The therapist playbook

BRAKING POINT

The night air was thick with tension as Raphael lay in his bed, his face contorted with distress. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dampening his pillow. He was deep in a dream, shadowy figures, muffled voices, and the overwhelming sense of dread that tightened around him like a vice. The only thing that stood out with stark clarity was the number 53—written in bold red ink, circled repeatedly, as if to emphasise its importance.

Raphael jolted awake, gasping for breath as his heart raced in his chest. He sat up, wiping away the remnants of his tears, the image of the number 53 still etched into his mind. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of his sister Margaret breathing in the next room. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease, but it clung to him, heavy and foreboding.

He checked the time—5:30 AM. The school day was about to begin, and Raphael knew he had to push through whatever was haunting him. He got out of bed, mechanically going through his morning routine. As he brushed his teeth and washed his face, the image of the number 53 wouldn’t leave him. It was just a dream, he told himself, but something about it felt real, too real.

Margaret was already at the breakfast table, munching on toast when Raphael joined her. She looked up, her big eyes curious.

“Morning, Raph. You okay? You look like you didn’t sleep well,” she said, her voice tinged with concern.

Raphael forced a smile, ruffling her hair affectionately. “I’m fine, Mags. Just had a weird dream, that’s all.”

She nodded, but her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she returned to her breakfast. Raphael ate quickly, his mind elsewhere. The dream had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and the thought of school—the final day before they were officially seniors—did little to lift his spirits.

As they boarded the bus, Raphael tried to focus on the excitement of becoming a senior. It was a big deal, a milestone they had all been looking forward to. Margaret chatted happily about her plans for the summer, but Raphael’s responses were automatic, his thoughts still tangled in the remnants of his dream.

The bus ride was uneventful, filled with the usual chatter and laughter of students eager for the term to end. Raphael found himself staring out the window, his mind drifting. The number 53 flashed before his eyes again, and a strange sense of dread settled in his stomach.

At school, the atmosphere was light and celebratory. Students exchanged marked scripts, compared scores, and talked about their plans for the break. Raphael and his friends were no different—laughing, joking, and teasing each other about their results.Curtis was the first to boast, waving his Geography paper in the air. “85, baby! Who’s the map genius now?”

Troy rolled his eyes, smirking. “You got lucky, man. I bet you just guessed half of those answers.”

“Doesn’t matter, still counts!” Curtis shot back, grinning.

David leaned over to Raphael, holding out his Physics script. “What did you get in Physics?”

“72,” Raphael replied, managing a smile as he handed over his paper.

“Not bad, not bad,” David nodded appreciatively.

They continued exchanging scores, the usual banter flowing easily among them. For a moment, Raphael managed to forget the uneasy feeling that had been gnawing at him all morning. It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of his friends, their lighthearted teasing and the shared excitement of finally being seniors.

Then, Raphael reached into his bag and pulled out his Mathematics script. His heart skipped a beat as he unfolded it, and there it was—53, scrawled in bold red ink at the top of the page. His breath caught in his throat, the dream flashing through his mind like a warning he had failed to heed.

His friends noticed the change in his expression and leaned in.

“53? Just what you needed to pass, man!” Troy exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “That’s clutch!”

But Raphael barely heard him. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. It couldn’t just be a coincidence—could it? The number 53 had been in his dream, circled in red, and now here it was, staring back at him from his maths script.

He forced a laugh, trying to shake off the growing sense of unease. “Yeah, lucky me,” he muttered, stuffing the paper back into his bag. His friends didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, too caught up in their own excitement.

Later, Raphael and his friends decided to head out to the field, taking advantage of the sunny weather. They sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces. Raphael tried to relax, but a strange feeling of déjà vu washed over him. He sat up, scanning the area around him—the exact spot he was sitting, the noises of his friends laughing and chatting, even the distant hum of traffic from the road beyond the school fence—it all felt eerily familiar.

The déjà vu was unsettling, making his skin prickle with unease. He looked around, trying to pinpoint what was causing this feeling when something caught his eye. Across the field, near the digital library, he saw Oma walking out. She wasn’t alone—Aaron was with her. His shirt was unbuttoned and untucked, and Oma’s blouse was partially unbuttoned as well.

Raphael’s heart dropped, a surge of anger and betrayal flaring up inside him. The rational part of his mind tried to tell him that it might be nothing, but deep down, he knew. The spot near the digital library—it was infamous among students as a makeout spot. He didn’t need an explanation; the scene in front of him spoke volumes.

His vision blurred with rage, the red haze of his emotions clouding his thoughts. He clenched his fists, the urge to confront them overwhelming, but he forced himself to stay put. This wasn’t the time or place for a confrontation. Instead, he turned back to his friends, plastering a smile on his face as if nothing had happened.

“Everything okay, Raph?” Curtis asked, noticing the tension in his posture.

“Yeah, just thinking about something,” Raphael replied, his voice tight.

They continued their conversation, but Raphael’s mind was elsewhere, seething with anger and hurt. The feeling of betrayal gnawed at him, making it impossible to focus on anything else. He knew he had to confront Oma, but the thought of it made his stomach churn.

The day dragged on, the weight of Raphael’s emotions pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He went through the motions, laughing with his friends, but the image of Oma and Aaron together replayed in his mind, he was constantly and consciously fueling the fire of his anger.

As the school day came to an end, dark clouds gathered in the sky, and the first drops of rain began to fall. Students hurried to pack their bags and head home, but Raphael lingered.

As he made his way to the school gate, he felt a presence beside him. It was Oma, her face lit up with a warm smile as she reached out to take his hand.

“Ready to go?” she asked, her voice cheerful.

Raphael looked at her, his emotions churning inside him. To everyone else, he was the same Raphael—calm, collected, and unbothered. But inside, he was a storm waiting to break.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he replied, his voice steady, hiding the turmoil underneath.

They walked in silence as she grabbed his arm, her subtle breast pressed against them. The rain grew heavier, drenching them as they made their way to the gate. Raphael’s mind raced, replaying the events of the day—the number 53, the déjà vu, and the sight of Oma with Aaron. He couldn’t hold it in any longer; he had to confront her.

As they reached the gate, Raphael stopped, turning to face her. “Oma, we need to talk.”

Oma looked at him, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “What’s wrong, Babe?”

Raphael took a deep breath, the words he had been holding back finally spilling out. “I saw you today. With Aaron.”

Oma’s eyes widened in surprise, but Raphael continued before she could speak. “ You don’t need to explain.”

Tears welled up in Oma’s eyes as she shook her head. “Babe, it’s not what you think—”

But Raphael cut her off, his voice was so warm and welcoming yet hurt. “I trusted you, Oma. I really did. But today... today I saw something I can’t unsee.”

Oma reached out to him, her voice pleading. “Raphael, please, let me explain. It’s not what you think. I would never—”

Raphael stepped back, his heart breaking as he spoke. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. I’m going crazy inside and you used to be what calms the storm, but now... I just don’t know.”

Oma’s tears fell freely now, mixing with the rain as she cried, her voice desperate. “Babe, please don’t do this. I love you, I swear I do. There’s nothing going on between me and Aaron, I promise.”

But Raphael shook his head, his resolve hardening. “I’m sorry, Oma. I just... I can’t.”

He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. For a moment, they stood there, holding onto each other as the rain poured down around them. Raphael could feel her trembling, her tears soaking into his shirt. But his mind was made up, the pain too deep to ignore.

Finally, he pulled away, looking into her tear-streaked face one last time. “Goodbye, Mama.”

With that, Raphael turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the rain, her cries echoing in his ears. She called out his name, but he didn’t look back. His heart ached, but he kept walking, each step feeling like a weight on his chest.

As he reached the gate, his mother’s car pulled up. He climbed in, his face blank, his emotions buried deep inside. His mother greeted him with a warm smile, but Raphael barely registered it. All he could think about was the sound of Oma’s cries as he left her behind.

The ride home was silent, Raphael staring out the window as the rain continued to fall. His mother didn’t press him, sensing that something was wrong but respecting his need for space. Raphael was grateful for that; he wasn’t ready to talk about what had just happened, not even to himself.

As they pulled into the driveway, his mother gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “What happened in school that you're looking gloomy,”

Raphael shaked his head, offering her a small, forced smile. “Nothing just tired.”

He climbed out of the car, heading straight to his room. The house was quiet, Margaret already busy with her homework in the next room. Raphael shut his door behind him, leaning against it as the weight of the day finally caught up with him.

He slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands as he tried to force the tears he had held back all day but they wouldn't break free. The pain was overwhelming, a sharp ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. He had lost something precious today, something he wasn’t sure he would ever get back.