Therapy [Creepypasta x Reader] {#Wattys2015}

Bloody Painter : V

Sorry if this chappie sounded rushed; I honestly didn't know what to write. This'll have a time skip of two weeks or otherwise I might have 15 chappies done and have only 3 days with Helen done. Anyways, I tried to put in some cute moments; I'm also thinking about doing a "special" chappie 5: Helen's PoV. So. . . Let me know in the comments on whether you want that or not :3. Enjoy!

It has been two weeks since you've first became Helen's therapist and much to your surprise, you've found yourself gaining more confidence when talking with Helen. Although this development was very gradual, you're desire to just get this sudden career over with was somewhat starting to fade. You didn't know whether this was a good thing, but after a little bit of contemplation, you reached the decision that going with the flow would be the best idea into being a therapist. Although you had earned your degree in psychology and criminal science, you were still a rookie when it came to experience in being a therapist.

"Do you have any normal clothes?" you asked, tilting your head slightly to the side. You didn't want Helen to stand out and, knowing Helen, he wouldn't want himself wearing something like an orange jacket signifying he was a criminal into public society. His reply to your question was a mere and maybe even a little meek nod.

"Wait here," Helen said, turning his back so it was facing you and walking away at a normal walking pace, which most likely indicated that he was indifferent towards walking in town for the first time. . . in a long time; you didn't know how long Helen has been captivated within this overly-secure building, sector SS-15. You did as he asked and waited for him, leaning against the wall.

As you kept waiting, leaning against the white walls, you spotted a familiar figure amble to you. It was Dr. Manson and he was humming a strange tune that you had never heard before, and he was holding some type of box. It had a label on it, but it was so small that you couldn't even identify one word on the label. You reached the assumption eventually that the contents in the box Dr. Manson was holding was some type of medicine to help with the mentally ill prisoners locked in the cells. He waved at you, his brown locks bouncing lightly as he passed you. As he did pass you, you swore you saw his eyes dull again.

At this point in time, you were starting to gain the smallest hints of suspicion growing in your stomach. It was extremely gradual. It was like a flower blooming from it's bud. Starting from a seed. Of course, that suspicion was just a seed at first, but after the second time of seeing this change, the seed started to change into a bud. Soon, you knew, that would change into a full-blooming flower of deep-cut suspicion. I should probably inquire Helen on this; he may notice it. . . He may just be pretending not to notice it.

The sound of faint footsteps aroused you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Helen, in completely different clothes. He wore a dark navy blue shirt that fit loosely on him, and he wore black (dress?) pants with the same-colored shoes. You also noticed a yellow pin on his shirt: it had a smiley face drawn on it. You inspected him closely, which seemed to make Helen uncomfortable. "These are my normal clothes. . . Do they still stand out too much?"

"How did you get access to your nor-" You stopped yourself from asking the question, and before Helen could answer your unfinished inquiry, you quickly changed the subject back, "Alright, those clothes should be good. Let's go." You quickly turned and speed-walked down the hallway. However, Helen just stood there, not moving an inch, "What're you standing there for?"

Helen stayed silent and unmoving for a few seconds before pointing to the opposite direction from where you were walking and murmured (loud enough so that you could hear), "The exit's that way."

You felt your cheeks heat up at the fact that you went the opposite direction of where you were supposed to go. With your hands and legs trembling in annoyance, you scolded Helen. "Well at least tell me that sooner, Helen. . ." You quickly walked to the direction Helen was pointing to and he followed you. Much to your surprise, he walked so you two were just a few feet apart. Either he's considerate of personal space, or he's somehow and somewhat still scared to be near me. You reached the exit, and you opened the door, gesturing Helen to walk out. He pursed his lips and did as you non-verbally asked. You then walked down the sidewalk to the down-town that was nearby.

Once you had reached the downtown, you guys both stopped by at a famous restaurant known for both their sandwiches and their pancakes. You ordered a (fave. meat) sandwich with water, while Helen just ordered water. In two minutes time, the waiter came in with the food you both requested and he set the cuisine down gently. "Enjoy," he bowed his head slightly and then left to serve other customers.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" You asked, looking at the cup filled with water and ice. A lemon was on the rim of the cup. "You're probably going to end up dying of starvation if you don't eat at some point. We're all humans here, you know," you only meant this as a joke, but it seems like Helen actually took this literally, because he gave you an exasperated look.

"I'm not hungry." Helen bluntly stated and took a sip of water through the straw provided by the waiter.

". . ." You stayed silent for a little while, looking down at your sandwich. You then looked back up at Helen with firm (e/c) orbs, "I'm supposed to be helping you, not suffocating you out of starvation. So I'm going to give you a half a sandwich, and just eat it." That exasperated look came back to Helen's crystalline blue eyes, and you added, "and I'm not joking in any way, any how. So, no 'ands,' 'ifs' or 'buts.'" You carefully ripped your sandwich so it was roughly in half and you held it out to Helen. "Trust me, you're not going to regret it."

Helen hesitated for a moment, a conflicted glimmer seeping through his eyes. After a bit of thoughtful contemplation, he reached out his hand, but pulled it back a little. He sighed and mumbled, "Your persistency never ends, (y/n)." By the time he said your name, he was whispering so quietly that you couldn't really hear him say your name. He held the sandwich, touching your hand in the process. His hand was cool to the touch, yet somehow very warm. . . "Are you going to let go?" He asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," you quickly let go, and you watched Helen eat the sandwich slowly. He didn't say anything else until the last of the sandwich has been consumed.

After you two had finished eating and drinking, you two went out, aimlessly wandering the sidewalk whilst doing a little bit of window-shopping. You two were currently in an awkward silence, and you couldn't help but look back at Helen. Every time you did, he looked back at you in an indifferent manner. After the aimless wandering, you noticed a green and lushful park. You glanced back at Helen and smiled. "Hey, do you want to rest?"

Helen shrugged, "I don't really care. . ."

Assuming this reaction as a 'yes', you turned around and quickly walked to the green park. At this time, the sun was just about starting to set: the sky started to glow a brilliant orange and red color, and the sun seemed lower than it was at noon. The sun was also towards the west.

You ushered Helen to a mahogany bench located around an isolated edge of the park. Despite its isolationism, it was a tranquil and peaceful atmosphere. You enjoyed it, although you had to admit: it was a little awkward; Helen and you were sitting together, completely quiet. Because it was so awkward, you found yourself (possibly by natural habit) twirling a lock of your (h/c) lock around your index finger.

As time slowly ticked by, you found yourself dozing off; the rustling of the leaves were lulling you to a sentimental and calm sleep. Unconsciously you let your head rest gently on Helen's shoulder, which you could tell caught him off guard, because he stiffened. However, he quickly reverted back to his relaxed position.

The last thing you felt was a warm (yet cool) and gentle feeling stroke your head.