a/n: happy Saturday, friends. Happy to be posting another chapter I like a lot :) These next few chapters focus a lot on Emiko's mental health and the state of those around her, because I feel like MHA kind of does an awful job of caring for the mental well being of their characters BUT HEY WHO AM I TO JUDGE. I hope you all enjoy, and I'll see y'all next weekend, ready to ramble some more. You all rock.
-PS, check out my insta for more rambles if you like to hear me complain nrdgrl_ heheheh
Nezu and Aizawa had both decided to force her into therapy. Something that she'd attempted to argue against for what felt like weeks, to no avail. She'd all but flat out refused, though she knew Azaiwa and her principal well enough to know when they set their minds to something, nothing would stop them from following through. They'd sat her down one day after class and all but told her she'd be going to therapy. They claimed it was optional, but judging by the look on their faces she knew it wasn't.
This was how she found herself surrounded by glass walls that looked out over the skyline as the sun began to set. She was sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, her legs folded neatly underneath herself and a blanket pooled across her lap.
So far, she hadn't been able to bring herself to look at her therapist, and it wasn't just because of his rather unique appearance. The man sitting across from her had long legs clad in navy dress pants, and a broad chest that was swathed in a cream sweater. The strangest part, though, was the man's face.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, taking him in for a few moments before he started speaking. Despite his relatively normal body, the man's face was distinctly that of a shark… Which, admittedly, wasn't the strangest thing she'd ever seen. Of course, there was the Pro Hero, Gang Orca to contend with. Not to mention the strange creatures that had come bursting from the walls after All Might had tried to rescue her that night.
She'd been coming 3 times a week for the past two weeks. So far, they'd not covered anything of importance. She'd merely sat in her overstuffed chair and picked at the stitches in her hand, as he stared out into the setting sun.
Tonight though, something felt different. Mako sat across from her, his fingers drumming across his knees. His fingers were well manicured and perfectly maintained, Emiko noticed. It was clear he took great pride in how he looked and how he presented himself to his clients.
"So. Emiko, I think it's time we talk."
He said it so matter-of-factly that it took her a minute to process what he'd said. He was all but telling her to bare her soul to him, to lay her innermost thoughts and feelings out on the table as if he wasn't a complete and utter stranger to her.
"You do?" She responded, finally swinging her gaze up to him. Everything felt a little lopsided now that her eye patch had been removed, and she was still getting used to only having one good eye to see.
"I do." He unfolded his knees, before setting down the pad of paper that normally sat in his lap. "I won't even write anything down. It's been many sessions, and you've yet to speak to me once."
"Have you ever considered there's a reason for that?" She spat, tearing her gaze away from him again and focusing it on the torn edges of her cuticles instead. Her fingers fidgeted with the torn skin, pulled it back slightly. It burned, but it gave her something else to focus on.
"I have." He answered, unphased by the venom in her voice. "Would you like to know why I think that is?"
She didn't answer, unsure if she wanted to know what this man really thought of her… coping mechanisms.
"Silence is often an indication of an ongoing internal monologue. Did you know that?" He posed the question, but didn't wait for an answer. "Especially in cases such as yours. People who have undergone serious, life altering trauma tend to have a very hard time being vocal about what happened to them."
She tried not to perk her ears as that, as he spoke about others who may have been in her position previously.
"I think you're afraid of speaking, because you don't want to be viewed as less than perfect. Even by me, your therapist. You have immense pride in yourself, Emiko. That's a good thing, but…" He trailed off, pausing only a moment before continuing, "It can also be incredibly hindering in the healing process."
She didn't answer for a while, letting his words sink in.
"I can't feel anything." She spoke, startling even herself. She'd told herself she'd never let someone analyze her in the process of healing. She'd promised herself to keep it in, because… well, because she wasn't willing to talk about it.
"Hm?" Mako queried back, careful not to interrupt her now that he'd finally begun making progress with the young girl in front of him.
"It's like every time I think about it, I just go numb. My brain shuts off and my heart starts hammering in my chest, but I don't actually feel anything. I used to feel everything from everyone, and now it's quiet."
Slowly, Mako picked up his pad of paper again, and Emiko didn't call him on it.
"For so long, my entire world was surrounded by feelings. My own, and everyone else's… and now? That's all gone. I can't even feel angry - and that makes me angry."
She was beginning to tremble, her fingers more quickly tearing at the skin of her fingers.
"I can't… I can't feel anything. I think some part of my quirk died when… when I heard what I did."
"Hm."
Mako wasn't answering her, instead scribbling on the pad of paper in front of her. It should have bothered her, seeing as he'd told her he wouldn't keep notes, but she couldn't find the energy to care.
"Can quirks even die? Or disappear?" Emiko rambled, still staring down at the ground. "I don't know if they can, but I think mine has."
"In a medical sense, Emiko, quirks can't die." Mako answered, and the scratching on his pad stopped. "Though, there have been studies that show individuals who have experienced major trauma lose control of their quirks for a period of time after."
Again, her ears perked up. It was comforting for her, knowing others had been in her position. Of course, she knew that others before her had experienced trauma. Her aunt had told her stories of what she'd seen, and Emiko grew up watching the news. She was no stranger to the chaos the world provided and to the fact that nobody came out unscarred.
"Sometimes your body has to defend itself in whatever way it knows how. Even if it makes no sense to us, our body is always working to protect us." Mako explained, "In your case, I think your quirk would have made it difficult for you to heal while feeling everyone else's emotions around you."
Mako watched her carefully, as if waiting for her to explode at a moment's notice. She hadn't always been the most patient person she knew, but still… she felt some relief that she wasn't alone.
"I can understand how it must feel, though, not having your quirk." Mako continued, smoothing the palms of his hands over his trousers. "For many people your age, having a quirk is like having a safety blanket."
"I-" she made to argue, but Mako only held up a finger.
"There is nothing inherently wrong with using your quirk to protect yourself, Emiko." He cut her off, "But there is a problem when you rely on it to feel complete and whole."
She wanted to roll her eyes, but she knew he was right. She knew that so many heroes only viewed themselves as worthy because of the strength of their quirk. She'd seen it first hand, with the way Bakugo carried himself because of his quirk. Realistically, she couldn't blame those with a powerful quirk for carrying themselves in a certain way. Hero Society told those who were more powerful that they deserved more respect, more authority and more freedom.
"The terrible thing about hero society, Emiko, is that they expect the same thing from everyone. Do you know what that is?"
She shook her head no, because despite how much she claimed to know, Emiko had never been a pro hero. She'd only been fully immersed in the hero culture they were speaking of for a few months, and honestly? It made no sense to her.
"They expect perfection. They expect greatness. And, overall, they expect conformity."
Mako was looking at her as if he were giving her an examination. He looked at her as if he could see her entire past, present and future. As though she were not a human being, but a list of traits written out on a piece of paper.
"But you, Emiko?" He continued, watching as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't think you are meant for conformity. Excellence? Sure. Perfection?" He teased slightly, "Unlikely. You're far too outspoken to ever meet the world's expectations of what a hero should be."
In her mind, Emiko saw All Might. His broad smile and the way he carried himself flashed in her mind, and she couldn't help but compare herself to him. Didn't every person in the world want to be All Might? Especially those who were among the hero student elite?
"You will never be All Might," Mako spoke then, and though the words were hard to hear, she knew they were not being said with malice or ill intent. "But that's okay. For far too long young people have looked up to men in power, have idolized those who are just as broken as they themselves are."
"What do you mean?" Emiko asked, scrunching her eyebrows slightly. "I don't understand what that means."
"Do you think that after all of his time as 'Number One Hero'," he spoke, forming air quotes around the nickname reserved for Japan's best and brightest, "that All Might has not suffered the same way you are now?"
She pondered the question, turning it over in her mind. She knew All Might had been through some terrible fights. She'd watched them on repeat just as most other young children had.
"Endeavour as well. These top heroes - the men, the women, all of them, have been in the same position you are in right now. The only difference is, Emiko, that you are here. You are doing something about your trauma, so that you can grow and learn and move past it."
Dropping her gaze, Emiko felt tears flood her eyes.
"You are doing hard work, Emiko. I know it's scary. I know it's hard to confront the terrible things that have been done to you, but-" he paused, waiting for her to look at him again. "You will be a hero greater than any the world has ever seen because of it."
She tried to smile, but she couldn't see past the tears that were flowing freely down her cheeks. For years it had felt like she had to hide her emotions, only letting them out in extreme circumstances. Her joy and sadness and longing were held back from the world, because she felt she needed to help others through their feelings before she could handle her own. For as long as she could remember, her own emotions and feelings and desires had been pushed to the back burner, left alone until those around her were happy and content and safe.
"You are allowed to feel, Emiko." Mako spoke, reaching forward. He rested his hand on her knee, warmth permeating her jeans from his touch. "You are allowed to be sad and scared and feel alone."
She shook her head, trying to fight off the words he was saying. Life was so much easier before. When she didn't have to feel pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, wincing as pain bloomed behind her scarred eye.
"But you are not alone. You have never been alone - not for one moment."
She turned her gaze towards him, eyes icy at those words.
"Pardon?" She spoke, swiping a hand under her eyes.
"You have never been alone, Emiko."
"I've never been alone?" She spat, "Really?"
It was almost funny how quickly her mood changed. How quickly those 5 words changed everything she'd been building towards.
"So, I wasn't alone when I was strapped to a chair in a concrete seller?"
Mako looked shocked at the words she hissed from between clenched teeth, leaning back as she glared at him.
"I wasn't alone in that room, Mako?" She all but snarled, anger festering with each silence filled second. "I wasn't alone when my mother tortured me? When she made me relive some of the worst memories of my life?"
"I didn't mean it literally,-" he tried to answer, but Emiko responded with a single finger in turn.
"I was alone, Mako. When she manipulated my memories and destroyed anything good that may have come from my fucked up childhood, I was alone. Nobody was there to protect me from that."
His eyes widened slightly, and he moved to wet his mouth from the black metal bottle sitting beside him.
"I was alone when she held a shard of glass to my throat, when she gouged my fucking eye out, Mako. I was alone for all of that. I survived on my own. I went through it. On. My. Own."
She was trembling now, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She'd avoided talking for exactly this reason. Because she knew that nobody could understand exactly what she'd lost that day. What her mother had stolen from her. Nobody in the world could possibly understand the pain she was feeling each time she saw her fathers face flash through her mind.
"I was alone, Mako. I will continue to suffer it on my own, because there isn't a single person I know who can understand what I went through. I'm trying to be okay with that-" she paused, taking a heaving breath. "I really am. I know that I cannot expect other people to fix the pieces of me that are broken, and I know I can't use my friends as a bandaid to fix the scrapes and cuts on my soul."
"Emiko," Mako interrupted. "I'm sorry if I upset you, but-"
"You didn't upset me, Mako. You just showed me that once again, nobody will ever understand."
Emiko stood, sparing one last glance at Mako before slipping out the door. She moved through the halls like a ghost, her steps making barely any noise as she walked. The walls and floors were dark, the lighting overhead warm and comforting. She was sure the lobby and halls of this floor were designed to make patients feel safe, warm, and cozy. Emiko only felt unnerved. She'd gone from staring out over the entire city to being surrounded by dark walls, no windows in sight. As much as she tried to forget, the halls reminded her of the building she'd been held in.
She moved quickly, jamming a shaking finger into the button for the elevator. She stepped in, pushing her back against the mirrored wall as it sped down to the ground floor.
Outside, a black car service was waiting to pick her up. Aizawa and Nezu had promised her that one of them would be there to meet her after each session, and Emiko wished for once that either man was worse at keeping their word.
She wanted to bury her head in the sand and cry. To scream into nothingness and hear nothingness scream back. She needed to be alone, to work through everything on her own as she had a million times before.
She sighed as she stepped out of the building and moved towards the black car that idled, waiting for her. She hoped, at least, it would be Aizawa waiting for her. He was quite good at ignoring her when necessary, and she could really use being ignored right now.
She opened the door and slid into the vehicle, careful to ignore the curious gaze of the dark haired man sitting on the opposite side of the vehicle. He was looking too closely at her - scanning his ever vigilant gaze over her tear stained cheeks and trembling hands.
"Are you okay, Emiko?" he asked, and the softness in her voice and the way he looked at her unlocked something in her. As Aizawa stared in confusion, the dam broke and Emiko crumbled with it.
