Asylum

The Therapist's Daughter

Alex Severo

The Reaper left the clammy apartment just before midnight and hasn't returned yet. It's half past one, now. I'm not really complaining. In her absence, I got about an hour's rest, made a quick snack, and had some time to try and rebuild my self-esteem that the Reaper has mercilessly torn down. I refuse to call her by her first name, Lana, because it humanizes her. Humans do not have powers. They don't have missions to hunt and kill others. They don't smile when they inflict abuse. They don't have vulnerabilities.

The Reaper doesn't have any vulnerabilities. That's a fact.

But Lana does. I saw that in the kitchen tonight.

I classify Reaper and Lana as two different people. Lana was born and somehow the Reaper was created. I've gone through a lot of trauma ever since I was young, and I can speak firsthand about how much it changes you – adopting defensive traits, thinking thoughts you'd never ponder over otherwise, doing things to prevent damage. But I also know that however much your environment changes you, there's always going to be that person you were born as; Square One, I suppose.

To me, the incident in the kitchen reminded me of myself. I battle with voices every single day of my life, telling me what to do and how to do it. They struggle to overpower one another, and though it's incredibly difficult to keep them at bay once they surface, I manage to cast aside my alternate selves by remaining occupied; immersing myself in jobs and activities. It's why I managed multiple jobs at Asylum and why I remain immersed in hunting down those who escaped the facility. Those who betrayed my trust.

Elektra and I had become something like friends. She used my trust in her to her own advantage. When she stepped out of Asylum's gates, she might as well have told me to hold a wrapped present box with a bomb inside, exploding in my hands when I could've easily seen the box for what it was and resolved the issue before it became one.

Kya surprised me the most when she helped them. She used to help me when there was nothing for me to do but listen to the inexorable whispers swimming in my head. Each one has its own voice. Its own name. Its own identity. Because of Kya, I've learned the technique to make sure only the real me shines through. Name them yourself; give them all your own name. Try to make their voices blend together into one tone. Whenever one of them tries to take over, just tell yourself it's an emotion your feeling so you can manage it better. The mind is a powerful tool, Cerberus. Use it right and you'll be fine.

I knew when I was teamed with the Reaper that I'd at least try to keep her safe. I'm aware some of the escapees are on the KOS (Kill on Sight) list, but it's my responsibility to just bring Kya back. Her lessons have kept me sane for at least a year. I owe her for that. As for the others, I've barely carried a conversation with me.

Soon, I find myself bored. The whispers start to nip at my heels again. Never is there a moment that I can let my guard down.

Throw yourself off the balcony.

Ambush the Reaper.

Remember when you were a child? When they drilled those bolts into your back? When they ripped off your fingernails and toenails? When the Therapist gave you an impromptu root canal?

With timed, deep breaths, I make my way to the small television. I try my best to ignore the voices as my trembling hands fiddle with old-style nobs and buttons. The words telling me what switch does what are so faded that I just touch everything. I grow frustrated when nothing works. Mother pays the Therapist with hundred-dollar bills, planting him a kiss on the cheek as she does so. The description of the man has always been fuzzy, as I've tried my best to block him out, and I've never heard his real name. Only the ones he gave me.