"I really don't need therapy." She said.

But the therapist didn't seem to understand plain English. Because she just wouldn't stop trying to get Kyrie to talk

"Why don't you?" Her voice just annoyed Kyrie, it was just a calm, low voice, almost as if she had practiced for her voice to be a calming technique for her patients or something. The therapist had long curly hair, and her eyes matched her hair, brown, like chocolate. But deeper. And, just maybe, able to see into her soul. That was when Kyrie realized that she was staring deep into her therapist's eyes, which probably made her seem really crazy.

"Ms. Therapist, I just don't think that…"

The therapist laughed, interrupted her, and asked her, "Did you seriously just call me 'Ms. Therapist?'"

Kyrie nodded, "I couldn't remember your name, and…" the laughter was sort of catching, and she chuckled as she said, "I thought that sounded somewhat appropriate."

"My name is Dr. Turner." She said, "But please call me Violet."

Violet is a pretty name. Kyrie thought. "Ok. Violet. I don't think I need to be here." She said, getting back to the issue at hand.

"Well, if you can tell me just why you don't need to be here anymore, and the reasons seem legitimate to me, your therapist, then maybe I can send you home early?" Violet said, still watching her as if she was going to break into tears anytime.

But I just don't want to talk about this right now. Please don't make me. "I had some traumatic things happen to me. I survived. The end."

Violet didn't say anything for what seemed like an hour. She just sat there, looking off into space. Like she was thinking of something. But it didn't seem like there was anything to think about. Because Kyrie knew her answer was bullshit. No therapist would let her leave with that little of talking about what had happened. Just the reason she couldn't talk about it made Kyrie knew she hadn't gotten over it yet. Kyrie knew that this wasn't over yet.

But why hadn't Violet said anything yet?

Kyrie asked, "So can I go?"

Violet didn't change her staring off into space except she turned her head to be staring at Kyrie. "What do you think?"

Now Kyrie knew she wasn't going anywhere. "So do you just ask people what they think all day long? Is that what you get paid to do? Listen to people's problems?"

Violet just nodded, and said, "Yep. That helps some people."

"Well it doesn't help me." Kyrie said, starting to get anxious that there was no way she was going to get out of this. Her hands clenched into fists under the pillow that she was holding. "I don't like to talk to people."

She smiled. "I can see that. How about you try just telling me a story."

"Does it have to be real?"

Violet shrugged her shoulders, and Kyrie started to respect the therapist, no matter how much she didn't want to be here, she began to understand that Violet knew exactly what Kyrie was doing. "Whatever you want to talk about, I'm here to listen for…" She looked at her watch, "52 more minutes."

Kyrie couldn't believe it had only been eight minutes since she had come to the office. And she began to vent about something that she knew wouldn't lead to the trauma. "My mother! Why does she think I need help anyway? What's with her? She's the one who had bad things happen to her. I was perfectly fine. I didn't have to go to the hospital. I didn't need teams to come rescue me. What the hell does she think I need help with?" She started to get worked up, remembering her mother forcing the issue that she needed her to go to counseling. "I mean, what does she think, that I'm broken? That I'm not good enough the way that I am?"

Kyrie stopped right at the end of that question. Wow. What a lot of words for someone who didn't have anything to talk about. And apparently Dr. Turner thought the same thing.

"If you had kids, who had gone through everything you went through, would you want them to go to some sort of therapy or counseling?" Violet asked, steering Kyrie's mind away from all that she had blurted out to the hypothetical.

Kyrie didn't have to think at all. "No. I wouldn't."

"Are you sure you wouldn't feel like a bad parent if your child was hurting and didn't have anyway to express that hurt?"

This time, Kyrie thought. But it wasn't about her hypothetical kids. It was about her.

"I think that kids express their hurt differently. And some kids don't want to talk about their hurt." Kyrie said, unable to look at the therapist.

Violet said, "Now it's my turn to talk. Since we have," again, she looked at her watch, "49 minutes." Kyrie smiled a bit, meeting Violet's eyes, which also held a bit of laughter. "Anyway, in my job, I see many kids who don't think they have anything to talk about. Or they don't want to talk about the things that they really should talk about. You know why?" When Kyrie shook her head no, Violet continued, "Because they don't understand how talk therapy works. They think that once they voice their fears, their pain, their anger, or shame – they think that once the words are in the air, that suddenly, their fears will become more real."

Kyrie understood completely.

Violet went on, "They can't imagine the idea of telling someone that they want everyone to just leave them alone. Just because they really miss the way things used to be. "Kyrie shivered. "Or that they are so angry at their mother because she wasn't there when they needed her the most. Or…" Violet paused, making sure that Kyrie was looking at her when she said, "… that they can't imagine the idea of telling someone that they wish they could run away and leave all the drama and family issues behind them."

How long has she been reading my mind? Kyrie wondered. "How on earth did you come to those conclusions?" She asked… almost curious to see how Violet knew all these things about her?

Violet looked dead at her and said, "I'm really good at what I do." Kyrie didn't think that was a good enough answer. But she kept talking, "And somehow, those kids who don't want to talk about all these things, they don't realize that I don't need to know the problem. I can already pretty much diagnose the problems without a word from my patients." She looked down at her hands, then again met Kyrie's eyes, "But patients can't see their problems. But they can hear them – so that's why we talk. And that's what makes things better."

Kyrie couldn't say anything. She just looked at Violet. And she let one tear escape her eyes. But she tried not to cry any more than she had to.

But it seemed like Violet really cared. Her eyes said she cared. There was something real and genuine about her.

"What do you want to know?" Kyrie asked. This time with no edge to her words.