The air is wet. I try to touch it. My stomach growls and I cannot stop it. I cannot remember when I last ate something. The thought of food sickens me. It feels like I will give into the addiction that brought me here, that made me question everything. The questions cloud my mind even more. I feel like I am lost in the mist.

The wet air touches me. My skin burns but it is also cold. I do not know what I am feeling anymore.

The phone call plays off in my ear, it does not want to stop. It is a reminder of my own addictions.

Your sister passed away. OD.

I do not have tears left. The cold wet air is the closest thing to tears I have left.

And then I see him. He sits on an old ruin, a wall of some kind. Moss covers the old bricks. He is reading a book, I do not think he has seen me. I walk quietly, trying to not slip on the wet leaves. My mind feels less hazy, too suddenly. I push away the feelings, I cannot like him this fast.

"Hi there," K says without looking up from the book.

I do not know what to answer, the words do not want to form. Another growl from my stomach.

"Have you been thinking since our last discussion," K asks.

I walk towards him to see his face, to somehow grab onto something more secure. I lay myself bare in front of what feels like the last tether that keeps me from floating into the abyss. "My sister, she OD'd."

He puts the book down. He does not say anything nor does he look compassionate. I search for something on his face, something I can grab onto.

"Death is merely the beginning of something new. Suffering breathes new life into our consciousness, our being. This pain will move on. Come with me."

I look at him as he walks deeper into the woods. He left his book behind. I grab it, but as soon as I look up, he is gone. The pages of the book are old. Instinctively I smell them. As if the meaning of his words might reside in the smell. Thunder rumbles above my head, or was it my stomach? I feel the yearning burn, to get away, to fill my stomach with everything that the addiction wants.

Then the thunder again. I feel the first drops of rain fall onto my head. The book burns my chest, I try to pull it into myself to cover it from the rain. I trace K's steps deeper into the woods.

***

It's the next morning. Somehow I managed to make it home without destroying K's book. I am early. Painting saved me. Or it is a new addiction. I merely substituted one addiction for the other. But I met K, and that should count for something. After our discussions, I feel more alive, as if the world made sense, but then as soon as he goes away, I sink back into the feelings of guilt, of being followed by my previous life. Food has become the enemy. I do not tell K this, but I am sure he can see it. I never touch the food he orders. He never acknowledges it, but I can see it in his eyes.

I place his book on the bench where he normally stands. My eye catches something. Beneath the table I see some of his art pieces sticking out. I pull on the papers and place them next to the book.

My mind begins anew to fall into the abyss. No tether or rope is holding me back. The phone call of my sister's death still stings, my own addictions seem to envelop me. The drawings seem to pull me in, I do not know why. The abstract figures on the page do not make sense, but in them, I find a strange calmness. Yet, the calmness shakes me, it does not leave me. It does not calm me. Beneath the abstract paintings, I find another one. One of me. I look at myself whilst I am painting. K has been looking at me.

I throw the artworks back on the table. I do not understand, how could he? Does he see me like that? Is that what he thinks of me? I do not understand. I grab my bag and walk out. I see my own reflection on the glass door. The wound on my face is ten years old, but it still feels fresh.

The end.

I hope you liked this story. I kind of like how it developed. I wanted to make it a lot longer, but I think it is good like it is. Please do give any feedback or critique! The story is my own and the photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300. Happy writing, stay well.