The Secret World of Maya Alexander

Chapter 43

It was only a few streets between the cafe and the small terraced house of the Oasis Counselling Service. It was far enough for Maya to allow her mask of composure to be repositioned upon her face. All she needed to do was keep moving and not entertain thoughts outside of the here and now. She began to observe the world around her. Making herself mindful. Conscious.

Five things I can see:
Grey clouds.
Grey branches.
Grey buildings.
Grey People.

Stephen.

Stephen.

Four things I can feel:
Stephen's hand pulling me.
Stephen's breath and saliva in my face.
The concrete as I hit the floor.
The floor. The floor. The floor. The floor.

Three things I can hear:
Stephen's angry voice. Cheater. Liar. Bitch. Finished.
A yelp from my chest.
My breaths. My breaths. My breaths.

Two things I can smell
Stephen's washing powder on his clothes.
Freshly laid tarmac. Tarmac.

One thing I can taste:
Sick in my mouth.

'Sick Maya! You're sick! Call yourself a Psychologist?!' Stephen repeated the same words that often leapt from his mouth in his helplessness. 'Only, you're worse than your crazy patients!' He spat his venom. 'You're the worst kind of sick, you go around pretending you're normal. Making people feel sorry for you! Worse than that even. Making everyone else feel as though they are to blame.' He needed to empty his guilt. Seeing Maya with Charlie when she said she had been going to counselling sessions, was the excuse he needed to pour all the blame she had made him keep inside. The toxins that had festered and multiplied whilst she had hid herself away in the safety of their guest room.

Maya pulled herself up from the floor but did not answer his assertions. Maybe she was sick. But she was not all that he said. She felt a hot tear creep down her cheek as she looked at the man she had tried so hard to love. So full of anger and rage and hatred. She did not blame him for his anger. Her sudden fall to the floor had shattered the protective coating of unfeeling she had worked so hard to envelop herself in. Weeks of guilt and shame began to suffocate her.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered, unable to look in Stephen's eyes.

'So am I!' Stephen scoffed, 'Sorry I didn't give up on you sooner. I'm leaving Maya. Charlie is welcome to you. But I doubt he will put up with you like I have. I doubt anyone will.'

There was so much that Stephen did not know or understand. Maya felt sorry for that, but she knew that he would never understand those things. She had given up trying to explain things to him years ago. It had seemed better that way. And so, when she mouthed 'sorry' for the last time, as Stephen turned his back and stormed through the scattered bystanders who had stood and done nothing in their apathy, she had meant it. She was sorry. But not for the crimes for which she had been declared guilty of without trial, she was sorry that she had allowed them both to endure it all so long. That she had not made him give up on her sooner.

She felt wretched. But she looked at her watch. 15:03. She was only a few minutes late for her counselling appointment. She did not want to miss it as it would be on the basic records of attendance which  she had agreed to be shared with her work. She had no mirror to check her appearance. So she brushed herself down and wiped her face with her sleeve. She inhaled a deep breath of air into her chest and walked into the clinic as though nothing had happened. She emptied her mind of Charlie and Stephen and June and Marge. She imagined herself like a tree rooted steady in the ground, letting go of its leaves and holding fast for the onset of winter.

Barren Land

Lust'rous leaves once laughed and leap'd
Full o' colour 'neath her feet
And as the skylines turned to grey
So Autumn's carpets saved the day

Berries bursting, flavours full
Where birds got fat on grassy gnoll
The crunch of nature's nest a hymn
Begat the words which cherubs' sing

Nature showed her cards so briefly
Completeness sensed but not completely
Revealing Beauty amidst its Truth
Then tumbling forth at Season's use

Blowing leaves in gusts and rain
What once was full now turned to grey
The icy arm of empty's, endlessly reaching fist
Veil'd in murky melancholic mists

Perchance a time for hibernation?
Rested for rejuvenation?
Trees stand empty. Trees stand still.
Whose will is Winter set to fill?

Stumbling on through eyes glazed grey
We see the end begin today
Is the end a chance for new beginning?
Or declaration of a world stopped spinning?