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He softly nodded. He had heard of this before in literature and history books. A mother smothering a crying child to prevent being caught by a nearby enemy. To them, it was either smother it or spend the rest of one's life in a prison camp or dead themselves, not to mention those around them. But was that the reason? There was no real therapy to rid one of guilt. Simply, it was something people had to learn to live with. Doc himself knew this from his own past.
He sat slightly closer, within an arm's reach. He didn't want a mental issue to turn into a medical one with her hard breathing. "Easy, Girl, catch your breath." He gave her a minute to do so.
"The past can't be changed, Elena," he stated, "what's done is done. What we can do is cope with it, to live with it, to learn from it no matter how grisly something was. Remember this, I'm here to help as best I can, not judge." He gave another soft nod, "I wasn't always a saint myself." After a few seconds of a pause, he just told her, "Now look up at me. Don't be ashamed."
Elena was aware of the way she had started to breath faster and faster over the last minutes, too, and thusly covered her mouth by both her tingling hands to keep her from hyperventilating too badly. Trying to gulp in consistent amounts of air without gasping, she lied there on the sofa, riven by an exotic cocktail of emotions she had mixed for herself.
There was the fear, making her shiver and shudder. She would have loved nothing better than leaving and running away, as far away from this godforsaken place as possible, away from this chaos she felt. Then there was the deep-seated despair, telling her that this would not make anything better and that, at the end of the day, she was utterly trapped. And the anger. For not being able to cope with it, and lastly for it itself.
To the outside, it seemed as though she was just continuing to sob her tears away though, sunk in the sofa and doing everything to control her breathing. “People have told me that so often, Jesus Christ,” she spat out through her teeth, her voice sounding dull. When the tears finally became lesser and lesser, she choked back the last ones with a heavy gulp and looked up into his eyes reluctantly. She didn’t want to learn from it, all she wanted was to forget it and leave it be. Slowly it dawned on her: she had never wanted to face up to it fully, and had instead gone for locking it away somewhere in the deepest mists of her mind.
Her body language however didn’t at all speak of “not-being-ashamed”. By no means was it a penetrating glance she threw at him, but more of a uncertain peek at how her consultant had reacted. She dreaded any sort of judgements done from his side, spoken or unspoken as they were, however she dissembled that fear as best as she could. Her glance made it all to clear she was ashamed, though she attempted to masquerade it via her tensed facial play.
Then it came bursting out of her, like a turbulent flow the words streamed out of her mouth. “I don’t want to ‘learn from it’! Jeez, I want to forget it! Get rid of it, I want to make it, make it unhappen! But out of everything, I just want those memories to finally fuck off and vanish."
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It was at this point, even so early on, that Doc realized his approach wasn't working. Calm, understanding, etc, just wasn't working. It didn't help him that he wasn't a trained therapist. He couldn't consult his team via comm now, not in her state. Her rage did, however, begin sparking his own past. Death and loss, both of which he had been on the giving and receiving end of on too many occasions. He needed to get through, he couldn't let her go on like this. He HAD to do something.....something he really didn't want to do. Only a time or two before as a physician did he ever do something unethical. Looking out the window, he knew she had no where to run and even if she tried, it was a long way to anywhere and she would most certainly freeze to death first. Hiding? Not in his estate! He knew it like the back of his hand. Removing his glasses and putting them on the table, he did the unthinkable, he met her anger with his own.
"We can never forget the past!" he blasted. "We can try but we will fail in doing so! It stays with you like luggage, like the skin on your body! The memories stay with you, they become you......" He backed off just a little but was still forceful, "......and the only thing we can do with them is to come to terms with them and to live with them and therefore learn from them. Deny it all you want."
In his mind, he had just failed. He lost his kool. Standing up, he put his hands in his pockets and stood by the fireplace, looking up at the old rifle displayed over the hearth.
"There was a time I just didn't care," he stated, "a time where I was a dying man and had nothing to lose. It made me dangerous and I used it in the wrong way. I used that later to build an enterprise, one that would help people, no matter their problems, no matter who they were, where they came from or what side of the law they walked. Using my past, I learned how wrong killing was. That was my lesson and Med Force Enterprises was my redemption."
He turned back to her, still standing, his hands still in his pockets, "As I said earlier, I put this and my diplomatic en devours before my family. Now my late wife is deceased and my children making their own. I seldom see them. Yes, it's been a heavy price. I didn't directly kill Midori but my actions led to it so, I guess that makes me responsible.....and I continue to help those in need."
Feeling defeated, he sat back down. "If you want, I'll arrange for a regular psychologist to help you. I'm sorry, I thought I could do this."
His own flash of anger did come as a surprise for Elena, who tried to recoil on the sofa instantaneously when his words came spilling out of him like a thunder. At first she was paralyzed, then barely tried to bring some distance between him and her, but then slackened. Although she hadn’t seen it coming and he rocked her back on her heels, it was finally exactly this harangue he gave her that had a serious impact on her. Instead of his former kind, consolidating words that had not moved her one inch, his sudden anger got through to her, all way through her obstinate, disgruntled shells she had built up over the minutes, hell, over the months. Those words rendered her speechless, and by the time he was done throwing them at her, she found herself completely aback. Slack-jawed and with brows wrinkled in bewilderment, she stared into his eyes wildly, blinking every now and then, but refusing to say anything. For moments that came to feel like eternity to her, only the howling of the snow outside and the crackling of the fire inside could be heard. Just for a mere second she let herself soak in the cozy ambience around her, and it lulled her in a pleasant way.
She began thinking. What was supposed to happen now? Was she about to cry her eyes out yet again? She wouldn’t have been surprised if she was, given how he had talked to her. The way he had raised his voice faintly reminded her of the criticizing speech her boyfriend had given her, yet somehow it had a different effect on her. Her eyes wouldn’t well up with tears, curiously. She would have cried if she still had been obsessed by pieces of memory crawling inside her mind, but it was only then that Elena realized they were like swept away by his speech – at least for this very moment. Perhaps it had needed somebody to tell her exactly this, in exactly this rough tone. She couldn’t say if it had really opened her eyes, but judging by the wide-eyed look she gave him, it had without a doubt.
It was her who had been utterly defeated just now.
“I, I…” she stuttered helplessly, not being able to break the eye contact. In her reddened eyes, the shock was still prominent, but above all it was stun that she stared at him. She didn’t know what to think, nor what to say, but crazily enough, it seemed to her like the first time in ages she could think clearly again, or at least clearer than before. Even if clear meant that her mind was only well-nigh emptied, and if what was left had turned to disarray. She clutched at the armpit. Still no tears. Hopefully she could go without, this time.
Glacially, she began to think about what he had said, all while giving him a steadfast look. His words had been true, dawned on her. The luggage part, above all. Everything she had done those months to evade the confrontation with what had happened, coupled with more and more problems raining down onto her in the meantime, it had all been in vain. And her way of hiding behind the alcohol bottle hadn’t helped either. She had not wanted to accept her memories so far, believing she could go without facing them, and in the end believing there was a universal remedy for the pain she felt. Truth was: the one remedy she needed so badly she had dammed out the whole time. This realization didn’t come quickly, nor did she like it, but it came. And so she started to have misgivings again, but this time of a different kind.
She didn’t want to ‘become her memories’ either. That would have been the single most horrible thing that could happen for her. The least thing she wanted to be was that person she had behaved like back then. Yet she knew her memories had already influenced her. Though for the worse, she understood.
That left her dumfounded for a considerable time. It could have seemed like a state of shock to Doc, but then she bestirred herself and took one hell of a deep breath. Her words were far from coherent or preconceived, but more likely reflected her flustered state. “H-how am I supposed to come to terms with them?” she asked bashfully. Without facing them, she would have liked to add, but something in her head could already answer that part of the question for her.
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He couldn't figure out who was more stunned, her or him. She responded in positive, well, sort of, and he wasn't fired. He just turned to her and immediately responded to her question.
"You don't. You each come to terms with each other." He began to explain it to where that statement made sense, "Whatever acts we have committed to get us to feeling as we do eat away at us so we have a choice. We can either let them consume us or we can mentally compromise with them, which is something that subconsciously happens. Consciously, we accept the terms of the two then they in turn become a part of us. I think you will find that for awhile yet, it'll still be painful but as time goes, they're just.....there. Does that make any sense?"
Now Doc was thirsty. He managed a light smile, "I need a drink after that. You want anything?
While he was talking, Elena further recovered from the shock, and managed to fully come back to her senses. A nagging sentiment began to scratch at the back of her mind: the man who was her consultant seemed to be a bit more unstable than she had thought. It hadn’t been a drastic eruption, and neither did Elena judge him for it, but subconsciously it made her a bit warier about where she was and that she would be trapped in here for a while in case things went sideways. It wasn’t difficult to repress pounding over that thought, though.
She found herself shivering again all of a sudden, only slightly, yet it clearly showed her still tensed state of mind. She remained to be nervous and doubting, but didn’t voice it. Instead, she just nodded. Drink sounded good. Her throat had dried out over the course of the conversation, and especially during the last minutes. She could use something to ease up too, though. “Yeah, I wouldn’t say no against one. You’ve got any alcohol here? Like, nothing high-proof, but just some bottle of ordinary beer?” She looked down. The thought of cold beer running down her dry throat got her a little excited. It was exactly what she needed right now, she found.
The other thing he talked about however unsettled Elena found difficult to understand. She could relate to the ‘consume’ part in some way. The thoughts that had over and over imposed on her definitely felt like they would evermore consume her and tear her apart. The rest however – she had not the faintest idea how he meant anything of what he talked about to happen. How was she supposed to come to terms with what happened? How in hell should she do that? Albeit heavy pondering, she didn’t get it. Part of her, the stubborn one, already wanted to shove the suggestion away and tell him in the face how that wouldn’t help a bit, but she restrained herself. She would hear him out first, she decided. Her tone, albeit halting and rattled, was a bit higher. “I’ve got no idea what terms you are talking about, honestly.” She licked her lips and inhaled deeply, briefly looking away at the fire place. A light lump reappeared in her throat.
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Upon her desiring a beverage, he rose from the couch. He noticed her shivering and went to a small closet near the piano where he reached for a blanket. Walking over to her, he draped it around her shoulders.
There was a light smile upon his face, it was one of kindness. "I hope this helps a bit." He then went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of Rhienbeers and opened them. Walking back in, he handed her one.
"It was either this or some Liberty Ale," he stated, "I prefer what Rheinland produces." He then returned to his seat where he took a sip of the beer.
"I've forgotten how good these are," he said, "It's been awhile."
"I don't know what those terms are either," he began, "the human mind is still largely misunderstood as I'm told. I think in times where we are at our worst, our minds, or at least, a piece of it, is at it's best."
He took another sip of his beer. "It's like our subconscious minds negotiate with events we are going through unbeknowest to us. Those terms we discussed? Our minds keep them secret. If we knew what they were, well, we would probably keep fighting with ourselves over it." He then gave a snort, "Hell, I'd probably been dead again awhile ago."
He looked in her direction. He was somewhat relaxed at the moment. The combination of the weather, a crackling fire, a beer and yes, some company, was soothing even if the company was a patient.
The flavour of the beer she poured into her mouth and down her throat exhilarated Elena marginally, and she uttered a sigh with relish after having put down the bottle again. It had the typically harsh taste of Rheinbier to it, and a quick look on the label told her the bottle didn’t belong to the overly cheap goods coming from New Berlin. That lighted her up a bit, and so she sunk into the couch, leaning back a bit and crossing her legs. She was still cold despite the blanket over her shoulders, for the cold’s cause wasn’t the room’s temperature, which was fairly in fact. It however was a nice gesture of him, she thought. She actually shivered a bit more than before, with the cold beer entering her body. But it was definitely better than any lukewarm alcohol. Experience had told her that would have been the straight path to her vomit all over the sofa.
With the cold bottle in one hand and fumbling about the blanket with the other, she finally could relax. Something in her mind however told her that state wouldn’t last forever. One part of her would have liked to relish the moment for as long as it would last, but another knew it was now the perfect time to talk about everything there was still left to talk about, in a civilized manner and a clear head – as clear as it could ever get for her. The placid scene she was surrounded by only now had the full effect on her, and another glance at the fire place later, a smile crawled onto her face. Anything frantic about her behavior vanished. The bad weather she successfully ignored.
She looked at him, thoughtfully, yet with this open smile. She still looked tear-stained with her red eyes, but the smile she wore, showing something close to actual happiness, contrasted it heavily. Any sort of stubborn resistance from her side seemed gone from one second to the other. Maybe it had something to do with him having told her about the fact that he would have been dead if things had been different. She could relate to this. If it hadn’t been for pure luck – maybe the first real luck she had had in months -, she would have been dead as much. Remembering that failed attempt of hers to put an end to everything, the obstinacy to solve her problems returned, and made her speak. Her voice had a certain curiosity to it as she looked down at the bottle on her laps.
“So, how much do you think you can help me?” said she. “I mean, we can talk about how the brain is working and what still yet is to be discovered about it.” The grin grew broader. She remembered how Psychology had been her second most hated subject back in school, right after Maths. “But you see, that doesn’t help me, to be honest. Whatever the brain is supposed to do unconsciously, I don’t see it working for me.” A pause, quite an ugly one, then she grew quieter. “At least it hasn’t worked for me in three months. I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take, but honestly. People told me to let it go, learn from it, before already.” She shook her head, her smile turning more bitter as she looked away. “But I just can’t.”
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"As I said before," Doc explained, "the human brain is very complex and is largely a mystery. How it locks away things in subconscious is a mystery. It is also said that people use but maybe ten percent of their brain."
He sipped his beer, "As to the psychology of it? I've been told it's not an exact science so what works for one person doesn't always work for someone else. I can only tell you that it only seems like time is the best cure for things."
He respected her belief that she couldn't forget. He once felt that way and often still does. He had filled out enough death certificates, told enough family members of lost loved ones and watched men kill each other over territory for too long now. He just nodded to her.
"Maybe you never will," he responded. "I still see faces of the dead, I still hear the cries of loved ones freshly informed and on some occasions, I've had a spouse hitting me because there was no one else to blame. No, I don't forget but what I do remember only drives my determination to be better, to do what's right and try my damnedest to convince others to do the same."
He then paused and looked at her in some thought, "We only get used to living with it and becoming better people for it. THAT all goes back to the mysteries of the brain itself."
“That’s not really exhilarant,” she answered quite tersely.
It left Elena pondering. At best, it was unsatisfying to listen to his words. According to him, taking one’s time and getting over it was really the only way to get rid of her plague. On the other hand, she could clearly remember the last months, just like they were yesterday. How was time capable to do any good, she began to wonder, if she remembered what she had gone through all the time. How much good had it done her? From her perspective, it had all gotten a lot worse instead, day by day. After the shock about her loss had been over after one week or two, the cold realization had truly begun to settle in on her, and with it the uncertainty on what she was supposed to do about it, except accepting it, the ability of which she hadn’t been able to find in herself though. Just looking back gave her a cold shiver that ran down her spine, despite the warmth inside the room. And she could already feel the repugnance boiling up inside her again. The question of ‘Hell, why does he have to be so brutally honest about it?’ came up in her mind.
The crawling notion of starting to weep over it she smothered with another deep look into the bottle. His words didn’t soothe her, but were rather bloodcurdling to her. She didn’t want to imagine having to relive those memories, completely etched in her mind, time after time in the future. It had been worse enough that she couldn’t get over them in three months, but was she supposed to live with them her entire life?
That’s what she coldly realized. Yes, she would have to.
She sighed. There was a tickling sensation emerging in her stomach, accompanied by an accelerando inside her chest. As she looked at him, he could see the pinched expression on her face. She kept the bottle of beer right by her side the whole time, as though it was a companion to her. Truth be told, it had been one over the months, though not the most reliable. But what was that – reliability – anyway? “I don’t feel like I can live a life with those memories,” she openly stated, yet under her breath, only just within Doc’s earshot. “I’ve tried to, but I always found myself in my apartment, with a bottle in my hand. I, I’ve barely even lived those months, come to think about it. I’ve just been vegetating away.” Her tone turned gradually bitterer. “I don’t want it to be that way, but it feels like it’s being imposed on me. Like, as if I had a total loss of control over everything. As if I couldn’t do anything about it.” Ending, she grew silent, swallowed hard, but kept her view on him.
