I have been through a lot of unfortunate events in my life. Ever since I was little, I found myself surrounded with situations that cause trauma. Recently things have gotten worse, so my friend suggested that I see a therapist. I don’t even know why I’m friends with this person, he’s… how do you say it? He isn’t a good person. He’s doing bad things that affect people, but he’s nice to me.
It’s been a month since I started going to see this therapist. She’s a nice lady and around my mother’s age. Speaking of my mom, she doesn’t talk to me either. But that’s for another time. Now I’m on my way to see the therapist. I’m slowly feeling better. She’s been helping me see things differently and some things are clearer. We’re getting closer to my goal everyday. Oh damn it! I just remembered that I should do something quickly before going to her office.
I finished my task like fifteen minutes ago. Oh wow, what’s that? Why are fire trucks and ambulances coming here? Something bad is happening and I wish I could stay to see the misery on their faces. But hey, I gotta keep on walking.
I walk into her office and say, “Hello!”
“Hello to you,” she says to me while pointing to the sofa.
I sit down and smell my hands. Making sure that the scent is gone. She notices what I am doing and asks, “Is everything okay with your hands?”
I look at her and fake a smile, “Yes, all is good.”
She opens her notebook and crosses her legs. She reads something before saying, “So today is our last session.”
I nod and tell her, “Yes, sadly it is.”
“So what did you do today?”
“Oh well, you know. Same old. I woke up, had a shower, breakfast, and went to work. And right after work, I walked here,” I tell her, and suddenly remember, “I also set that old building on fire.”
“And why did you do that?” she slowly asks.
“The weather is cold, so I thought people might need some heat. You know that building was old. Nobody lives there.”
She grabs her laptop and shows me a picture, “Is this the building?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I say excitedly.
She takes a deep breath and says, “This isn’t an old building. It was built last year and people live there.”
“So? They don’t feel cold now.”
The therapist turns the page of her notebook and says, “I’ll read from this list. It consists of the things that you’ve been telling me.”
I nod approvingly and she goes, “When you were a kid you pushed one of your classmates so bad that he ended up having a broken arm.”
When she says it, I remember how he deserved it. And honestly it traumatized me that I saw a broken bone. I had nightmares for around a week.
She scans the page and says, “One night, when your sister was sleeping, you cut her hair.”
“She looked ugly with long hair. I only did her a favor.”
“How about when you got your mom fired from her job? You set her office on fire.”
I remember that her bosses were assholes. Once they didn’t let her get a day off, and I had to do something.
The therapist keeps on reading from the list, and it feels horrible to relive these bad things. And the last thing she says is, “And today you burned down a building.”
I look at her without saying anything. Then she asks, “Did you enjoy doing all these things?”
No one has ever asked me this before. I take some time before I answer her. And while I go through the things I did, I feel a weird thing on the inside. As if my heart is really happy. In an instant, something inside my mind snaps to attention and the truth is unveiled before my eyes. There is no denying it – I am the villain. I have always been the villain.
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