Mantra
—It was my fault...—Melisa rarely managed to finish a sentence on the first try.
—Say it—Tom ordered.
—My fault...—she stammered, touching her head; she was experiencing a terrible migraine, as usual.
—Say it—he repeated, this time with more authority.
She began to breathe with difficulty. The fabric of her dress clung to her chest with every inhale.
—My baby...—tears streamed down her cheeks. She started trembling as if possessed and, beneath all that loose clothing she always wore, her enormous breasts swayed.
—Say it for fuck’s sake!—Tom shouted so close to her beautiful face that he ended up spitting on her cheeks.
A couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t have dared to break the trance. But after months of sessions, she was completely submerged in her unconscious.
—It was my fault that my baby died—she answered, frightened.
—How did he die?—Tom interrogated.
Melisa looked like a lost puppy with those glassy eyes.
—I... he... he was in the c-c... car—she stuttered, confused. Her eyes spun. Her breathing quickened.
—How did he die?—he pressed, though he didn’t actually care about her answer.
—I... I... the... car...—she got stuck.
—You abandoned him in your car—he reproached her, following the story he had chosen for her today.
—I... no... me?—she asked, crying. She was no longer sure of anything.
—You left him there and he died from the heat. You killed him—Tom said with absolute certainty.
She began shaking violently. She screamed at the top of her lungs over a fictional story. In the previous session, her baby had drowned in the bathtub after she left him alone for a few minutes to answer a call. Before that, he had died in a fire accidentally caused by her. They had gone through hundreds of scenarios, but all with the same pattern: negligence and a painful death.
In reality, six months ago, the baby had simply stopped breathing while sleeping. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, least of all Melisa’s; she had been an exemplary mother. But when tragedies like that happen, a crack opens in self-perception, in the mantras that sustain identity. And Tom was making sure to widen that crack, to let it devour the rest of her identity.
—Only an idiot could forget her baby—he snapped.
—Only an idiot...—she repeated in a whisper.
—Louder.
—An idiot—she said, this time in a normal tone.
—Louder.
—I’m an idiot!—she screamed, convinced.
Sometimes he feared that one of his other patients might hear Melisa’s constant screams. After all, he was a very popular therapist in the city, and for good reason: since he began his career, he had helped many people. Melisa’s case... was
particular. It was an exception, his only exception. So much so that for her he had installed soundproofing. For her, he would have done anything.
Tom and she were not strangers; they had history. Not that of lovers, as he would have loved to claim. Nor that of friends, as he might at least have settled for. No... it was the history of a stalker and his prey. Though, in Tom’s defense, he never followed her home nor tried to overstep; in fact, they never even formally introduced themselves during university. Tom was too nervous for something like that. Instead, he watched her from a distance during the brief but intense semester they shared classes.
But every Eden has its end, and for Tom his came on January second, twenty years ago, when he learned Melisa would not return to the faculty. She had gotten pregnant, which shouldn’t really have surprised him: she was always surrounded by good-looking men, but more importantly, well-off ones. A certain Raymond, a rich bastard, hadn’t settled for just fucking her. A few days later he learned that she and Raymond had married in a luxurious venue in Europe.
For many years he tried to keep track of her, but her social media was restricted, so he believed he would live frustrated forever. Until, five months ago, she appeared sitting in his waiting room.
At first he thought about helping her; that, despite the fact that she still retained her beauty—her breasts had even grown larger—but that, though majestic, was not relevant to her treatment. It was when Melisa began telling her story that an idea arose, one that undoubtedly caused him enormous conflict. But the moment was so propitious... I mean, hypnosis by itself cannot act against the subject’s will; that is a well-known fact. Therefore, Tom couldn’t simply order Melisa, or any other woman in trance, to undress and start sleeping with him.
That belonged to cheap fantasy and the porn that Tom, in fact, consumed frequently. No, what could be done with hypnosis was something more subtle, but more powerful if done right: one could change a person’s perception of themselves. The human ego is a fragile thing, and if one begins to doubt oneself, our entire identity collapses. Melisa was at a perfect point in that sense: not only had she lost her baby, but her husband had abandoned her—he didn’t seem willing to share Melisa’s grief—and, the cherry on top, the firstborn, the reason he hadn’t seen her for almost eighteen years, Susana, had chosen her father. That destroyed her. That was eating her alive.
—Has an hour ed?—she asked with tearful eyes; she was used to waking up shaken. Tom helped her exorcise her demons, and she had many. After getting up from the enormous armchair, she had the habit of stretching; it wasn’t sensual at all, but for a moment her enormous breasts pressed against her clothes.
—A little more. I hope you don’t mind—Tom said shyly; he always seemed so charming when he acted nervous.
—Of course not—she replied immediately—I like being with you—and suddenly, realizing what she had just said, she blushed.
—We’ve made considerable progress—he said while extending his hand to say goodbye. Melisa’s hand was sweaty; lately it always was when she was near Tom.
—Thank you, Tom—she whispered, barely audible—. I don’t know what I would do without you.
—I heard Dylan got divorced recently—Tracy commented while stirring sugar into her coffee.
—I always liked him—said another woman at the table.
—He was handsome—Victoria added.
—He still is—Sandy corrected, the
undisputed queen of the book club—. And now he’s rich.
The laughter was soft, typical of high-society women.
No one directly said Melisa’s name. It wasn’t necessary.
She was the only single one at the table.
The only one without a husband.
The only one who no longer fully belonged to that small ecosystem of brunches and expensive trips.
Melisa barely paid attention to the conversation; almost all her willpower was focused on not crying, on not breaking in front of the others. Inside her head, one phrase echoed over and over: only an idiot could forget her baby.
—Mel—Sandy said with feigned kindness—weren’t you in the same class as Dylan?
Now they were all looking at her.
And for a second, she felt like she could read their minds. They knew she was an idiot.
—No... yes... Dylan? Dylan Perry?—she asked too quickly.
She adjusted her dress. The fabric, tight across her chest, marked the weight that had been bothering her lately. She felt the urge to hunch over, to make herself smaller.
—Do you consider us friends?—Tom asked.
Melisa was rigid in the armchair, eyes fixed on an invisible point.
—Uh-huh...
—Friends tell each other everything, right?
—Yes.
—And you trust me.
—Yes.
—Besides being your friend, I’m your therapist, so I’m doubly your friend, aren’t I?
She nodded slowly.
—Yes...
Tom leaned a little closer to her.
—And friends are honest with each other. Brutally honest.
—Yes...
—So I’m going to tell you something no one else dares to tell you.
A silence.
—You have enormous tits.
Melisa blinked, confused.
—Huh...?
—Enormous—he repeated, without changing his tone—. It doesn’t matter how much you hide them under that loose clothing. They show. They’ve always shown.
She lowered her gaze automatically, as if suddenly aware of the weight on her chest.
—I...
Tom didn’t give her time.
—And you know it, right? Everyone judges you. Those tits were made to breastfeed and you just wasted them, they disgust people.
Tears began falling uncontrollably.
—Come on, Melisa. Say it.
—S-say what?
—Yes. If you want to get better, you have to accept it. Internalize it.
He leaned closer.
—Everyone knows it was your fault.
She whimpered, a low, broken sound.
—Everyone knows it. That’s why they abandoned you. That’s why you don’t have friends. That’s why Susana chose her father.
Her breathing became irregular.
—I’m the only friend you have. that.
Melisa was openly crying now.
—Everyone judges you—he insisted—. Everyone hates you.
—Everyone...—she mumbled.
—Repeat it.
—Everyone judges me... everyone hates me...
—Again.
—Everyone judges me... everyone hates me...
Tom let the silence weigh for a few seconds.
—And you have enormous tits.
She trembled.
—I have... enormous tits—she said between sobs.
—Clearer.
—I have enormous tits.