VICIOUS

Therapy. (100.)

''Taylor Humentro.. It's been a while.'' 

I stare at the woman who's standing in the middle of the doorframe, a leather bag in her right hand. Her updo hair looks a bit grey, but she still looks the same as she did several years ago. She walks into the small room, closing the door behind her. 

''Five years,'' I say, while she sits down in the chair in front of me, on the opposite side of the table. 

''Four, actually,'' She corrects me. ''You were 17 when I saw you for the last time.'' 

She places her leather bag on the table between us and takes out a clipboard with white, spotless papers attached to it. A blue pen also appears out of the bag before she places it on the floor. Her gaze turns back to me and she studies my face for a few seconds. 

''Do you still remember me?'' She asks me. She clicks the pen, ready to write something down. 

''How could I forget you?'' I respond. 

Priscilla Sandoval. 58 years old and my old therapist from when I was in high school. Always threatening that she'd call foster care if I didn't talk to her. She knows more about me than any other human being on this planet. 

''So.. How are you doing?'' Priscilla asks me. ''On the news, I saw that a lot of shit had happened to Vicious. I'm sure that it affected you somehow.'' 

'Shit'. A word Priscilla never uses. She never swears and also disapproves of it. It surprises me that she just says it like that. But I don't dare to ask questions about it. 

She crosses her legs, like she always does and looks at me with a stern expression. 

''Do you really think that after four years, I'm going to talk?'' I raise an eyebrow as I look at her, keeping my guard up. 

''You talked when I threatened you with other types of help,'' She states and I sigh. 

''I talk to get what I want,'' I respond. ''I don't talk, so others can get what they want.'' 

Priscilla puts on a pair of glasses and looks at me. ''You still talked to me when you were a teenager. You seemed to like that at some point.'' 

I stay silent and Priscilla opens her mouth to say something else. 

''I can remember the times you talked about that boy, what was his na-'' 

''I'm doing terribly,'' I quickly cut her off before she has the chance to continue. Then I shrug. ''Nothing new about that.'' 

I don't want her to talk about Ben. Not about the times I told her about him. That shit's embarrassing as fuck, something that has to stay private. 

She bows her head down and writes something down. Then she looks back up at me, looking me up and down. 

''Did you know that your boyfriend called me? He sounded worried about you,'' She chuckles for a second and a playful smile appears on her face. 

''He's not my boyfriend,'' I quickly say. ''And how did he-'' 

''I am, though,'' Brandon's voice can suddenly be heard from a speaker in the corner of my room. 

''No, he's not,'' I quickly say. It becomes silent in the room. ''Just a hook up.'' I mumble the last few words, embarrassed. Priscilla doesn't have to know about the things I do with people. 

''He found my number in your notebook,'' She explains. ''Looks like you're still using it.'' 

I shake my head and groan. ''It's old. Should've thrown it away when I had the chance,'' I sigh. 

It stays silent for a moment. I don't know what to say. I don't even know why I came here. 

''Do you want to talk about what has happened the past few months?'' She cocks her head to the side, looking into my eyes. 

''And think about the past? I'd rather chew off my own foot,'' I reply and I look at the table, avoiding eye contact. 

''That's a clear answer,'' She nods. ''Let's take a look at the future then. Do you have a plan?'' 

I look up and shrug. ''I had one,'' I say. ''I completed it.'' 

She nods and writes it down. 

''They're all dead now,'' I mumble. ''No idea what my next steps are.'' 

It's as if I already know the questions she's going to ask me. Well, I have known her for several years, so you could've kind of expected that, but it still surprises me. 

''I saw you on the news,'' Priscilla suddenly says. ''They were talking about you making a comeback and how everyone should look out for you.'' 

I nod and stare at the table. All of the things she's saying is going in one ear and out the other. I couldn't care less. It stays silent and the only thing I hear are my own thoughts. 

''You've changed.'' 

That statement makes me look up. I frown and she nods. 

''That's new,'' I mumble. 

''Not as in: changing into one of the most dangerous criminals,'' She quickly explains. ''But as in: changing your mentality about your work.'' 

My eyebrows stay furrowed. ''I haven't changed and I never will.'' 

She sighs and crosses her arms. ''I'm sorry, what used to be your catchphrase?'' She gives me another stern look. ''Oh yeah, I remember.'' 

''Never let there be witnesses,'' We say simultaneously. 

''I haven't used that phrase in years, don't bring it back,'' I quietly say. 

''And yet you still lived by it,'' Priscilla says in a soft tone. ''I also remember that you used to leave your initials after a murder. You haven't done that in years either.'' 

I shrug again. It doesn't feel like I changed, if I'm honest. I'm still the same terrible person I was a few years ago. 

''Tell me about your plan,'' She proposes after another minute of silence. ''How did you do it? How were you able to murder those people, the creators of Oblivion.'' 

''Excuse me?'' With a surprised face, I look at the woman in front of me. 

''You heard me.'' 

I lean back in my chair. ''Kicked one off a building,'' I say. With my hands, I rub against the top of the wooden table. I'm getting nervous and that's never a good sign. ''Burned one alive. Shot one at a school.'' 

She slowly nods and writes something down. I can't stand the fact that I'm not able to see what she's writing down. I can see that she thinks for a moment, doubting whether she should ask this question or not. 

''And how does it feel to have traumatised so many people?'' She swallows and looks me in the eye. ''Especially children.'' 

I stare at her with a blank face. It's obvious that she's nervous, maybe even scared, to ask these type of questions, but she still does it. 

''I don't-'' I begin but she interrupts me. 

''There was a serial killer in their school, who shot one of their classmates,'' She says. ''That's-'' 

Now it's my turn to cut her off. 

''Don't call me a fucking serial killer,'' I shout and I slam my hands on the table. My breathing is becoming heavier and I swallow. She's testing me and I want her to stop. 

''Why not?'' She asks. 

''Because I'm not like that,'' I spit out in anger. 

She slowly shakes her head and her eyes trail off to the pieces of paper. ''You go on a hunt to kill innocent people. Looks like a serial killer to me.''