"I not want to do this," Zim whispered.
"It's alright," Gaz replied. "I promise, therapy is helpful. It's not anything to whine or worry about."
Zim frowned and looked away as he slumped against the couch.
"I not… I… It is new. New and…" he sighed. "Weak."
"No, it's not. Hey, do you think I'm weak?" She smirked at him and raised an eyebrow, daring him to question her.
"No!" His jaw dropped, and he shook his head. "No. You is-are not weak."
"Well, thank you for the compliment… And from one non-weakling to another, neither are you."
He smiled softly at her, and just when it looked like he was going to say something-
"Are you ready, Zim?"
Zim's antenna snapped up at the sudden sound, and he glared at Phil for startling him.
"You alright?" Phil muttered. "If you need more time-"
"No. I am not weak."
"You're not, that's right," he smiled. "Glad to see that you are becoming more accepting of that."
"Yes…" Zim sighed. He didn't fully understand what Phil had said, but he could guess. At least it wasn't yells and insults. So far, anyway.
Phil took a step backwards to provide easy access to the hallway behind him. "After you," he said.
Zim pressed his lips together in contemplation, but he stood up quickly to follow Phil- against his better judgement of wanting to stay seated with Gaz. Not that she would have allowed that anyway, he thought.
"Thank you," Zim said as he passed by Phil into the dimmed hallway, leading to that treacherous office of which he desperately wanted to avoid.
This stupid 'therapy' that he didn't need! "Right in there, door on your left." Phil's gentle voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he obeyed the command immediately, opening the dark wooden door to step inside the office.
"Just take a seat anywhere you're comfortable, Zim."
Zim's left antenna twitched. He didn't really understand all the words sometimes, but he knew enough to understand. Sit down. So he did, in the soft-looking seat that had its back comfortably against the furthest wall from the desk he assumed Phil to sit at.
"Good choice!" Phil chuckled. "That was always my clients' favorite back when I practiced in person." He sat down behind the desk, and Zim sagged a little in relief that he kept his distance.
"So…" Phil pulled out what looked like a stack of papers to Zim and placed it down on the desk in front of him. "Normally, this is where I ask my clients why they came see me, but I don't think that really applies here."
Zim stared at him blankly in response.
"Right, like I said," he said awkwardly. "So let's move on from that."
Zim watched like a hawk as Phil uncapped a pen and started writing.
"Let's start with what I already know. Uh, sugar… abuse. Parental abuse."
"Aboose?" Zim asked. "What is that?"
"Oh. Well…" Phil paused for a moment. "Abuse is a term used to describe a multitu- used to describe many things. For you, abuse can mean to hurt someone, or have been hurt by someone."
Zim's eyes widened slightly at the definition, but he said nothing.
"And the other definition, when it comes to your sugar, abuse means to use something a lot, and especially when it isn't good for you."
"Sugar is good." Zim said sternly.
"Is it? You seem to have trouble going even a few hours without it. That leads me to believe that for you, it's addictive."
Zim frowned and squeezed his hands into fists. "Addict…tive…?"
"When a substance, like sugar, causes you to want to abuse it again and again. Do you understand?" He spoke slowly, but not like he thought Zim was stupid. At least Zim hoped not.
"I… I think so," he muttered.
"Good. Very good." Phil smiled at him before he continued speaking. "So what I'm saying is you are… using sugar uncontrollably because of its addictive nature for you. Well, that it is addictive to you. Does that make sense?"
Zim could feel his antenna twitching, but try as he might, he couldn't stop the annoying habit. His fingers pressed into the soft fabric of the couch below him with discomfort and dread. He knew sugar was addictive, of course he did. With the way Penle used it, it was obvious. But he didn't want to say that out loud, and he certainly didn't enjoy thinking about it either! It would be so nice to just continue on with his life as usual… With his sugar.
He knew he would hate this therapy nonsense.
"Zim?"
"It make sense," he blurted out. "But… It not matter! I am strong, see?" He gestured to himself exasperatedly. "And- and it is good, it help me." Phil scribbled something down, causing Zim to shut his mouth tightly.
"It helps you how?"
"No." Zim shook his head. "Do… do not play with me."
"I'm not. Zim, this is a safe space. I am just trying to-"
"I want not to talk about the sugar," he hissed out under his breath.
Phil nodded curtly.
"Alright, then we don't have to." Phil looked down at his dreaded stack of papers. Zim felt apprehensive; What is Phil writing about him in there? Zim searched Phil's face for any possible indication, but it was fruitless. Phil's face was vacant, conveying nothing at all.
"Okay…"
"How about something else? Now, I apologize again for my… harsh questioning of you the other day, but please, tell me about your father?"
Zim stiffened. He wanted to immediately end this session. What was there to say?
"What about him?" He said tensely.
"Well… Why don't we start simple. What was his name?"
Zim pressed his lips together in discomfort.
"Long name. Mother call him Cho."
Phil nodded. "Understood. Now, Cho- what was he like?"
"Mean." Zim said, his eyes narrowing as Phil scribbled more into his papers at his response.
"Mean how?"
"Mean. He… Git khi'el 'aí aíz." Zim hissed out in a low tone.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand that."
Zim growled in frustration. "He… he abuse. Abuse, okay? You understand?"
"Yes, unfortunately I do," he said as he wrote. "And when did this start?"
"I do not know." He felt his whole body sag at the admission. How horrible that he couldn't give an answer to that?
"That's alright," Phil murmured. "How does he treat you now?"
Zim chuckled. "Nothing. He is dead."
"Dead? And how do you feel about that?"
"...Bad." Zim looked down at the floor in shame.
"And why is that, Zim?"
"Because I kill him." His voice was barely above a whisper, it surprised him he could even admit it.
"You- excuse me?"
Zim's antenna flattened against his skull at the sound of Phil's voice cracking in surprise.
"I kill him." He repeated it louder this time. Might as well drive the point home that he was not to be trusted. "I kill him, and I know it is bad, I know! Mother say- always say to hurt is bad, but I do it to him! I do it to him and she die, she die hating me." His voice cracked near the end, but he couldn't contain his emotions here. He had killed in the military as well. He had hurt, again and again, in a thousand different ways, and he didn't know how he even expected her to look him in the eyes when he had come home.
And she didn't. Well, she didn't even get the chance to.
"I see…" Phil's voice sounded a thousand miles away to Zim. He could barely even register it. "And… Why did you do that? Kill him?"
"He kill my mother." Zim closed his eyes tightly, almost as if squeezing them shut tight enough would somehow stop the memories of the event coming to the forefront of his mind. "I was late, and she die."
"Late? Late how?"
Zim clenched his teeth in frustration. What about this was Phil not understanding? "Late! Late! She was alive, then she-" his voice cracked, and he stopped, trying to catch his breath as his heart beat so fast he felt he might burst!
But the surrounding office was so still.
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Zim."
"..."
"I… I am a bit confused about something, though. You said your father… took her life, but you saw…" he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Did he kill her in front of you?"
"Yes," Zim whispered. "He hurt her… so much, and then she die."
"I see… I'm sor-"
"He was monster." Zim hissed out, but his spike of rage quickly subsided. "He was monster… And I am monster for not feel bad."
