The healer was a mess of scattered emotions and thoughts. Sarreaha really did not know what to think or feel lately. She wanted so badly to blame someone for her condition, but she wasn’t really sure it wasn’t something of her own doing. She had been pushing at her emotions since her Hogwarts days when things had ended so suddenly between Devon and herself. For a while, she thought she had been coping. She had her moments of weakness, when she delved into those self-pitying, deprecating thoughts. They usually ended with a large bottle of wine with ice cream and chocolate. However, she could usually pull herself out of the hole to at least pretend to be normal again. She had gotten good at just pushing those confusing feels aside, to just drown them in the back of her mind with something else.

Schooling and her mother’s family in France had been good at placing her mind at ease for a little bit, and then she came to England. Those niggling thoughts just became even more persistent at wanting to be dealt with. Then work became a good distraction, as well as the friends she made at the hospital. The doubt and worry was always at the back of her mind, always there but she could continue past it. She was getting good at it—or so she thought. Her world shattered again one night a few weeks ago. The girls at work at talked the healer into attending a night at the bar. Drunk, Sarreaha had attempted to return to the place she was currently calling home only to run the physical embodiment of her turmoil. It had only been a matter of time, but part of her had been hoping they would not have run across one another.

And now, now that she was once more alone and away from him, Sarreaha didn’t know what to think. Granted, she hadn’t known what to think when she was in his presence either. However, he affected her in completely different ways when she was with him. It was easier to try and think when he wasn’t there, torturing her with lingering feelings from the past and current feelings still warring inside of her. And yet, Sarreaha still had no notion of what was going on between them. What had that meeting accomplished? Nothing? Something? Or just more confusing questions. The healer frankly did not know.

When she didn’t know, well, what more could she do than just to ghost through life? Keep moving, keep pretending that she was a rational and complete human being? One needed to fit in with the natives after all.

So, that’s what she was trying to do. Fit in. Pretend that that meeting, that that man, had not just shattered her world all over again. That he did not contain that much power over her when he did. She flipped through the pages of the book she held, her eyes staring at the words but having not retained a single one. She know longer even knew what book she held, staring at it without actually seeing it. The woman just wanted to bury her head in her arms over the table she sat at, or perhaps just knock her head against it? Surely that could knock some rational into her?