We ended the introductory counseling session with Hound Dog with me crying. I wasn't hysterical, but I still bowed my head so neither my dad nor Hound Dog would fully see the tears in my eyes.

Even though, logically, it was very obvious that I was crying. Hiding my face only made me feel better.

I realized that day that I remembered more about my rape than I thought.

And, I mean…duh.

But I remember even more than what I thought I did two days ago. I remembered more. I've known more and remembered more before my panic attack, and I didn't realize that until today.

We visited that. We revisited it all. Dad told his side, some of what he saw and how it was handled. He still didn't say anything about the fact that the guy still was out there. That he lied to me.

Maybe he wanted to break it to me softly. Without Hound Dog right there, without me crying my eyeballs out.

It's not like it mattered. I already knew.

I confessed what I'd been feeling, and what my thoughts were about the situation and that I felt guilty and shameful about it.

Ryu told me that was normal. Many of the things I was feeling were common, but could lead to unhealthy behaviors. Which was why we were there.

I didn't tell them how I felt about my quirk. That I hated it and wished I'd never had it. That I wished I'd been born quirkless. They didn't need to know that now.

I didn't want them to know that now. They were worried enough as it was. They'd find out sooner or later. Or I'd get over myself and it would blow over.

Circumstances like mine were above both Hound Dog's and Midnight's pay grade, and we both knew that, so Hound Dog made a sheet of symptoms of trauma and varying disorders that could relate to what I'd been through. He also gave a sheet of different coping mechanisms to try, and a sheet of instructions for Dad on how to handle an episode.

I'm twelve years old dealing with traumatic episodes.

He also gave us a referral to four different therapists that he trusted fully for us to try. He said he'd be giving a call to them by tomorrow, then get back to us.

Dad and I walked into our apartment. I was holding the papers and reading the bios of these therapists–their qualifications and educational history.

They were all pretty equal, except for one, who seemed more qualified in quirk counseling than the others were. It was a 'Dr. Yun.'

A male.

Dad probably wouldn't like that. I didn't care.

"Hey, Dad," I said, "Dr. Yun caught my eye," I said.

He looked over my shoulder as I plopped onto the couch.

"He's a male therapist," he commented. Called it. "I don't know if that's wise."

"You're a male father," I rolled my eyes. "All Might's a male hero, Tsukauchi's a male detective. Hizashi's a male male." I looked at Dad. "Point is, that doesn't matter to me."

Dad's gaze was pointed at the lip I was giving, but he was thinking. "All the people that barged in that day were male too, Sami."

"Do you think that he's going to try and rape me?" I asked.

"No, he has an excellent record, otherwise Inui wouldn't have recommended him."

"Then what do you think isn't wise?"

He sighed and walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Rationally, I'm not sure if it's the best option with the subject matter we are handling. Ever since the incident, you've been jumpy around most men and mistrustful of them."

"I'm mistrustful of anyone I don't know, women included." I looked back at the paper. "In fact, I tend to be more mistrustful of women since Na-Chan."

He grumbled a bit, and I swore I heard a mumble that sounded alarmingly similar to the word, 'true.'

There was a moment of quiet as I scanned the paper again of the four people on the page.

"Why Dr. Yun?" He asked next.

"He…" I chose my words wisely. "It looks like his expertise ranges wider than the others." That was true.

"In what way?"

"Quirk counseling," I said, trying not to cringe. I knew where this was going.

He paused. "Are you having trouble with your quirk?"

"I never said that," I kept my voice steady. I did never say that. "It might be nice to see what he has to say, though, as far as tips and tricks to increase my endurance and control. After all, if I'm going to be a detective, I don't want to have a limited amount of energy to be able to control my quirk or have it wig out suddenly, then I get more than what I bargained for."

"So you're saying you've been having trouble with your quirk."

I didn't say anything.

He sighed. "If you need to see someone else about it, I can make it happen."

"Look, I don't have trouble when I don't use it," I told him. The guilt started seeping in again. "It's when I start practicing with it that the problems happen."

"Who were you practicing with?"

"Remember when I said I read someone's mind with their express consent? Maybe 3 weeks ago?" I leaned my head back on the couch.

"Did something like that happen?" he said, sitting on the loveseat with a bowl of cold noodles across from me.

"Yeah," I said. "Twice."

He clenched his jaw. "How far did you go into their memories?"

"One of them? Five years. The other, I was lucky enough to stop it at two."

He pressed his face into his hand. "My class?" he mumbled.

"Yeah," I whispered.

He nodded. "I'll wait for what Hound Dog says about them each tomorrow, then I'll call and see if he can squeeze us in sometime soon. There might be wisdom in looking into a specialist with mind and memory-related quirks, though."

I love it when I'm right. I just couldn't bring myself to revel in the joy of the moment.

"Okay."

"Are you okay with this?" he asked next.

"Yes?" I answered with a question. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It can be hard to talk to a stranger about your problems sometimes," he said, "especially something like this. This is definitely necessary, but I would like to know if you have any reservations before going in."

I shook my head, letting the car jump up on my legs. "It might be hard, but this is their job. They're qualified individuals trained to help people like me. That's some comfort to me," I said. "And besides, Hound Dog recommends them. They're going to be good at their job."

Dad nodded, slumping into the seat. "I'm glad."

I just sat there, staring at the paper. Staring at the names. Staring.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this on my own. Not any of it. I was…

Broken.

Damaged?

Not that I was worthless. After all, people weren't goods or any form of an object to be sold. I wasn't damaged goods just…damaged.

And twelve.

And helpless.

And revisiting the scene of my rape, where in the back of my mind and the tips of my nerve endings I realized I could still feel the ghost of that ugly, burly man's touch all over my body, and in–

I gasped harshly, not realizing that my hands flew over my chest and clutched at my clothes in an attempt to cover myself. Or that my legs shot up from dangling over the couch to my chest. Or that my father had said my name. Twice.

A strangled sob escaped me as he collapsed on my side on the cushions. More tears squeezed out of my eyes and I started to cry again. Harsher and more bitter than before.

"It hurts," I bawled. "It hurts so much!"

I tried to move, adjust, kick or push away the physical things I was feeling.

"Samiko, focus on me, look at me," my dad kept saying. "Listen to my voice. Look at the coffee table. I'm here, right. Now."

I opened my eyes and looked at the carpet. Did I fall off the couch?

"Feel the floor, Sami." I reached out with my fingers. "Feel that texture? That's here, with you now."

He was grounding me. Trying to get me to focus on things here, now. Aila would talk about this sometimes as a strategy. I didn't get what she was talking about until now.

I didn't know how many breaths and waves of pure disgust as I tried to bring myself back to reality, my dad's smooth, deep voice talking me through it.

And when I finally came out of it, and found myself back in reality, on the floor, in a fetal position, my dad by my head and speaking softly.

I just…cried.

.o0o.