Author's Note:
Ok, here we go! As you can probably tell, this is set several years after Persona 4. All of the characters are now 24/25/26. Anyway, without any further ado, please enjoy!
"You said earlier that you were having troubles at school, have you ever spoken with your teacher about it?"
The child in the adjacent chair stared down at his fidgeting fingers, mumbling a response, "No."
"Why not?"
"I dunno… I just didn't want to," The boy murmured, his eyes unfocused and purposefully turned away from the woman on the chair. This was the fifth psychiatrist he had met with this year, he never told them his real problems and this one wouldn't be any different.
He had expected the moment of silence, the scratching of pen on paper but that didn't come, the soft voice returned without hesitation, "Would you like to ask some questions?"
The child blinked, turning to glare at her, "What's that meant to mean…?" He tried to tell himself it was just her getting frustrated, asking the rhetorical question to make him feel guilty for avoiding her questions.
Her face held no sign of that frustration he expected, however. She didn't speak again, watching him carefully with a strange warmth and empathy he couldn't quite understand. The silence continued and he realised, she really was giving him that option.
He stammered, caught off guard. His head turned back to look at the wall. The wallpaper on the office walls were dull but at the same time intriguing, the muted contrasting with the intricate patterns. Even the young woman on the other side of the room seemed like a great contrast to the room she occupied, "Why are you a therapist?"
His first question, his first move.
Interesting. Given the chance to ask any question, he avoided the most obvious one. He was still a considerate child, even with his standoffish behaviour.
The young woman smiled gently, brushing a piece of hair back out of her face, "I became a therapist because I wanted to bring children a place they could be safe, somewhere where they would be able to speak freely without the fear of being judged or hurt." She paused, placing her notebook down on the table, open and ready for him to look at.
The soft sound the book made against the wood of the table, struck the stubborn child with curiousity. He turned his head, slowly, and regarded the blank, untarnished pages. She hadn't been writing anything?
He looked up, and met the single blue eye of the young woman. He stared straight at her, seeing the youth and prettiness of her face and yet the experience and maturity that shone through her eye. When she spoke again, her smile spread into her eyes, "I want to help you find someone you can actually talk to. It doesn't matter what it is you want to discuss, I want to be there."
The sincerity in her words almost broke his barriers but his suspicion fought through and triumphed once again. He narrowed his eyes, "There is nothing wrong with me. I don't need help."
"I don't doubt that," she responded smoothly, the young boy flinched, "It's those that hurt you that need the help. You're not sick, you're not crazy. You're a child who just needs someone to connect with and trust."
He didn't respond, turning his head away again. The woman's shoulders sank, a silent sigh escaping her nose, "How about we play a game?" She suggested.
"I don't like games," He insisted, grumbling at the wall.
She smiled, "I'm sure that's not true. Besides, this game means I can learn more about you and you can learn more about me." His ear twitched, his curiousity reignited once again.
This therapist was strange, she didn't just sit there, scribbling down notes and ask 'how do you feel about that?' or 'why do you think that?' No, this woman was very different, she actually got herself personally involved with him… surely they must be told to not do that during training, right?
"Here's how it works," She continued, watching him as he processed what she was saying, "We both ask eachother questions. Only 'yes' or 'no' questions. If you don't want to answer a question, just say 'pass'. You can start; then me, then you etc. Understand?" Turning to look at her again, he seemed undecided. Yet, as if an automatic response, he nodded.
She smiled, gesturing with her hand for him to ask a question. He didn't say anything at first; visibly struggling over finding a question he could ask that wouldn't require a more detailed answer. Why was he thinking so much over this? He questioned himself, shaking his head to clear it and pulled out a question, "Do you think you can get me to talk?"
She smiled, answering confidently, "Yes." He almost rolled his eyes, of course that would be the answer, it always was. She leant forward in her seat, her shiny black flats reflecting the soft light of the lamp on the desk as she crossed her legs, "Do you like sports?"
What sort of question was that? He shook his head, scoffing, "No," Now for his question, there was something he wanted to ask, but how could he ask it in a way that could only be answered by a 'yes' or 'no'? This game was already getting difficult… he kinda liked it. Finally he picked another question, "Are you new at this?"
Her response started with a little laugh, one that said 'is it that obvious?', "Yes," But, again, she did not elaborate. Such were the rules of the game. As if she already had all of her questions pre-planned, she seamlessly went into her next question, "Do your parents hurt you?"
He jumped back, his face contorting into horror and disgust, how could she even say that about her family? She didn't know them, how dare she?! He shook his head violently, "No!" He snapped. Ok, that was it, no more holding back, he decided, "Is your eye gone?"
His reaction told her he was being truthful; there wasn't any hesitation or hint of fear in his face. She could reel it in again. His question though made her smile, if a little sadly, "Yes." When at work, she kept her hair tied back into a soft ponytail; a few locks of hair left free to frame her face but no longer covered her closed eye like the thick fringe of her teenage years did. "Are you happy?"
Another weird question, but when he went to answer it… he just couldn't. He wasn't truly happy nor was he totally unhappy. He bit his lip, closing his eyes, "Pass." He sighed, "Can't we stop this now?"
She tilted her head to the side, the pose slightly reminiscent of a curious bird, "One more question each, and then we can stop, sound fair?"
"Thought they were meant to be 'yes' or 'no' answers…" He grumbled, glaring when she smiled in response. "Fine," He snapped, setting his eyes on her, intent on intimidating her into caving in, like all the others had.
"If you didn't get those bruises from sports, your family… did they come from your classmates?"
He growled, she was still going on about this. He shook his head violently. This was it, the final question. He had to make it a good one, something that would cut into her, "Do you have any friends?"
She blinked slowly, her smile remaining consistent. Looking straight at him, she softly answered, "No."
The silence was palpable. He stared at the young woman, a person he thought would have lots of friends. So, what was different?
Interrupting his thoughts, she announced, "Well, Hiroki, that's all the time we have for today." Her tone was professional yet somehow still casual. She stood from her chair, and he felt compelled to do the same. She picked up a little piece of paper from her table, handing it to him, "I have a phone number I give to all of my patients. You don't have to use it and I will never call you without your permission. Just, if you ever need to talk about anything, any time of day, I'll be there to talk."
He took the card, glancing over it, 'Akiyama, Kalina – Child Psychotherapist', her number was written beneath. Part of his brain told him to throw it away, tear it up in her face and prove to her, once and for all, he didn't need her or anyone else, but he didn't do any of those things. With a slight nod, he tucked it away in his jacket pocket. It's not like he'd ever use it or anything… but he kept it all the same.
Walking over to the door, he prepared to leave. Yet, something possessed him to stop and say something. His cheeks began to burn, his lips pressing into an uncomfortable pout and he mumbled, "Thanks… Dr-"
"Kali is fine," She smiled, bowing respectfully, "Your parents should be downstairs, have a good night." And with that, he was gone.
The door creaked as it slowly forced itself closed once again, the beam of light shining through getting strangled by the darkness within. When it finally clicked closed, she slumped down into her chair.
What was wrong with her? This was all part of the job, patients test you, she knew that all too well. But… that question he gave her. Why had the answer hit her so harshly? She rubbed her forehead slowly, she had workmates, former classmates, people she'd go out shopping or out to dinner with… but could she really not see any of them as friends?
Shaking her head, Kali took her book from the table and began to write. Hiroki Kazekawa had been to see several psychotherapists over the last few years; each one had been unable to get him to open up. While Kali had not been informed as to the reasons why she was chosen as the next one, she had her suspicions that it was due to how all of the previous psychotherapists had been older men. Perhaps they thought that having a young woman for him to speak to, would be enough of a change.
Sighing, she looked over the previous notes of his condition. He was only eleven years old and had been previously considered a child prodigy, yet in more recent years his school attendance and grades had been suffering. His parents had noticed bruises around his neck, wrists, ankles and on various other places of his body. His family had already been investigated for child abuse but no proof had been discovered. Whatever was happening, Kali knew it was happening within the school. A chilling reminder of her own loss of innocence.
Riding on the train back to her home in the suburbs of Osaka, she continued writing down all that she had seen. He was an intelligent child, he hated being talked down to. He liked to be tested. She hated using such direct questions, especially as that was not what she was taught to do, but she saw how he responded. He needed to feel passionate, he needed to feel a need to take charge of the situation. She desperately wanted to help this boy, she needed to.
Finally, she lifted her head from her book. She was still miles away from home. Sighing, she rested her head back against the headrest and looked around. Everyone was isolated, all gravitating into different corners of the train. Everyone in their own little bubble. She usually enjoyed isolation as it allowed her to focus on her work… but when she had no more work to do, the emptiness returned. And whenever the emptiness returned, the thoughts of home filled it.
She had left Inaba when she was 18, off to university in a distant city. She studied hard and really did try to keep in contact with everyone, but one by one, they all disappeared from her world. All except him.
No, she wouldn't think of him. It hurt too much to remember. She turned and looked out of the window, trying to force his face out of her mind.
First love is a powerful thing. Though when it lingers long after the relationship should have died, it becomes torture.
Author's Note:
So, there we have it. Kali's return and the introduction of young Hiroki. Please bare in mind that I am not a psychologist of any sort, I do not know their methods and anything that Kali does is based entirely on films and television shows, as lame as that is. I just felt that her character needed to have pursued that career in order for her childhood to mean something.
Now, the bigger questions shall begin to emerge...
Please do leave a review if you like it and thank you for reading!