemma. She's a clerk.”
“And your father?
Kathryn’s eyes rolled in contempt.
“I don't have a father.”
Clarisa looked at her intently.
“What do you mean?”
“We left him,” Kathryn said bitterly. “He was abusive.”
“In what way was he abusive?”
Kathryn shifted in her seat to face the window.
“In every way.”
Seeing that Kathryn was not planning to elaborate further on the matter, Clarisa made a mental note to explore it another time.
“How long have you been having depression?”
Kathryn scowled. “For forever.”
She finally turned to look Clarisa in the eye. “Do you realise this isn’t helping?”
Clarisa kept silent to listen to her view, and Kathryn continued, “I get that you’re a so-called ‘perceiver’, and I still have no idea how you operate or how you knew about me, but what makes you think you can help me? You’re asking the same questions they ask, as if those questions are even important. I bet the next thing you’re going to make me do is deep breathing. Guess what? It doesn’t work. You’re not going to help me, so stop trying, okay?”
Clarisa considered her words. Though slightly crestfallen by them, she knew she had to take a different approach. What Kathryn least expected was for Clarisa to respond with a kind smile,
“Don't worry, I’m not going to make you do deep breathing.”
Kathryn’s eyes lit up with mild interest. That was a relief to know.
“Pick any number from ten to twenty,” Clarisa told her.
“Um... thirteen?” she chose randomly.
“Let’s play 13 Facts About Me,” Clarisa introduced. “We’ll just take turns to share facts about ourselves, anything that we’re comfortable with.”
“Okay…” Kathryn’s enthusiasm went down, but anything still sounded better than having to answer useless questions.
“I’ll go first,” Clarisa initiated. “Fact one: Contrary to what is expected of a counsellor, I… am someone who finds it difficult to let go of the past.” She paused, wondering how she decided on this fact so quickly. “Your turn.”
Whose past can be any worse than mine? Kathryn thought. “Fact one,” she mumbled, “I am a boring person.”
“Not boring enough to stop here, I hope,” Clarisa smiled. “Fact two: My favourite colour is blue… because it’s the kind of colour you never get tired of looking at.”
“Fact two: I have no favourite colour.”
Clarisa waited for an elaboration, which didn't come. “Is there any reason?”
“I just… have no favourite colour,” Kathryn repeated dryly. She participated in this game only to hear about Clarisa.
“Fact three: I like Math.”
Kathryn grimaced. “What? Fact three: I hate Math!”
“That’s understandable given the way they teach it in schools,” Clarisa remarked. “But with good materials and at a comfortable pace, Math can be… pretty rewarding to learn.”
Kathryn’s face twisted more dramatically. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Clarisa silently laughed. “It’s true. Fact four…” She looked around the house in search of a fact, and spotted a blender in the kitchen. “Fact four: I like breakfast smoothies.”
“Fact four: I actually do pretty well in school,” Kathryn shared. “Is that surprising?”
Clarisa shook her head earnestly. “Not at all.” She glanced around again, and found the television set a few metres from her. Her face darkened as she thought of the next fact.
“Fact five: I can’t watch the news on TV. I only read it online.”
Kathryn gazed at Clarisa, perplexed. “Why?”
Clarisa stared down at her knees for the first time, and her voice lowered, “It was a… childhood incident. I developed a phobia towards it.”
Now that was something interesting. It was only now that Kathryn began to observe her, and immediately wished she hadn’t; Clarisa looked so beautiful. Her hair was wavy, flowing and golden, her face delicate and her frame tall and slender. When her analysis reached the eyes, she nearly gasped; they were brilliant blue and sparkling. Clarisa caught her staring so absorbedly and asked,
“What is it?”
“Fact five: I wish I were beautiful.”
It was Clarisa’s turn to appreciate Kathryn’s thick coppery hair and adorably freckled cheeks, wondering how she could feel insecure about her appearance.
“But... you are.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Kathryn said crisply.
“Why don’t you think you’re beautiful?”
“For one thing, I don’t look at all like you,” Kathryn complained. “And I avoid the mirror as much as I can, because I regret every single time I look at it.”
Clarisa felt sorry for her mentality. “Just because you don't look like someone whom you think is attractive doesn't mean you're not attractive. Flowers are pretty, but so are Christmas lights, and they look nothing alike,” she analogised.
Before Kathryn could rebut the point, she continued, “Fact six: People overrate me.”
Kathryn looked at her quizzically.
“They think I'm impeccable,” Clarisa said with a smile and half-shrug.
“But I'm not.”
I will never relate to this. Kathryn thought. No one would ever think she was flawless. No one would ever think she was beautiful. No one would ever see past her depression. She remembered how hopeless she was.
She remembered the number of times she had done this.
She remembered the number of times they had failed.
“Fact six: You're my sixth counsellor,” she blurted out.
Clarisa's eyes widened, genuinely surprised by the number. “What happened to the previous ones?”
“They failed,” Kathryn re-emphasised. “So I don't see how you're going to succeed where they have failed.”
“Fact seven: I think for me,” she shared, “Counselling isn't about succeeding or failing. To me it's about being there for someone, listening to them, guiding them, and helping them to see their problems in a new perspective. I never saw my clients as tasks I had to accomplish, more as people I want to help.”
“But I'm different,” Kathryn remembered. “I'm a perceiver. And I'm depressed. That's why you have no choice but to help me. I'm a potential disaster to your community.”
If there was anything highly urgent and important at the moment, it was to stop Kathryn from calling herself a potential disaster. In actual fact it was possible, but making Kathryn aware of the danger would only confirm it.
“I have inducted a few perceivers before, and among them there was a girl… She wasn't depressed, but she had issues that made it difficult for her to overcome herself and the Darkness. And she's doing very well now; she's the best in her team in fact. Not all of us make the transition to a perceiver smoothly, but we all make it in the end.”
“I'm sure no one’s had it worse than I do,” Kathryn pouted.
“They have,” Clarisa reassured.
Kathryn's eyes glared disbelievingly as she continued, “Fact seven: The only reason I haven't killed myself is because my mother will never forgive me for it.”
“May I ask why you wish to kill yourself?” Clarisa said concernedly.
“By the time I finish it's going to be nighttime,” Kathryn said dryly. “But to sum it up I just have enough of living with myself.”
“You're too beautiful to disappear, Kathryn.”
“Stop lying to me,” Kathryn snapped.
“Butterflies can't see their wings, but the rest of the world can,” Clarisa allegorised. “You are beautiful and while you may not see it, we can.”
“Whatever,” Kathryn huffed.
“I’m here to listen, Kathryn. I don't mind staying till nighttime.”
“I do.”
Clarisa decided that the serious talk had to come another day. “Next time then.” She shared thoughtfully, “Fact eight… I can’t fall asleep until I've reflected on the day's events.”
“You'll probably be thinking about me tonight,” Kathryn remarked, “And how uncooperative I’ve been this session.”
Another gracious smile. “I’ll certainly be thinking about you tonight, though not for that reason.”
Kathryn was admittedly impressed by Clarisa’s unflappable attitude in handling her. Sure, the previous counsellors also knew the right words, but it was the way she said them that was so natural and sincere. Kathryn was about to ask Clarisa what about her she would be reflecting on that night, when a sharp pain pierced through her wrists. Her sudden gasp and recoil alarmed Clarisa.
“What is it?”
She pulled her long sleeves up to find deep black blood oozing out from the three long cuts she had made a few days earlier. It was the same for the other wrist, and Kathryn squealed as it trickled down her arm into her skirt and onto the floor.
Clarisa recognised immediately what was happening. She held out her hands and waited for Kathryn to recover from the initial shock before gently covering her wounded wrists with each of them. For half a minute they waited, and besides the pain, Kathryn noticed Clarisa's level of concentration. Clarisa’s eyes were transfixed on the hands covering Kathryn’s wrists, as if casting spells with their mere gaze, but her mind was elsewhere, miles away from the living room, fighting an unseen battle of its own. With every second, the searing pain subsided to a throb. The scene was so very odd but neither of them spoke in respect of that moment’s silence. After what felt like years, Clarisa released her hands, and the wounds were back how Kathryn had left them- red, healing. Kathryn stared at them, then at her skirt and the floor. The black patches were nowhere to be found.
“What was that?” she exclaimed, panic rising up her throat.
“You’ve just seen the Darkness.”
Before Clarisa could say any more, a frightened sob escaped Kathryn’s lips. Immediately after, a clap of thunder sounded, one audible to both of them. Kathryn jumped in her seat, and aware now of the effect her emotions had on the Darkness, she began to whimper uncontrollably. That instantly triggered a downpour. Fortunately, her budding perception still denied her the capacity to feel the rain. Though Kathryn’s lack of reaction to it brought Clarisa some relief, the heavy black droplets hurt her immensely. She spread her palms open and tensed them like she was being thrown an invisible weight. In this position she remained, but the storm would not settle. She realised that it would not calm down unless Kathryn did. She did her best not to wince from the effort, and looked up at the crying girl.
“Kathryn, look at me,” she said, her voice strained. “Kathryn, what's your favourite song?”
Kathryn looked up and shook her head, slow at first, then faster.
“Just say the first line. I’ll know it.”
The song was clear in her mind, but she failed to see how it would be of any help. She was about to respond with another stubborn shake of her head when she noticed the desperation in Clarisa’s eyes. She clearly couldn't bear with the invisible storm for any longer.
Come on, it’s just a freaking song.
Kathryn’s lips trembled as she stuttered the first line,
“The drought was the very worst...”
“When the flowers that we’d grown together died of thirst.” Clarisa immediately caught on.
“It was months and months of back and forth…”
“You’re still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can’t wear anymore…”
The pour reduced to a light drizzle that almost felt pleasant, and the weight was partially lifted off her hands. Clarisa smiled.
“Hung my head as I lost the war…”
“And the sky turned black like a perfect storm…”
Kathryn noticed the relief spread across Clarisa's face. For some strange reason, the song seemed to be working. She continued, more confidently,
“Rain came pouring down when I was drowning…”
“That's when I could finally breathe.”
“And by morning…”
“Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean.”
Her hands now free, Clarisa rose from her seat and held onto Kathryn's arms.
“Your transition to a perceiver is just beginning. All I need you to do for now, Kathryn, is relax.”
Kathryn was too dazed to process any information given to her.
“You can do that, by listening to music. Or writing your thoughts down. Or exploding ketchup balloons. Anything. Anything but harming yourself.”
Everything felt unreal to her. The black blood. The thunder. The invisible rain. The haunting melody of Taylor Swift’s Clean still ringing in her head like a broken record. The most beautiful lady she had ever seen standing before her and telling her to stop cutting. It all felt so dreamlike.
“I've been cutting for six years. Why should I stop now?”
Clarisa paused.
The straight answer: Self-injury would provide the Darkness with another form to manifest, and that would endanger your life as well as all of ours.
The indirect, unconvincing, but genuine answer:
“Because I care about you.”
Kathryn frowned in incredulity, but regretted doing so upon the sight of Clarisa's telling eyes. The two blue oceans were sad- pleading- and connected with her on a level they hadn't before. She felt the inclination to protest but was at the same time too tired to open her mouth. Besides, she had nothing else to say. She leaned her weight on the armrest instead, lowered her head and closed her eyes, displaying the kind of hopelessness and exhaustion that went beyond tears. Clarisa noticed the clouds at the ceiling stirring- in a manner that was not restless, but calm. The longer she stared at them, the more she realised that Kathryn was giving in- not to the Darkness, but to her. To test her hypothesis, Clarisa gently asked,
“Will you try, Kathryn?”
The teen shut her eyes tighter.
“I don't seem to have a choice.”
Kathryn was smart, this Clarisa knew for sure. She told her sympathetically,
“You're not doing this alone. It's going to be overwhelming, and frightening, but we're going through this together. Always remember that I'm here.”
“Don't you see that's the problem?” Kathryn cried. “You’ll be taking the brunt of my emotions. You're going to suffer because of me.”
“I won’t,” Clarisa smiled. “I face the Darkness everyday for so many years, I hardly suffer from it anymore.”
What Kathryn least expected was for herself to trust Clarisa, but that was beginning to happen. She tried to resist it, tried to retreat to the hospitable caves of hostility, the welcoming depths of wariness, but to no avail.
Her heart screamed at her mind:
You can trust her.
“I’ll try...” Kathryn mumbled. “No guarantees though.”
She could already picture Clarisa’s radiant beam without opening her eyes. So she chose to keep them closed. She felt Clarisa’s fingers touch her wrist again, and heard her say in nearly a whisper,
“Tonight I'll be thinking about everything you’ve shared this session and what we can do in the next one. Also, I will be thinking about how to approach you without knocking on your front door.”
Was that supposed to be funny? Kathryn peeked one eye open to see a faintly mischievous smile on Clarisa's red lips, the last thing she saw before they disappeared.
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