Freud Found Me

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  Found

  Me

  1.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you,” he said while stroking her dark cocoa hair between his thumb and forefinger. He had always wondered how her hair felt softer than anyone else’s he had touched, and this morning was no different. “Don’t be silly” she said with her voice that always sounded like wind chimes being stroked by a gentle breeze in a summer haze, “I know you wont, even if you have those dreams every night, you wont act on them”. Leaning forward slightly, she searched his eyes for the fleck of gold she loved so dearly that hid between the brown and black swirls. Taking his eyes from the strands of hair he was caressing and meeting her own, he tried to say, “but what if I do”, something had grabbed hold of his vocal chords and in that moment all he could manage was a whisper. Instinctively he began to pull away, but before he could complete his retreat, she had grabbed him forcefully by the neck of his t-shirt, twisting the fabric in her fist, and as fluid as all her movements she mouthed the words, you could never, and kissed him. The kiss ran like a fever through him, her heat became his, and they became entwined for the second time that morning.

  2.

  “Talk to her, she’s a psychiatrist, but its not official or anything, we don’t even have to pay her” she said in the lull of their after work conversation. Three days a week they met in the same bar, almost exactly in the middle from where they both worked. He designed book covers, among other things; she sold art, among other things. They had made it their mission to try every cocktail on the menu, and took full advantage of happy hour on Thursdays. She had a friend from school; whose sister was a psychiatrist- up-and-coming was how she was described in an article recently. The psychiatrist refused to take any money from the couple when she was first told about the possible case. Friends are friends she had said. Finishing up his second cocktail he agreed to meet the psychiatrist, “but I don’t know why”.

  3.

  “We have to drink to make it unofficial” the psychiatrist said, “I hope you don’t mind”. She wore a clingy black dress which he thought was peculiar, but she looked comfortable in it, so maybe she usually wears this kind of thing, he concluded. The dress was indeed clingy, and showed off all the curves of her body in the candlelit downtown apartment. The psychiatrist said a relaxed atmosphere was crucial, that’s why she opted for her home and the various candles spread across her living room. The south wall was entirely glass with chrome edges, it made the city skyline look like a futuristic painting of the past he thought. The sun was setting and he couldn’t help but think that maybe the city was under attack, maybe a bomb had exploded in the distance, maybe a fire was growing and eating up everything. The psychiatrist poured the red wine into the glasses so it made that distinctive wine-pouring sound; it soothed him. The psychiatrist sat on the opposite end of the sofa and stretched out her legs towards him. He liked her look- the loose ponytail which saw her auburn hair cascade down he back; the loose strands of hair falling down the sides of her face, stoking her cheekbones with any slight movements; her black dress which wasn’t too short or too long and her bare feet with little painted pink toenails.

  “Tell me about your dreams” she sipped her wine as you imagine a psychiatrist would. He rearranged himself, propping one knee up on the sofa to face her more easily. “My dreams always start the same,” he said unintentionally tracing the line of her jaw, which was bathed in light from the candle on the coffee table. “I’m with my girlfriend and we’re eating dinner and everything’s normal. Sometimes we’re drinking champagne and sometimes wine; I don’t think that’s important. But anyway, eventually the phone rings, the house phone, which she tells me to leave, if its important they’ll leave a message she always says. So the phone rings and rings and I think it gets louder every time. Eventually it stops. Then my phone starts ringing in my pocket, the vibrations hurt, I don’t know why but they always hurt like my thigh and hips kind of that whole area. I don’t recognize the number, it’s not saved in my phone, so she tells me to leave it just like before, and I do. The phone rings and rings and even though the phone’s in my hand, my hips still hurt, and the pain spreads down until the phone stops ringing. So anyway then we’re kissing on the sofa. Its…passionate, like one of us is going far away for a long time or something. We’re kissing and kissing and then I go to lift her top up but my hands are wet and I look at them and they’re covered in blood. Dripping with blood. And she’s asking me why and she’s crying and I’m trying to whip her eyes but I only get blood in them. Then it gets weirder I don’t know”

  “Please continue” the psychiatrist said with a smile that the candles cast a strange shadow on.

  “So I take off her top anyway and I’m telling her I love her and she’s everything and she cant tell anyone because it’s a secret, if people find out, it wont mean as much, I say, but I don’t know why. I don’t think like that. Now I can see why she’s bleeding, she’s got ‘everything’ carved into her stomach. The cuts are deep and the edges are jagged and I see the blooding pooling and eventually overflowing from the letters as her stomach rises with her breathing…then we’re having sex…”

  “It’s fine, go on”

  “And she’s covered in blood and I’m covered in blood and I can see the ‘everything’, its still bleeding, blood is just pouring out of it. And then before I know it, I’m holding her down in the bath, blood mixing in with the water, she’s clawing at my arms and I’m just laughing. Then I wake up. Every time”

  “Interesting” she said circling the rim of her wine glass with an index finger.

  4.

  He met her in the coffee shop closest to his office after receiving her text before lunch. She sat closest by the window in a subtly summer dress, swinging her feet like a child on a bus, with a smile like she had a secret, which she couldn’t fully conceal with a straight face. He couldn’t help but smile whenever he saw her, even though he hated his smile, he loved that she could do that to him, that she created a response in his body without his consent. He gave her a wave and got into the line, which wasn’t as bad as it was in the morning when everyone needed their caffeine to get through to midday. He ordered a green tea for her and an ice tea for himself. She thanked him for the drink and greeted him with a lippy kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. He liked the way her breath felt on his neck and shoulders.

  As he got comfortable she exploded with excitement and dug into her bag, producing three books. “Look” she said with a openmouthed smile “I stood outside the book shop before it opened and I was the very first to buy these. Now sign them mister!” They were his first published books. A collection of short stories he finally convinced his publisher to go out on a limb for. He designed three different covers for the book and his boss liked them all so much, he decided to publish all three covers, “they’ll be like collectables for your cult following” his boss said with a wilting cigarette at the edge of his mouth. Seeing the books in person, or rather, with the person he loved the most, brought on a strange reaction in him. He felt warm right in the center of his ribcage, a feeling he hadn’t felt for years, since he was a child, he thought. To my heart with all the love I have sent and will send to you. He was happy to see the black ink on the crisp white page.

  They held hands as she walked him back to his office. They both carried the smiles of unbound lovers, seemingly walking in our world, but living in theirs.

  5.

  The psychiatrist wore a tight black long-sleeved crop top with a black skirt that flowed outwards. She always looks comfortable, he thought. They sat on the same sofa overlooking the dying city, this time drinking rum and coconut water, she had had a girls night a few nights ago and consequently all the wine had been consumed, she had said. �
€œSo tell me where you grew up?” he didn’t really understand how this would help with his dreaming problem, but he answered, telling her just outside the city. “So why’d you move?”

  “Mainly for work…there really wasn’t anything for me there anyway”

  “Nothing in art or graphic design?”

  “They hardly know what art is!”

  “You clearly love art, seeing as you do it for work and you moved to pursue it- do you remember when you first fell in love with art?”

  “Not precisely, I don’t know. I had this teacher Ms. O’Rahilly and I remember working for what felt like the whole day on this piece, it probably was only a few minutes, I was only little, I hardly knew my own name or anything back then. But I remember her telling me how ‘brilliant’ it was, that’s what she said and I remember thinking I want to hear that again and I want to see that smile again, you know how little kids like praise or whatever. And as it turns out more than Ms. O’Rahilly liked my art, and hear I am.”

  “And how was the rest of your schooling?”

  “Well that was like the first two years of school for me. The rest was kind of boring, it’s all a blur to me, and if I’m honest I can’t remember a whole lot from my childhood. I’ve always had a bad memory, I guess I use all my space on remembering artists and techniques instead.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yeah, I’ve had friends, they come and go really, but that’s natural right? The slow fading out of some people; while new people burn bright. I still have people I talk to occasionally from school, you know on birthdays and the like.”

  “How often do you speak to your parents and siblings?”

  “I speak to my sister every couple of weeks, she’s really busy being a big shot lawyer, but I check in, see that she’s doing alright and everything. I visit when I get leave from work- her kids are the best, cute little things with chubby cheeks and gap-toothed smiles. Makes me kind of sad to think they wont always be like that, but I’m excited to see them grow too. And my mum died when we were young, I don’t really remember her face, so yeah I don’t speak to her a lot. And my dad, I never even know where the guy is, he’s been traveling the world since he retired years and years ago”.

  6.

  He visited her after work; she locked the gallery after kissing him as he came in. Diming the lights almost completely, she came back from the backroom with two glasses of white wine. They sat cross-legged in the center of the gallery, surrounded by all the art. He thought how perfect it was that she worked here, how if she stood still even for a second, anyone could have mistaken her for art and tried to buy her. But it wouldn’t be a mistake, he thought, she was art, she evoked a response in his body without any thought of his own. At times it was as though she planted thoughts in him, like she watered his soul and allowed things to not only bloom but also flourish. God was real, he remembered thinking when they first kissed so long ago. God is real and God is an artist.

  She told him how her day was, how she sold three pieces and a man too old to be flirting with her, flirted with her. He smiled and sipped his wine, edging closer to her, so he could play with the ends of her hair, which lay on her lap as she sat on the floor. She searched for the fleck of gold and blew a kiss when she found it. He caught the kiss with his mouth. And she jumped towards him forcing him to lie down. Luckily their glasses were empty now.

  They embraced and kissed and rolled around surrounded by all the art. His fingers became tangled in the chocolate mess of her hair as he gently supported her head. She traced her fingers along his taut skin, drawing little invisible symbols of their love on his muscles. He playfully sucked on her bottom lip, holding it with his teeth, watching as her eyes met his. He would kiss her so deeply her soul would spark to life and then take it all always, holding his lips just out of reach, pulling away as she would dart forward for more. He would make her silently beg for more and he would oblige completely to her will. He kissed her lips and her cheek and her jaw and her neck. Her breathing grew shallow with her back arching he scoop her into him, pulling on her hair to draw her head back and reveal more of her neck. They injected pure unfiltered love into one another that pumped through their being via their inflamed souls.

  They loved each other until she sat up, straddling him, laughing her wind chime laugh as his fingers danced where he knew they would provoke such a reaction. “I love you” her words fell on him like floating shooting stars popping as they reached his ears. His smile grew and he held her with his eyes for a moment. Then his smile faded, as did his eyes, “my dad was a bastard” she tilted her head but understood, he continued, “he use to beat me and my sister over the slightest thing. My sister might have gotten a new dress a little dirty and that would be it. Every time I thought he was going to kill her, so I got in the way, I wouldn’t say I was protecting her, I was only little, there wasn’t much I could do but be the punching bag instead. Anything would set him off, and every time he would say in rhythm to the hits, you mess up everything. You. Mess. Up. Everything.” He sat up and she held him, resting her head on his shoulder. He pulled her closer, but it wasn’t close enough, he thought. “And I had this teacher” she shut her eyes tight and nestled her head into his neck, he continued, “she would…touch me. And I would draw for her and follow her around with new drawings and things…and she would say, you’re my everything. You’re. My. Everything.”