Forgetting Billions | ✓

01 | Forgetting Secrets

"HOW DID you feel when you witnessed your uncle's murder?"

Jasmine Karesh laced her fingers together in her lap, her eyes focused on the dirt under her nails as she wondered how much a manicure would cost her. If her memory was correct, the pity money she had saved from countless birthdays since the shooting would suffice. She wasn't quite sure why her family thought gifting her excessive amounts of cash would make up for the absence of her uncle at her party, but nevertheless, she allowed it.

"Jasmine? Are you still with me?"

She picked at a reddening hangnail, wincing when she ripped the skin in one swift motion. Jasmine was wasting the hour her mother had paid for by just sitting there, but she found comfort in the excuse that it was only her first therapy session. The woman in front of her even assured her that it was normal to be silent, as most people weren't sure of where to start.

Her problem was different, though. She knew how to phrase the tragedy– she'd been doing it perfectly for the past eleven years– and still, her tongue was tied. She assumed that was because her therapist would never understand what it was like to feel unmeasurable grief at the age of six. How could she open up to someone who would never understand the toll Rahul Karesh's death took on her client?

Jasmine cleared her throat while her eyes focused on the various university diplomas on the wall. "Of course I am. It would be rude if I zoned-out without telling you beforehand."

"That's a common symptom. It is not rude at all." She sighed and placed her notepad on the table beside her. "You're probably overwhelmed right now, especially if you're not used to talking about your feelings, but I hope you know that this is a great place to overcome those feelings. You'll never be judged for what you say with me."

She withheld the urge to roll her eyes. Her psychiatrist sounded compassionate, but even Jasmine could tell that it was scripted and that she probably said the same to her countless other clients. "Where were we?"

"How did you feel during the shooting? When your uncle died?"

Her eyes left the plaques and settled on the doctor's plain face, scrutinizing one particular freckle on her nose. "You know, I'm Mayfair High School's valedictorian. That means I've gone four years without making a mistake. Four years of answering every question to perfection." She choked as she attempted to laugh. "Isn't it funny how for the first time in my life, I don't know how to answer that?"

"It's a hard question. Not everyone can reflect on their deepest traumas. It takes serious courage," the woman offered with a timid smile.

"Why should I, then? I don't see any need to relive my past, not when I've been relatively fine for the past eleven years."

Her therapist shook her head. "You could manage to live a fulfilling life without these sessions, though it would take a significant toll on your mental health. However, you just said you're a Valedictorian, a student that is not only gifted, but committed to success. I find it hard to believe that someone as passionate as you would settle for years of being 'relatively fine' when true happiness is within your grasp."

Jasmine exhaled as her body slumped forward, her shoulders sagging like the Earth was balanced upon them. Her gaze moved from the sickeningly bright yellow walls to the typical red sofa she was sitting on. Its fabric was creating a rash on her thighs, but Jasmine couldn't feel the itching sensation. She was numbed by the short conversation, which was still much longer than any she'd had with her parents since the shooting.

She hadn't been asked how she felt since her uncle died. Everyone assumed that she was rightfully depressed, hiding her pain behind the brick walls she constructed around her heart.