My Only Love Is Not You

"are you Hensley Williams?" I asked the young man who was sitting in an extremely quiet room by the window, yet staring at the brown and white coffered ceiling above. appearing to be lost and out of this world. Hearing that, he slowly turned around and looked at me. I was standing on my blue adjustable belted blazer and blue long pants set, with black stilettos, holding a blue embossed satchel bag and note book in my hands.

"If I remember correctly, yes." He responded, with a voice thin like ice. eyes red and swollen like that of an abused woman.

I pitifully looked at him for a second, as he now tucked his shaking hands on the black hood jersey he had on, before grabbing the black office chair near the corner and sat across him. the young man looked like he was in his 20s.

"Do you not remember your past? Your life before you got here?" I inquired, trying to get to know him.

like any other patient of mine in the rehabilitation center, the only thing I was told about this man was his background. However, just by looking at him, I could already see he was deeply bruised.

"I try not to... which is why I drink. I'm not an alcoholic like you all believe. I drink to forget." He calmly stated. His eyes turning back to the ceiling. it was as though he found some kind of solace up there. His thin hands were still shaking in his pockets.

"And the drugs?" I curiously asked, looking at him as I sat on the chair alongside him with a pen and a notebook in my grasp. Trying not to open it, for most people hate it when therapists write when they are trying to open up to them. It suddenly makes them feel unsafe and hesitant. I wanted him to feel as safe as possible, for the only way I could help him was if he truly opened up to me.

He shifted his red puffy eyes from the brown and black coffered ceiling and looked at me with no facial expression and asserted "They work faster."

I could see he was trying so hard to hide the pain. and maybe that was his defense mechanism, not letting people see his vulnerability. perhaps that's why he tried to drown it with alcohol and ended up addicted.

"Can we talk about it... What you so badly want to forget?" I carefully suggested, my eyes still on him. he moved his away once more, trying to run away as he thought it best.

"Please." seeing as he seemed unwilling, I pleaded. Hensley quickly turned around.

"I just told you, I don't want to remember!" He snapped, standing up from his likewise black office chair. attempting to walk towards me, but also quickly turned around again and rushed to the white corner of the room, where small brown vase of flowers sat. seeing that, I also stood up from my chair.

"Keeping things within is not good Hensley. Please, let's try to talk about it. I'm simply just trying to help." I pleaded once more, still standing up as I now watched him fuming in the corner near the vase. Hensley turned around again, looking at me.

"Really? You are trying to help me? Really!" He snorted once more, remaining by the corner.

"Yes Hensley." I said, sacredly walking towards him. my voice soft like summer rain, hoping it would calm him down. But unfortunately, it didn't. Hensley was still snorting “then make me forget completely. Erase my memory! That is the only way to help me!"

His puffy eyes turned more red as he shouted, his hands shakier and tears formed in his eyes.

Seeing that, I rushed to him, and hesitantly placed my hand around his shoulder. Hensley began to sniffle.

I slowly and softly whispered "It's okay Hensley. It's okay." I could see he was deeply hurt and that broke my heart.