Dread
Autor: O alvitre | Publicado: 2014-05-17T14:02:00-03:00



“I’m terrified.”



“Of what?”



She shrugs. “Of, y’know, being betrayed.”



There’s an expectant silence and she knows he won’t
let her get away with it. It’s something she hates about therapists. They keep
it quiet, force you to spit it out. 



It’s unnerving.



“I’ve been betrayed too many times. I’ve had enough, y’know?
But I’m still terrified of it. I haven’t get used to it.”



“Do you think people get used to being betrayed?”



“Yes,” she says right away. Then considers. “Maybe.”



“Tell me about this fear.”



“Fear?” She laughs. “I fear my first day of school. I
fear dying. I fear many things but being betrayed ain’t one of them. It’s
dread. Terror. I’m not scared, nor afraid. I’m terrified of being betrayed.”



“So you’re not terrified of dying?”



She sighs, aggravated. “Yes, I am. I’m terrified of
being hit by a bus or falling in the subway tracks. I’m terrified of these kinds
of death, y’know? Being exposed, pitied on. But.” She pauses, look inwards,
tries to explain herself. “But…”



“But?”



“Well, you could say I’m terrified of that too, but
dying… you’re dead. It’s final. Being betrayed is… you’re degraded to shit. It’s
just a means of saying, “you ain’t worth shit.” It’s like, you try to be nice,
to be someone people can count on, but it’s never enough. People just don’t
care.”



“Isn’t it a bit arrogant?”



She frowns. “How so?”



“You’re putting yourself in a superior level. People
shouldn’t betray you because you’re nice to them. No one’s nice all the time. You
try to make people count on you, when it’s not your responsibility to make them
feel like you’re trustworthy. Everyone has their motives and motivation, their
own stories. When they betray you, it doesn’t mean you’re unworthy. It doesn’t
mean they were purposely trying to degrade you. We do things that hurt others;
it’s in our nature. I’m sure you’ve done the same.”



“I have. I never said I was perfect.”



“But aren’t you acting like it?”



She breathes in deeply and breathes out. “Can I smoke
a cigarette?”



“Of course,” he says with a smile that she immediately
thinks it’s sarcastic.



She lightens the cigarette and takes a drag. “Anyway,”
she says, but remains quiet afterwards.



“Why do you think people get used to being betrayed?”



“Why! Don’t people become jaded? I think I’m becoming
too.”



“Tougher skin.”



“Yes.” She sighs. “Tougher skin. Mine has become so…
it’s—” she snorts. “I never wanted to be like this. It’s troublesome,
exhausting. I feel like I can’t connect with people anymore. I feel weary.
Apathetic. Lonely, y’know.”



“A tough skin doesn’t mean you don’t feel things.
Disappointment, for example.”



“No. Unfortunately it doesn’t. I’m so strong, man. So,
so strong, but I feel like—like I could cry like a small child.” She laughs,
curt, embarrassed, derogatorily. Inhales cigarette smoke and feels it burn a
trail down her lungs. “God knows I have.”



“Talk about it.”



“As if.” She snorts, breathing out smoke, and rolls
her eyes afterwards at his silent treatment. “Well, what is there to talk
about? Tears fall down my face and shit. I’m human, you know? Humans cry. Maybe
you don’t, though, but I’m not you.”



“There’s no reason for you to be defensive. I’m not
here to judge, merely to help you understand yourself.”



“No. You’re here to force me to talk about the things
I don’t want to talk about.”



“Exactly. We fear discovering the dark sides in ourselves. Our weaknesses, our fragilities, our flaws. We think ourselves
perfect, despite our known imperfection, which we often ignore. Real flaws are
someone elses. It’s paradoxical, actually.”



“Well. Yeah, but I’m not like that. I’m well aware of
my flaws. It’s what makes me different. I use them in my behalf. I embrace my
flaws so they won’t use them against me. I don’t fight my own nature.”



“You’ve shown otherwise, though.”



She takes a drag and considers his words. It’s true,
she knows. “I’m a work in progress. As I said, I’m becoming jaded. I’m not jaded as of now.”



“You constantly degrade yourself, but you always come
up with excuses for your behavior. I find this truly interesting. Have you been
aware of this?”



“Well. Now I am. What can I say? I’m the only one who can badmouth me.”



“Interesting,” he says, looking up at the clock. “Well,
I fear our time is up. I’ll see you next session and we’ll finish this
discussion.”



She snorts. It’s always the same line, always the same
shit. “Yeah, sure.”