THE CRY OF CICADAS

Part Four: Tell me how you really feel.

After an hour and a half of interrogation from L, I was finally taken back, further into the center. L's parting words continued to bother me even as the "receptionist" (whom I discovered was actually an intern there, hoping to become a therapist herself) showed me around.

"Don't worry, Raito-kun," he had said to me, "If you need any help, you can just ask me."

Of all the conceited, stupid things to say; there was no way I would even consider asking a fellow patient, especially one who had been there for a year—possibly longer—for any sort of help. In a way, I almost pitied him. L seemed to have no clue as to where he was or what he was doing there. All he did was stare mindlessly at the television or watch the others play cards and insult each other like five year olds.

Takada Kiyomi, the intern, was, in my opinion, the only person who I could have anything resembling a conversation with. I told her that as she led me toward what she had called "dormitories." Really, they just resembled prison cells. There was enough room for two beds, a table, and a tiny bathroom.

Despite my negative disposition toward the idea of a Drug Court in general, I felt a slight attraction toward Takada. I felt like she was on my level of mentality; smart, determined, and confident. She was also pretty, in a classic, refined sort of way. I started to think that with her around, maybe things really would not be too terrible…Until she told me her thoughts on my opinion of her.

"Yagami-kun, I'm sure you're a great guy," she said as she stopped in front of one of the small rooms, "But I can't really get involved with any of the patients here. You should know that." She gave me an awkward look, as if she really was not sure what she wanted to say. Her lips were pressed together tightly and there was something in her eyes that said everything she had not said out loud. Takada clearly thought I was a fool, an idiot for getting myself into this place.

In her mind, we were nothing alike. She was on her way to a successful career. I was on my way to a shit life.

Reality isn't like the movies. The unfortunate man never really gets the well-off girl. He ends up with nothing while she goes off and gets married to a rich man who has everything she thinks she wants.

That conversation ended there. Takada slid the door open and motioned for me to go inside. "This is your room mate. Please be nice to him, okay?" she said, a hint of laughter on her voice. I started to wonder if she took all this as some sort of sick joke. The thought that all of the patients were just there for her amusement disgusted me, but at the same time, I was trying to convince myself that I was above the other people receiving treatment.

I said nothing to her as I went into the small room. Even if I had wanted to, I doubt I would have been able to; I was too dumbfounded by the boy sitting on the bed across from the one that was obviously going to be mine. There was no way he could be a day over fifteen, I thought. He looked like such a child. But when he met my gaze, I noticed there was more to him than there appeared to be. In his dark eyes, there was a strange sort of intelligence, a complexity that a fifteen year old boy could never have. There was an adult hidden under his childish exterior.

"My name is Near," he said as Takada shut the door, "It's a pleasure to meet you." He held up his right hand, while his left snuck up to start coiling his platinum hair around his little fingers. Near, another pseudonym. I began to wonder if it was a normal thing for patients to use aliases around one another. It seemed like a stupid thing to do but in a way, I supposed it made sense. The patients at the center probably did not want a lot of other people knowing their real names in case something happened that might be brought to light later on in their lives.

"It's nice to meet you," I replied, shaking his hand, "I'm Yagami Raito." Despite the fact that it was a simple greeting, it was awkward for me. Near's eyes were staring right into mine with a creepy intensity. It irked me to think that as I was doing with him, he was making assumptions about me.

He retracted his hand first. "Raito, hm? Must be a fake name," he said, scooting back against the wall. Near had no room to talk, I thought. A name like "Near" is hardly realistic. It's not even an English name. I pursued it no further though. I had a feeling that Near would just continue to throw aliases at me, as L had done earlier. Near was strangely a lot like L.

After meeting L and Near, the day went by in a haze of blood tests and explanations. I was asked the same questions again and again and repeated my story over and over to nameless social workers and police. They told me I wouldn't go to jail this time. If I was caught again, I would. Somehow, I accepted this news numbly. It was basically what Matsuda had told me already. I had expected it. Nothing these people told me affected me. Their words were not enough to get me to want to give up my addiction. They, too, seemed to realize that. They just had to say the things they said in order to get pay checks.

My first appointment with a private therapist was that evening. I felt like I'd lived a year in a day. All I really wanted to do was have some time to myself, but apparently the people in the center did not believe in privacy. I knew that if I didn't go, it would just take longer to get out of this place.

I told myself that I didn't need therapy.

Namikawa Reiji. The name sat boldly in gold kanji characters on a nameplate in front of me. It seemed like the first normal name I'd seen in a long time. He was not in the room yet. All I could do was sit there and wait. There was a guard (although I'd been told not to think of them as guards) standing outside the door, in case I should get up and try to get out. The guards were posted around the center in places where patients were most suspected to try and break free from.

It really was like a prison more than it was like a hospital. The people here were not sick for the most part. They had done things purposefully and ended up here as punishment in order to be rehabilitated and sent back out into society as new people. In prison, the criminals are supposedly rehabilitated also. They even have chances to graduate high school or college. At the center, though, there are no gyms or schools or televisions.

Before I could wonder if prison was actually better, Namikawa walked into the little room. He sat down behind his desk and smoothed his long hair behind his oddly long ears. "So…I'm sure I don't need to ask you if you're Yagami-kun," he said as he took a look at the contents of a folder with my name scribbled on it in black ink.

"That's me."

"I wasn't asking if you were, was I?" Namikawa said, shutting the folder and running his long fingers across its manila cover. He fixed me with an unreadable stare. I did not like him already. If all therapists were as condescending and standoffish as he was, I doubted anyone ever got help for any problem, no matter how insignificant.

"No."

It was a simple answer, one that he probably would not appreciate. I was not there to make him appreciate me so I decided I could talk to him however I wanted to. He certainly did not seem concerned with my mental "well-being." If I could know that I was irritating him, I'd be happy. This guy was a conceited asshole. I wondered how he even became a therapist, if that was what he really was.

He tapped his French nails on his desk. Like any metrosexual, he was more concerned with his appearance than his personality. As long as his eyebrows were waxed and his nails were glossy, he probably did not care if he was the world's biggest jerk. "Good. Now, let's get down to business," he said, his eyes darting up to my face.

I rolled my eyes. Namikawa only seemed to be in the therapy business for the money. He did not need it and neither did I. "You're wasting your time," I told him flatly.

"No, no I'm not wasting my time," he said, shaking his head, "I'm making money." His straightforwardness irked me. I wanted to smack him across his girlish face and tell him to fuck off.

The drumming stopped. He sighed and brushed his hair behind his ear. "Now, Yagami-kun, tell me why you started snorting cocaine," he demanded. It was not a question or a simple ice breaker. It was a request. A command. According to the tone in his voice, I did not have the option of telling him or not.

As I've said before, my reasons were simple. I was bored. I needed some sort of sense of excitement in my life. I crossed my arms and fixed him with a steely glare of my own. "It seemed like a fun thing to do."

Namikawa's humorless laugh filled the room. "Fun, huh?" he sneered, "So there's nothing like you wanted to get away from your harsh reality or your terrible parents then?" Sarcasm dripped from every word. I wondered how long he would be able to keep his job.

I shrugged. "No, there's not," I told him, "I was just bored." Such a thing did not strike me as hard to believe. In the mind of a therapist, it probably came across as a lie.

His lips pursed for a moment as he leaned forward and laced his long fingers together. "Tell me how you really feel," he said softly, an imploring look in his eyes. I did not understand this sudden change.

"What? Shouldn't that be obvious?" I asked, "I already told you; I was bored. I didn't feel like I wanted to escape from anything." Namikawa was not making any sense. I did not think that there was any sort of reasoning behind his method. It was all skewed. But whatever he was doing, he seemed to be doing it right…Otherwise he would not have a job.

Once again, he sighed impatiently. "Yagami-kun if you don't tell me the truth, you'll never get out of here. You'll be just like L."

L.

Again.

What did he have to do with anything?

(Author's Note: Wow. I took FOREVER getting this chapter done. I apologize! I was in a funk for a while but now I think things will get going. 3 Thanks for being patient!)