Eps. 10 – Wake Up in His Bed

(Kayshila)

          2:15 am in morning,

          I was somewhere, a vast place like a dance hall. The music that sings slowly, rhythmically can be heard clearly in my ears. I was standing in the middle of the hall. No people at all. Even the hall lights suddenly went out. Dark. I looked at myself. I'm wearing a dress that looks puffy. Complete with lace gloves. I saw Edric at the end of the hall, staring at me without reacting. My chest is tight. My eyes started to darken. I woke up gasping for air. Immediately stood up and ran to the kitchen. Take the water that is in the dispenser.

          I just kept taking deep breaths over and over so that my chest that feels tight doesn't recur. Why? What is wrong with me? Today I experienced it twice. After that, I couldn't sleep again until morning. I opened the balcony door to let the cool morning air into the room. I started waiting for my clothes to grind in the washing machine while sipping the hot tea I had made for the third time. My cell phone ringing startled me from my thoughts. I don't know what I thought of like a daydream—too many.

ishan

          "Citra, can you go downstairs?" Ishan interrupts the conversation before I say hello from his phone.

          "Why do I have to go downstairs?"

          "The parking lot in the whole apartment was full, so I was kicked out by the security."

          I immediately went downstairs and approached Ishan, who was not so far from my apartment tower.

          "Ishan." I greeted him. Ishan was chatting with one of the security guards on duty.

          "Sir, I just parked here for a while. It won't be long."

          "I'm sorry sir. But, I have to see the evidence first that you are not an online driver who hangs out. Because this happens often. Park inside."

          I furrowed my brows at first and burst out laughing.

          "Ishan." say hello again. The security guard had seen me from the start. It seems that Mr Security guard had several shifts at my tower.

          "Sir, this is my friend. Excuse me. He wants to pick me up to the office."

          "Citra! I don't bring my wallet."

          Ishan's voice sounded frustrated. He looked at me with a pitiful face. Then saw the beginning of Mr Security guard with annoyance. It's as if this security guard doesn't know that Ishan is a famous person? He is a businessman as well as a celebrity.

          "Sir, just let my friend park his car in a place a bit far from this tower. Looks like there's still parking space right? My name is Kayshila, sir. Can you check on the fifth floor of the London tower, the door number is number seven." I said, speaking slowly but firmly so that Mr Security guard remembered my words.

          "Kayshila, fifth floor of London tower." Ishan repeated. His words were directed at the security guard.

          "Okay, Ma'am. Sorry, sir." The security guard politely apologized. But Ishan's face still looks annoyed. Lots of sweat on his forehead.

          "Yes, Sir. It is okay. Please remember my face, sir." Ishan looked away and opened his car door. I followed him inside and pointed to the parking lot I was referring to. About five towers away.

In the office,

          "Cit, which file do you want to print?" asked Lashira from behind the door.

          "Oh, I'll send you an email, okay?"

          My fingers agilely opened the file in question and sent the file to Lashira's email. I asked Lashira to help me print an advertising prototype for a product at Ishan's company because I wanted to go home early.

          At four o'clock in the afternoon, I was in one of the small clinics. The clinic I usually to go. The clinic is on the outskirts of the road, and the building looks old, but the interior is exquisite when we enter inside.

          "Miss Kayshila, Doctor Silva is waiting inside." The receptionist who was sitting on stand-by near the entrance told me. I got up from the comfortable sofa in the clinic. Unaccompanied by the receptionist, I entered the room, which was quite spacious. The floor was covered by a thin carpet that looked freshly maroon. The room smells of aromatherapy which soothes the mind. Doctor Silva was waiting on the sofa, not at her desk. She seemed to be flipping through the files and reading them seriously before greeting me.

          "Hey Kaysila! How are you? Long time no see." she asked, looking cheerful. Doctor Silva is in her early 40s. Doesn't look like a typical psychiatrist. I see her as a beautician, to be exact.

          "I doubt, what should I answer?" I smiled, seeing him.

          I like Doctor Silva's speaking style. She always smiled. As if what I've told you at length will find a solution. She has an undeniable and very positive aura.

          "Don't be like that. You haven't been here in almost six months."

          "I was in the hospital again. The last suicide attempt was three months ago, Doc."

          Doctor Silva didn't seem surprised by the news of my suicide. Everything looks normal.

          "Sure? The last time?" She lowered her tone of voice.

          "Hopefully, Doc. I have troubled many and many people."

          "You got the point." She put down the file she was holding. "So how?"

          My eyes looked around, and I took a breath.

          "Maybe it's just my concern. There are some memories that suddenly hit me and it makes me feel like I'm short of breath and want to get rid of those memories quickly. Appears suddenly and gets carried away in a dream." I tell. "The effect I'm nauseous, instantly dizzy, and short of breath."

          "How long and how many times?"

          "Just last night, Doc and this early in the morning I couldn't sleep."

          I continued my story and chatted a lot with her and did not feel for almost three hours I was with her.

          "So during these six months your transition seems to be working even though you still have suicidal thoughts. Your anxiety is excessive because you still have a lot of memories and it causes trauma where your subconscious wants those memories to disappear."

          "Is that so, Doc?"

          Doctor Silva nodded.

          "You're back at work. Mingle with crowds and new people. Chat with someone." advice. "Or find an activity. Have fun."

          "What if it appears again, Doc? Because there are so many memories that fill my memory."

          Doctor Silva stood up to her desk. She took a small piece of paper and was seen writing a recipe for me.

          "This is only drunk when your attack suddenly appears. It's not recommended to drink it under normal circumstances."

          I took the paper she gave me.

          "Thanks, Doc."

          "Come back here maybe in two weeks? How?" She proposed.

          "Yes Doc." I smiled widely. While taking the bag on the sofa, I said goodbye and hugged Doctor Silva tightly. The smell of perfume stuck to her blazer. The blazer is a cream colour. Not a doctor's coat. I told you, she's more of a beauty doctor than a psychiatrist.

          When I left the room and gave the recipe to the receptionist, while I was waiting for the receptionist to come back from the medicine room, I saw my cell phone, which I had previously put on silent mode.

          Twenty-nine missed calls.

          ishan

          Seriously! He must be mad.

18.07

Ishan, where are you?

18.07

CITRA!!!!!! WHERE ARE YOU FROM? WHAT'S WRONG!!

18.07

I'll explain later. Can you pick me up? In Benhil?

18.08

WHY ARE YOU IN BENHIL?

18.08

Ishan? I'll wait.

          Then I clicked share location on it.

          Almost forty-five minutes I waited, Ishan was silent. I could see his face was red. He looked annoyed. First, he drives, and he had a bad day this morning. Second, he waited for me, who had no news. Third, he asked for an explanation.

          "Ishan, you didn't ask why I was at the clinic earlier?"

          "Abortion?" the answer is high. He was so upset.

          "Don't be silly!" I hit his arm. "Are you hungry?"

          Silent.

          "I want to eat soup."

          "Buy mineral water." the answer is original.

          I laughed briefly.

          "Ishan, in Matraman there is a delicious soto stall. We eat there. Or do you want to take it home?"

          "Take away."

          I told Ishan the way to the restaurant. After arriving, I said to him that I should go down to buy soup. While I was waiting for the soup to be made, Ishan came down and sat beside me. At the Soto shop, the conditions are a bit shabby. He sat leisurely in silence, accompanying me.

The next morning,

          I fell asleep very soundly. I don't even know how long I've been sleeping. Maybe because of the sedative that Doctor Silva gave yesterday afternoon? Wait. Yesterday afternoon? I looked at the clock on the wall, and it was eleven o'clock. Oh my, it's eleven o'clock?? Does that mean I didn't come to the office? I looked around me. I'm not in my room. Not in my apartment. The bedroom is so spacious. The colour of the walls is dominated by black. In front of the bed, there is a long chair. At the head of the bed, an abstract painting is placed low, accompanied by two lamps on the side. The lamp is helpful for illuminating the painting and lighting in the bedroom. In contrast, the large windows are only given transparent white curtains.

          What surprised me, even more was my appearance. I got out of bed. The first thing I stepped on was the thick plush carpet which made me comfortable for a while. There is no mirror in this room. But I could see that I was only wearing a shabby, oversized, cream-coloured shirt. Even though the shirt was only long at the sleeves, it didn't even cover my thighs. Even if I lowered my head, all of my lower limbs would be exposed. I heard the bedroom door open slowly. I immediately jumped into bed and grabbed a thick blanket to cover my body.

          I saw Ishan appear. He was wearing a regular t-shirt, wet hair, and carrying a tray. He was a bit surprised to see me awake.

          "Hi, Citra. Did you sleep well?" he asked, approaching me with a beaming face. Meanwhile, I always put on a face that needed an explanation.

          "Why didn't you wake me up?" I stepped back a little so that the sitting tray could be placed perfectly on the bed. The trays contained guava juice, sandwich bread, and each held two people. Ishan sits in front of me. He started to take guava juice and gulped it down to half.

          "You slept very well. You only slept at half past four in the morning."

          "I have to work, Ishan."

          "I've told Dewa, if you come to my office. So you can come into the office later in the afternoon or not at all."

          I brushed my loose hair. Ishan stared at me intently.

          "You don't remember last night?" he asked seriously.

          I swallowed. I was staring at Ishan frantically. He snatched his sandwich in half and headed for the small door leading to the next room, which probably contained his wardrobe.

          "Citra! Don't you remember what you were doing last night?" he asked, shouting a little—repeating the same question.

          I stared at the ceiling of Ishan's room. I just remember my illness relapsed, and I took medicine from Doctor Silva.

***