28. Dion
28
DION
T he sun peeks through the curtains, casting funny shapes on the carpet.
I’m hiding behind the chair, tracing patterns on the rug with my finger. I was playing with my toy cars and got bored, but Mama didn’t want me to play outside. She seems worried and tired, as if she hasn’t slept. She keeps trying to call Baba , but he isn’t picking up the phone.
I look out the window. Kids are playing, but inside, everything feels strange and quiet. I want to be out there with them.
I don’t know why I’m hiding, but something is wrong. The doorbell rings, and I hear footsteps as Mama goes to open the door. There’s a man I don’t know, his face serious. I crawl a little closer to hear their conversation, careful not to make any noise.
I try to listen, though they’re talking very quietly. I hear the man say something about my baba . It doesn’t make sense. Then , something about him being...gone.
My mom starts crying, and I want to run to her. She looks so sad like she is falling apart. The man tries to help her, but she doesn’t want it.
“ Ma’am , I’m so sorry for your loss,” the man says gently, his voice full of sympathy.
She shakes her head, tears falling freely. “ How ...how could this happen? He ...he was just...he was supposed to come home...”
“ I know. It’s a terrible tragedy. But you’re not alone. We’re here to help you through this.”
Now , everything is different. My mom is different. She moves around like a robot, like she isn’t really there.
Days pass, and things don’t get better. Then one morning, I find her in bed, not moving, empty bottles everywhere.
I attempt to wake her up, but she won’t. I’m scared. Why won’t she wake up?
“ Mama ?” I whisper, shaking her gently. “ Mama , wake up, please.”
There’s a note in her hand.
My son,
I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger for you.
You will always be my guiding light, and one day, we’ll find each other again among the stars.
Until then, always remember that I love you more than all the galaxies in the sky.
Mama
Why did she leave me?
I cry and cry until I fall asleep next to her.
Later , a man gently touches my shoulder.
“ Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t want to go, but I don’t have a choice. I take his hand and, together, we leave the only home I’ve ever known.
“ Tell me about the last time you had one of those nightmares, Dion ,” my therapist prompts, her voice echoing in the quiet space.
I hesitate for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “ It was a few nights ago,” I begin, the memories still fresh in my mind. “ It was about my childhood. Again . But this time, it felt different. More vivid, more real.” My heart races as I recall the images.
Her brows furrow slightly as she leans forward. “ And do you think there’s a reason for that?”
I pause, searching for the words, feeling uneasy. “ This is really fucking uncomfortable for me,” I grit out. “ Sorry . Language .”
Dr . Goode nods, a gentle smile on her face.
I don’t even know why I’m here. Fuck . I should just leave. This is stupid.
I had the bright idea to go to therapy. You know, to unravel the tangled mess of memories that keep assaulting me, especially the ones of my parents’ deaths. It seemed like the logical step, the pathway to peace. So , I mustered up the courage, made the appointment, and now I’m here, five sessions later, and I feel like a little bitch.
As if she can read my mind, she interrupts my thoughts. “ It’s okay, Dion . Remember , this space is for you to explore and express yourself without judgment. Take your time.”
I exhale slowly. “ Since I met… her , things have been...different,” I admit. “ It’s like she managed to uncover things within me I’ve been ignoring for so long.”
It’s been a year since I last saw Aria . And as each day crawls by, I’m dragged further into the suffocating grip of my anguish.
Since our last conversation at her engagement party, I’ve been haunted by nightmares of my past, as if the wound of her rejection opened the floodgates. They claw at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to consume me. I believed then that she didn’t mean any of it, that something had made her push me away. I was still going to fight for us. But after months of her ignoring all my messages and calls, I started to think that maybe she really had changed her mind.
My therapist nods thoughtfully. “ She opened you up to vulnerability,” Dr . Goode explains. “ Now that you’re more in touch with those feelings, that’s why your dreams are becoming more intense. You’re allowing yourself to feel what you hadn’t for years.”
The weight of her words settles over me, a realization dawning in the silence of the room. “ It’s overwhelming sometimes,” I confess, my vulnerability laid bare before her.
Her gaze softens. “ It’s understandable,” she acknowledges. “ But confronting these feelings is the first step toward healing. We’ll navigate through it together.” Her words, somehow, are a guiding light in the darkness of my mind.
The gentle hum of the air conditioning fills the silence as I shift in my seat.
“ It’s hard to face the past when I’ve suppressed it for so long. When Ignatius found me in my mother’s room that day, I didn’t realize the magnitude of the situation. That I was an orphan,” I say, the words heavy on my tongue.
“ Do you think you grasp it now?”
I run a hand through my hair then brace my elbows on my knees as I think about my response. “ I don’t know. I guess I never took the time to fully comprehend it. I was too young to ask questions, and Ignatius did his best to build a new life for me. One where I could forget what happened.”
As I sit here, thoughts of Ignatius flood my mind. It’s hard to accept that he’s gone, too. I owe him so much—he offered me a home and opportunities that shaped the very course of my life.
When I was old enough to understand what had truly happened, Ignatius told me who my father had been to him. They were childhood best friends who grew up together in life and in business. When my father died, Ignatius was the first to be notified, and he immediately came to my house to deliver the news.
My mother succumbed to the unbearable weight of heartbreak. She couldn’t bear the pain, not even for her son.
It’s a truth I still struggle to accept.
She sought solace in pills, hoping to dull the ache, to silence the relentless pounding of grief in her chest. But in the end, it was an overdose that claimed her.
“ What are you thinking about?” Dr . Goode asks me.
“ Why are the people who mean the most to us the ones who are taken too soon?”
She leans forward slightly, and her lips press together, holding back a small smile.
“ What’s so funny?” I frown.
“ Nothing at all. I’m just so proud of your progress. The first three sessions, we spent in silence. The fourth one, you told me a bit about your past. And now, you’re opening up. My efforts are paying off.”
I roll my eyes and sit back. “ Don’t get too cocky, Dr . Goode .”
She chuckles and sets her notebook down.
“ Look . It’s hard to put into words, but sometimes there’s no rational explanation for why the people we cherish the most are snatched away from us so soon. Or why they leave.” Her voice is full of sorrow. “ It’s a cruel twist of fate, I know. We search for meaning, for some grand design that might offer comfort, but often, we’re left grappling with the incomprehensible,” she continues, and my gaze drifts down to the floor. “ Life itself is unpredictable, indifferent to our deepest bonds and affections. All we can do is cherish the time we had, hold on to the love they left behind, and find a way to carry on amidst the ache of their absence.”
I nod slowly, a silent acknowledgement of the harsh truth.
Her eyes hold mine with a depth of understanding. “ Dion ,” she continues, her voice tender yet firm. “ Part of this journey is also about accepting your feelings, even those that might be difficult.”
“ What if they are for someone I can’t have but don’t want to forget?”
Her lips curve into a compassionate smile. “ Acceptance doesn’t mean erasing those emotions. It means acknowledging them for what they are—a part of your experience, but not defining your entire reality.”
A knot forms in my stomach as her words sink in.
“ Tell me more about her ,” she adds.
My jaw clenches. Aria has shunned me for a year, cast me aside like a shadow. And it’s left me feeling abandoned—again. And I hate feeling abandoned .
She chose him . She decided to trap herself in a role she never wanted to play yet felt obligated to fulfill. She’s not my problem anymore.
Though I haven’t fully given up on her, I’ve lost momentum. I need to find that spark again, the drive to push forward, because deep down, I know she’s worth it.
But it still doesn't take away the anger and hurt.
“ There’s nothing to talk about,” I snap. “ I liked her, gave her a way out, and she chose him. Plain and simple.”
“ You said liked . Does that mean you don’t anymore?” Dr . Goode asks, her head tilted to the side.
I exhale a breath. “ I could never not like her.”
“ Do you love her?”
I hesitate, the image of her, her laughter, her sass, the sound of her moans, all flashing in my mind. “ I don’t know.”
“ When we develop strong emotions for someone, it often means we’re opening ourselves up on a deeper level. Allowing them the power to hurt us. Those feelings can be uncomfortable or even painful, especially for someone who may have buried or suppressed their emotions over the course of their life.”
My knuckles whiten as I grip the armrest, an attempt to hold myself together. Uncomfortable is a fucking understatement.
“ The moment you start feeling something intense, it’s like stepping into uncharted territory. Like entering a room you’ve kept locked up for years.”
My gaze flickers away momentarily.
“ Now , add to that mix the fact that these feelings are directed toward someone who doesn’t reciprocate them. It’s a tough pill to swallow, isn’t it? You’ve poured your heart out, after years of not doing so, only to realize that the person on the receiving end doesn’t feel the same way. But rejection from someone else doesn’t determine our worth; it doesn’t make us unlovable.”
I let out a nervous laugh and put my hand to my chest. “ I feel attacked, doctor,” I say, raising an eyebrow in mock indignation. A weak attempt at trying to diffuse the discomfort.
My attempt at humor is met with a knowing smile from the doctor, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “ That’s what you’re paying me the big bucks for, Mr . Loukas ,” she winks.
I laugh, and she continues.
“ That’s why it hurts. It’s a reminder of the walls you’ve built around yourself, and it stings, because it confirms everything you’ve believed about emotional avoidance.”
“ How am I supposed to handle these emotions? I’m losing my fucking mind, doctor,” I growl out. I’ve hit a dead end, with no clear path forward.
“ Just remember. While it may hurt now, this pain is not in vain. It’s a part of your emotional journey. This vulnerability can trigger memories, especially ones buried or suppressed—which may explain your vivid memories and dreams. Facing these demons head-on isn’t easy, but it’s essential for growth and healing.”
I nod, acknowledging the challenges ahead, ready to confront them.
Aria . Her name echoes in my mind like a mantra, a prayer, a curse. The fire she ignited within me still burns bright, refusing to be extinguished by the passage of time or the distance between us.
I can’t deny the anger that simmers within me, knowing she chose him over me. But strangely, it doesn’t diminish my desire for her.
If anything, it intensifies it.
Talking to Dr . Goode only served to reaffirm what I already knew deep down.
I’m not ready to let her go. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.