Flavorless Tea

I'm left in the dark. Literally, I'm left in the dark. The speaker is in the kitchen making a homeopathic tea for me. I'm told it will help ease my mind and "put me in a better place." Naturally I'm suspicious of any product that makes such claims. Still it's not as unusual as leaving me in the dark to contemplate my worst moments. I'm well aware of what they are.I don't think it's necessary to drag them to the surface. If a wound has heeled, don't open it. That can't be any good. Can it? I don't know, he's the expert, or so I'm told. I see his silhouette enter the room. He walks slowly so as not to spill the steaming cup of tea. "You are in luck, I got a good one." He says while carefully sitting beside me. "What's the flavor?" I ask. "It's chamomile." He reaches out and hands me the cup. I take a sip." I don't taste anything." "It grows on you. Have some more." I'm not thrilled to drink a flavorless tea, but it beats therapy time. I notice he doesn't say a single word while I'm drinking. I decide to take advantage of that and sip the tea as slowly as I humanly can. When I'm completely done I set the tea by my side. "It did grow on you!" He exclaims. "Not really, it still has no flavor." "But you finished it." "I was thirsty." " Shall we begin?" At that exact moment I feel faint. My eyelids are heavy, and I can barely prop my head up. "I would, but I'm feeling woozy." I say. "That means the tea did the trick." "You drugged me?" I question. "I wouldn't put it that way." I groggily stand up. "I don't care right now. I'm going to bed. Don't bother me."