Oh, Fates. Maybe I should’ve stuck to talking about the pretty soul eater instead.
“My relationship with my parents is…complicated.”
“How so?” Darkmore grabbed his tablet and started typing something out before giving me his full attention again.
“They aren’t exactly what you'd call…nurturing.” I swallowed a lump that had formed in my throat.
“Are they ever abusive?” He frowned as if he considered if he was being too straightforward with me.
The joke was on him; I was an open fucking book when I needed to be. If they didn’t want me to talk through my apparentissues, they shouldn’t have sent me to this fucking place.
“There are times when things get physical, sure.” I shrugged. “But that's just how it is. I've learned to adapt and move on.”
“It sounds like your childhoodwasn’t easy.” He schooled his features before typing a few things out. “How did you cope with the abuse?”
“I just…don’t let it get to me. I learned early on not to show weakness, not to let anyone see how it affected me.” I hit my tongue piercing on the back of my teeth. “I focus on survival, on finding ways to protect myself from further pain.”
“You’re speaking in present tense?” he clarified, but there wasn’t any judgment in his eyes like I had expected. It was welcomed.
I nodded.
“Do you feel any anger or resentment toward your parents for their behavior?”
“Anger? Resentment? What's the point? It doesn’t help me any. Besides, I ate up those emotions long ago.”
“Do you believe counseling will help you with life?”
I tapped my piercing on the back of my teeth again. “No. I've never seen the need for it. I'm perfectly capable of handling my own problems. Besides, talking about feelings and emotions isn't really my thing. I’m only here because it’s mandated.”
“Okay.” He typed a longer passage, and my fingers twitched to take it from him and read it. He glanced back up. “Why did your parents send you to the reform academy?”
“Isn’t that in my file or whatever?” I lifted my brow.
“Tell me in your words,” he supplied.
Fates. I hated therapists or counselors. Whatever they were, they were fucking nosy.
“My parents think I’m defective and want me fixed so they can commence their master plans.Obviously.”
His brows shot up. “Plans?”
“Same plans that killed—” Her name got stuck in my throat before anger spread through me like a raging wildfire. “None of your fucking business. What does the file say?”
He sighed, glancing at the tablet. “Your parents wrote that you were sent here due to your fear of pain being inflicted on you and being psychotic.”
“Psychotic?” I cackled, shoving off the sofa and pacing the length of his desk. “Do I look fucking psychotic?”
“I don’t think you’re psychotic,” he stated simply. “I’m more interested in your fear of pain. Can you explain that?”
“Isn’t this session over?” I came to an abrupt halt with my pacing.
“Yes, actually.” He grabbed his mug and downed the rest of the fae wine before meeting my gaze. “You may leave.”
Something inside me screamedas I hesitated to fade into my shadows. “Just…tell me one thing.”
“What do you need to know, Shadowheart?” He set the mug down and stared up at me.
“Are you fucking her?”
