Um…hi. I just thought this up…it's so random. I hope you enjoy.

(P.S. Tsunade is obviously OOC.)

Disclaimer: Unless Masashi Kishimoto decides to give Naruto to me as a Christmas gift…I own nothing but the plot.

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I can't breathe.

I am sitting here, in this haunted waiting room with dirty, peeling, puke-green wallpaper, and I can't breathe.

I am sitting here, in this haunted waiting room with dirty, peeling, puke-green wallpaper, and waiting for the therapist to see me.

And I can't breathe.

Why did Kakashi send me to a therapist anyway? I'm not crazy; I'm totally fine. There's nothing wrong with me.

Except that I can't breathe.

But I don't need a therapist. I just need a paper bag.

I look around the waiting room. There are a few other teenagers here. Now they need help. There's a boy sitting two seats down from me with an iguana on his shoulder, with half of his head shaved bald and the other half dyed pink. His eyes are huge and watery, and he's mumbling something to himself. His nails are bitten down so far they're bleeding.

Then there's another boy across from me. He appears to be normal, but there's obviously something wrong with him.

Normal boys don't wear skirts and nail polish.

And there's a girl sitting right next to me. She's cute. At first glance, she seems okay, like she's only here just for the heck of it.

But when you get close enough, you can see that she's not. She cuts herself. You can see the marks all over her arms. One of the cuts is fresh; it's still bleeding a little.

But I'm not like them. Seriously, I'm not.

So why am I here?

The door to the therapist's office opens, and a man with eyes like a fish walks out. The secretary calls my name—"Sasuke Uchiha?"—and sends me inside. Fish-Man stares at me all the while I'm walking towards the door.

"WILL YOU STOP STARING AT ME, YOU FREAK?!" I yell. "AIN'T YOU GOT A LIFE?!"

Fish-Man runs away and people stare at me. I flash my Sharingan at then and they turn away, fast.

When I get inside, I look around the place. The walls are painted white with no wallpaper, and there's a small, leather couch in the corner. There's a bookshelf packed with books against one of the walls, and there are a few pictures of puppies framed on the wall. I relax, and my ability to breathe returns to me.

The therapist herself—"Hello, I'm Dr. Tsunade. Please have a seat on the couch."—is standing in the middle of the room. She is very attractive, with slanted, brown eyes, long blond hair pulled into two pigtails, and very large boobs. She has straight white teeth, and she's wearing a tight, low-cut blue sweater dress.

I already know that I'm not going to like her.

I sit on the couch. She sits behind her desk. "So, Sasuke, is it?"
Isn't she supposed to know this already? "Yeah."

She looks at her clipboard. "Well, hello Sasuke. How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you, Dr. Tsunade?"

She looks as if she's shocked that I've asked her this. "I'm good, thanks." I nod, and she looks at her clipboard again.

I can't help staring at her boobs. They're so big, they're practically alive.

I wonder if she named them. Betsy and Isabel. Hah.

It's very distracting.

She reads for a minute before she asks, "Can you tell me why you're here, Sasuke?"

"No."

She stares at me for about fifteen seconds. "Why not?"

"Because I don't know why I'm here."

She looks directly into my eyes. "It says here—" She gestures to the clipboard. "—that you are going through depression."

"If you knew that already, why did you ask me?"

She looks up from her clipboard. "There's no need to be cheeky, Sasuke."

"I'm not being cheeky. I'm just being rational."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. You're being smart."

"Why, thank you."

She glares at me. "Will you stop?"

I chuckle. "Tsk, tsk. Arguing with a patient. Is that very professional?"

She sighs. "Let's move on."

"Much obliged."

She looks at her clipboard again. "So you've been depressed, lately. And it also says that you've been very emotional."

"Doesn't that go with the depression thing?"

She shakes her head. "This is something entirely different."

"How so?" I would love an explanation.

She folds her hands in her lap. "Depressed people can sometimes be emotional," she explains. "But the emotion that is most common in depression is sadness. People who suffer with depression usually are sad for no reason, and tend to cry unexpectedly. In most cases, depressors have no self-esteem. In some cases, they can also be labeled as 'emo'." I raise my hand, and she nods. "Yes, Sasuke?"

"That makes no sense."

"Yes, it does."

"But you just said that 'emotional' doesn't go with ''depressed'."

"I don't recall saying that."

I roll my eyes. How can she be so dense? I raise my hand again. "Yes again, Sasuke?"

"I noticed that you also said 'depressors have no self-esteem'."

She nods again.

"But isn't a depressor a medical instrument?"

"You know what I meant."

"But that's not the point."

"What is the point, Sasuke?" She says is like she's mad at the word.

"The point is that I am not emotional."

"Yes, you are."

"And how would you know, Doc?"

She sighs. "Because that's what this says." She holds up the clipboard.

"The paper tells lies." I fold my arms and look at the pictures on the wall.

"How do you know that, Sasuke?"

"Because only I know what's wrong with me."

She sighs again. "So what's wrong with you, Sasuke?"

She seems to enjoy saying my name. "Why would I tell you?"
She seems angry. "Because I'm a therapist, Sasuke. I am here to help you. That's what therapists do. We're here to help you. But I cannot help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. I just want to help you."

"Why are you repeating yourself, Doctor?"

Her eyes are like daggers. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

She sighs. "Can we continue?"

Wench.

"Why would I tell you what's wrong with me? You're the therapist. You're supposed to tell me what's wrong with me."

She huffs. "But if you don't tell me what's wrong, how can I tell you what's wrong?"

What…?

I laugh. "Doc, that doesn't make a bit of sense."

"Yes, it does."

I lay back on the couch. "Besides, if I could tell what's wrong with me, why would Kakashi need to pay you?"
"What do you mean, Sasuke?"

"I mean, I could just tell Kakashi what was wrong with me and save him a heck of a lot of money."

"Well, why don't you just do that then, Sasuke?"

"Because I don't freakin' know what's wrong with me." Duh.

"But you said you did."

"But I lied."

She looks as if she is ready to strangle me. She sighs real loud and puts her head in her hands. I know I'm getting on her nerves, and I try not to laugh.

"Are you getting angry, doctor?"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm not."

"Yes. You are."

"Cut it out, before I strangle you."

"Bring it on, Doc-tah! I freakin' dare ya!"

She slams her clipboard down on her desk and stands up. "Ugh! I can't do this!" She yells.

I wonder if the little white-noise filter outside her door will be able to handle this much tension and yelling.

"Can't do what?" I ask.

She stops pacing and gestures at me. "This! What you're doing! I can't handle this kind of pressure!"

What the--? How am I pressuring her?

She continues to rant. "If I would have known you were going to act this way, I would have never agreed to do this! You are, by far, the worst patient I have ever had!"

"That's actually a compliment on my part."

She looks at her clock. "Time's up. We're done."
I could've sworn this session was supposed to last an hour. "Nuh-uh," I say.

"Oh, yes. We are." She picks up her clipboard and leads me to the door. "I will not be seeing you in the near future," she chirps. "I'm just going to prescribe you some anti-depressant pills. You have a good day, now."

"Believe me, I will," I say. "And you'll tell Kakashi this session was successful?"

"If it gets you out of here any faster."

"Oh, don't worry—I'm thrilled to be finally getting out of here."

I exit her office and walk down the hall. I'm glaring at her all the way.

And she's glaring back, with a Barbie-doll plastic smile plastered across her face. From a distance, one would think she's just very happy with what she does. But I know better. I can see the evil in those eyes. I give her the finger.

She gives it back, an evil grin on her face.

Stupid woman. I hope she loses her job.

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Chaptah two will be here shortly. Thank you for reading!