During

Chapter 1: Failure

I was once told that pain demands to be felt. Whoever said that was right. Pain is good; it says that something is wrong. In my case it was everything. Everything was wrong. With me, my decisions, my past, the hand life had so willingly dealt me. I didn't remember how terrifying the agonizing ache in my chest could feel until it happened. I knew what that throbbing meant and how it felt, I'd almost forgotten what bitter taste it had left on my tongue. Almost. The first time I savored that flavor was at Papa's funeral. He'd suffered for years, very long and hard, I'd prayed for death to take its blow but it waited. Death watched, day in and day out for months he had breakfast at our table, lunch with Papa on his bed and finally after dinner one evening, he did his job. I was relieved. The suffering, tears and sorrow filled cries from my grandfather had stopped, even the pain. Yes, Papa felt no pain after he went but I did and I was relieved. I was 14. I wish that I could say that that is where the story ends, that pain didn't visit again.

I see a therapist every week. On Tuesdays at 3 o'clock, upstairs the complex across the street from the Pizza Hut. The afternoon sun cast shadows across the huge oak desk that separated the doctor and I. She wasn't much older that I was. Prettier, no, she was beautiful and brilliant. Her hair coiled in an unruly manner in a ponytail on top of her head and she bit on the tip of her pen causing the purple lipstick she wore to smudge.

Matte. Wear matte next time.

Dr. Rashaad scribbled on her notepad whenever I spoke. She had asked me how I was feeling and as usual I told her that I was well. She would always start our sessions like this. I would come in, sit, stare at her for a while until she'd start asking me questions about my days at school and at home. Sometimes, she'd crack a joke and give me insights about her life. I knew that she had a puppy that she had not gotten around to name and a cat she had named Mirage and also her parents lived in Cuba. She had a framed picture of them on her desk. I wish I had a relationship with mine.

"Kirsten?" she probed interrupting my thoughts.

What did she say?

I had been seeing her for a few months but she somehow knew that I had taken a stroll in wonderland again and repeated her question.

"Are you doing okay?"

No, it feels like I lost a part of me that can never be replaced. How can I be okay?

But instead, I said "Yeah."

"Can you describe how you feel today?"

I rolled my eyes and got up, turning my back to her I walked over to the glass window where the sun shone through, illuminating the little office. I looked down at the street, everything seemed unreal, as if I was dreaming. I couldn't feel anything. Anything except that empty space between my ribcage.

Miguel and I broke up.

I hadn't spoken to anyone since it happened. My mother had asked me about him the day after but I couldn't supply an answer that wouldn't bring the horde of questions. I felt emotionless at first. I knew that it was a great loss and that I was going to have a breakdown over it, but it didn't happen. Not yet.

"Miguel and I..." I swallowed, praying I wouldn't have it in front of her. Since I hadn't cried at all since it happened, I didn't know when I would. I didn't like crying in front of anyone, it made me feel weak and I wasn't weak. "Miguel and I broke up."

There was silence for a while, Dr. Rashaad didn't say anything and I was still looking out window.

"When did that happen?" she questioned.

"Last week. Over the phone. He texted me."

She sighed "I am sorry Kirsten" and I heard her rise from her chair.