[IN PROGRESS]
Martha and James are soulmates trapped together in a never-ending reincarnation loop. Not a bad way to spend eternity, but they wanted more. They wanted a child. Serafina is born and Martha and James are elated to love and raise her a...
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Trigger warning: child sexual abuse.
Kevin Martinez tapped his fingers nervously. He was not as good at this as he'd thought he would be. He'd thought he was going to make a difference. He'd thought he was going to change the lives of the vulnerable and unfortunate. But here he was – fourteen months after graduating from the University of Iowa with a degree in Psychology and thirteen months after taking a job as an outpatient counselor for at-risk children – unable to get his new client to speak even a single word.
"Do you like to watch tv?" he asked desperately. "Do you have any favorites? Dora? Or SpongeBob? Or... maybe Sesame Street? I watched Sesame Street when I was your age." But she simply stared blankly at the table between them.
They sat alone in one of the mental health center's preadolescent meeting rooms. It was stocked with board games, puzzles, dolls, and action figures. He'd tried them all to no avail.
Kevin sympathized with the girl. She deserved a counselor who knew what he was doing just like she deserved a mother who wasn't in prison and a father who hadn't just overdosed on heroin.
He looked at the clock on the wall. Suddenly, the girl spoke. "Only fifteen more minutes."
Startled, Kevin looked back at her. "Wow. You're... good at telling time," he praised. "You must be really smart for your-"
"Until you can clock the hour," she interrupted. It was a bizarre thing for a six year old to say. It was also completely accurate – they'd begun the session at 4:10, it was currently 4:40, and an hour session was defined as forty-five minutes with the remaining fifteen leftover for paperwork. She must have been parroting something she'd overheard from a previous counselor, he reasoned. Regardless, at least she was talking. This was progress.
"You're right. We still have fifteen minutes. Would you like to-"
"We've been in this room together for a half hour." Her eyes, blank and unblinking, locked on his. He couldn't look away but had the sudden urge to run. How was it possible for such a small child to be so intimidating? It must have been projection. Yes, that was it – she was just a child and his mind was manifesting his feelings of inadequacy and guilt.
"Yes and-" he tried, but again, she cut him off.
"The door's been closed the whole time. Just you and me – no independent witnesses..." Almost imperceptibly, her mouth curled. Then her face changed with an emotional dexterity that Glenn Close would envy to whimpering and terrified shame. "Kevin... He... He touched me where I go pee-pee and it hurt and I didn't like it but Kevin... Kevin told me it was okay and... and to stop crying but that if I told anyone I would get in big, big trouble. I'm sorry... am I... in... trouble... now..."
"Jesus Christ!" Kevin nearly fell out of his chair. Where was this coming from? How was she saying this? He covered his mouth and looked at the door. How loud had he screamed? Had anyone heard him? Had anyone heard her? However ludicrous the accusation, her portrayal had been undeniable. He'd be investigated at the least and incarcerated at worst. And then... "Oh god!" trembled out of his mouth.
