Livia knew very well: people mustn’t talk about emotions. First, because we expose ourselves and thus become vulnerable. Second, because no one really cares about our emotional aches. And if, on the contrary, we are bursting with happiness, we should definitely stay quiet. Who would want to hear that? Especially nowadays, when it feels like the world is ending for everyone, and tension is at its peak. There’s always something: a dead puppy, grandparents who passed away without leaving an inheritance, fluctuating interest rates, unmet grant conditions, rejected loans, or a nail technician moving abroad. Who would want to hear that someone else is doing just fine? Sure, it would be refreshing to know that someone is at least doing a little worse, but even that isn’t worth much of our time. So, it’s generally impolite to bore others with personal issues or anxieties. Besides, Livia had also learned that the root of the problem is always within her. One way or another, she’s always at fault for whatever situation she’s in. After all: why did she go there? Why did she seek trouble? Why didn’t she solve it on her own? Why did she choose that career? Why dye her hair brown? Why move to that city? Only a fool buys that kind of phone anymore. Blue-eyed men are all jerks, even a preschooler knows that. See? So, there’s no point in getting into deep emotional talks.
Her soul had been aching for three weeks. She had been deceived, and it cost her a lot of money. At least, that’s how it seemed. But was she really deceived? Maybe she wasn’t informed enough? What if the man had blue eyes, and she just didn’t notice? She thought about going to the edge of the city and screaming. Not just screaming, but shrieking. A horrible, ear-piercing shriek until she lost her voice. But where do you even start in such a big city? Maybe she should take a train somewhere, go to the countryside, and scream it all out before it tore her apart.
She hadn’t spoken to Charlie in a long time. Four years. Before that, it had been ten years. Even Livia was surprised at herself when she messaged him asking to meet. Charlie had just an hour between two clients. Livia ordered a latte out of habit, Charlie wanted pizza, but the kitchen wasn’t open yet.
When asked what was new, Livia casually mentioned running into con artists. The words just slipped out, even though she hadn’t intended to burden Charlie with such things, especially since they only had sixty minutes. The man just laughed, saying that all those people are scumbags. Cheerfully, he waved it off, telling Livia to forget about such jerks.
“Of course, I know it’s frustrating because we tend to blame ourselves in such situations…”
Livia felt dizzy. What? Could it be that she hadn’t messed it up after all? Right from the start, like, say, around her birth?
Then, as if by magic, the words started spilling out of her mouth. From the deepest part of her soul. Her secrets, her desires, her most guarded thoughts came to life, all wanting to meet Charlie. And Charlie was sometimes happy, sometimes surprised, sometimes in agreement, and sometimes going through similar things.
Freed from the enormous burden, her soul floated happily, and Livia didn’t even try to resist, surrendering herself to this new, unfamiliar feeling. She shared her most cherished thoughts with him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Charlie was perfectly ready to receive and enthusiastically discuss them.
Charlie’s words of agreement flooded Livia’s mind like a drug, releasing her from her childhood anxieties. Three weeks of pain disappeared in minutes, and her childhood belief system crumbled within sixty minutes. Charlie simply directed the spotlight to the right place.