Dark Feelings (3)
The third episode in the Pascha Lyle series published exclusively on Substack
Hello Everyone,
I hope that the fiction I’ve been releasing episodically here has been fun thus far. Today’s post is the third instalment of Dark Feelings. Here’s a link to episode one and episode two if you haven’t read the previous chapters yet.
Also, on a non-fiction note, if you have psychology questions you’d like to ask me in the regular newsletter, you’re welcome to email them in.
Love to you,
Dark Feelings (Episode 3)
This is episode 3 in a fiction series I’m writing and publishing here on Substack. Please note, Pascha isn’t me, no characters are based on real people, and this story does not reflect my real life 🤓 It’s set in Melbourne in 1992.
Saturdays, we finish work by lunchtime, since it’s usually just an easy paperwork catch-up morning, sweetened by Alex’s coffee and croissants. This morning was one out of the box though, and I’m on edge. I want to tell Anton about Micael, get his perspective on what just happened.
So, Zelda and I walk home via Anton’s near the buzzing Prahran Market. Sellers are touting their bags of marked down veggies before closing, while shoppers select last-minute gourmet treats. I keep an eye out for him in case he’s there, but I don’t see him.
Crisp, star-shaped leaves swirl and trap themselves in the corners of the terracotta-tiled porch of Anton’s worker’s cottage. I knock, wait, knock again, and listen for the familiar sound of footsteps on the hall floorboards inside, but today there’s nothing.
We stand at his iron front gate on the brick path and peer down the street through the bare trees for a moment, but there’s no sign of him. I guess he doesn’t want to be here alone, with Cass and Lilly away.
In the evening, it’s cocktails and Thai with Fi and my med school mate Avi. Our catch-ups are always a festival of sweet relief, stomach hurting laughter, and hard truth telling.
“Congratulations on your new thing, Avi,” We clink chilly margarita glasses too energetically, spilling a little.
“What’s your new thing?” Fi asks, making a swoon face at the deliciousness of her icy concoction.
“I’m doing some work at Yarra Banks, the alcohol and drugs rehab,” Avi says, “The senior consultant’s semi-retiring.”
She swings around to look at me, “But what I want to talk about is bloody Michael Wallis! What’s going on there Pash, I’ve been dying to hear all the goss?”
“Fi told you already?”
“Of course, but not the details.”
I look at Fi and she shrugs, “I may have mentioned something…”
“OK, cone of silence though,” I say sternly, and they nod, all ears.
“He just came out with these revelations over coffee,” I say, “A bit of small talk, I’ve left my marriage…I’m living at my beach house…I think I’m in love with you…you know, just the usual catch-up with an old mentor.”
We all laugh, gathered round Fi’s coffee table, mouths watering as she opens the Thai takeaway containers.
“What a shock, your ex-supervisor…” Avi shakes her head, then adds, “I saw him not long ago at that trauma conference I went to in Brisbane.”
“Was he presenting? You said there were some good speakers, yeah?”
“No. It was mainly new pharmaceutical research, and we had a chat at drinks. I forgot ‘til now, but he sort of hinted at having some personal troubles.”
“Really?” Fi’s piling our bowls with coconut rice, green curry, noodles, spicy fishcakes and veggie spring rolls with sweet chilli sauce.
“Probably the marriage break up,” I guess.
“Mmm, I think he was a bit drunk, you know, maybe a little disinhibited and he said something about going through a challenging time. Then someone interrupted and the moment was gone. I only remembered when you told me you’d seen him.”
“Yeah, that fits,” I say, “He was very different this morning from how he used to be.”
“How?” Avi asks, her mouth full of noodles.
“Um…vulnerable, bit nervous maybe…”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Fi laughs, “You’re so intimidating.”
“Ha, thanks. Is it that new lipstick making you extra sassy lately Fifi?”
“Do you like it?” she pouts, “I read in TV Week, this is the exact one Dana Scully wears in The X-Files so I had to get it. I love that show…”
“Wow,” I nod, “It is good on you.”
“It’s great,” Avi interjects, “But let’s stick to the topic. What else did he say?”
“Umm, he seemed happy enough, despite his big changes, consulting part-time…living at the beach…”
“Yes, well, who wouldn’t love living at the beach, working part-time?” Avi spoons more noodles into her bowl.
“True. His house sounded gorgeous, an old beach shack…less than a couple of hours from the city…”
“Oh my God,” Fi wipes her mouth, losing some of Scully’s favourite colour to her paper serviette.
“It did sound beautiful,” I sigh, dipping some roti into the curry sauce for consolation.
“So how do you feel now overall, about what happened Pashy?” Fi asks.
I have to take a moment to find words, “Um, confused, I think. Honestly, some part of me feels like it’s an ego boost that he fancies me. And I hate that.”
“Yes.” Avi nods dramatically.
“Why?” Fi asks
“Because it’s really unethical to try to chat me up when he was my supervisor. It’s not an equal relationship, so…”
Avi interrupts, “Stay clear of him Pash. He’s a...a grub to come to you, an ex-student, with his stuff. He has an ongoing duty of care as a senior practitioner.”
Fi has her hand over her mouth trying not to spit out food, her mouth too full to laugh or even speak.
“A Grub, Hahaha!” she coughs, “Love it…a grub!”
“But he’s also just a man who says he loves me,” I say, “And that looks OK on the surface, even a bit enticing, because I used to have a bit of a crush on him. But there’s still something that doesn’t feel right…”
“Look, here’s the thing,” Avi puts her bowl down on the table,
“Michael’s occupied this sacred, elevated position as your supervisor, like a surrogate father to your inner child. That’s what makes it so unethical to say he’s sexually attracted to you. It’s disgusting.”
She takes a drink, “This whole confessing his feelings makes me nauseous…I mean it would, if I wasn’t enjoying this meal so much…”
She’s right. The kiss was especially out of line.
I toss back the rest of my margarita, licking the lime and salt, then my lips. My anxiety has been ramping up during this conversation, breathing fire into my brain like it used to, before all the years of working on it. Ironically, Michael was my guide throughout that work, now he’s become an anxiety trigger himself.
Avi reads me well,
“I can tell by your anxiety going up Pash that you know this isn’t right, but I also get you’re confused. I understand the sexiness of the forbidden. Knowing something’s bad for you but wanting it, despite the deeper, unhealthy consequences for your inner child…”
“Like cake for example…” Fi interrupts, placing some fresh drinks on the table, “Or affogato….crunchie bars… margaritas, even gin and tonics….that is exactly how I feel about all of those…I want them quite passionately, but I don’t want the deeper, unhealthy consequences…”
We laugh and I feel the tension in me subside a little. Fi can always get a smile out of me, even when I’m stressed out.
“Actually, I think both the adult me and my inner child want dessert,” Fi adds,
“In fact, I’m completely at one in myself over dessert, there is no conflict - it’s all YES.”
“Good for you,” I laugh, “I’m fully adopting that perspective…in regard to dessert,” I clarify as Avi shoots me a look.
“Got anything special in your fridge?” Avi asks, raising one cheeky eyebrow at Fi, “Your sticky date, maybe?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?” Fi grins, and she’s up and out to her kitchen in a flash,
“Cream or ice-cream girls?”
“Both,” we laugh together.