trigger ☠ m.c

t w o

"You should be in prison, Mina."

Mina looked at her therapist with an unimpressed expression- one that was mixed with annoyance. She knows that she should in prison. Her parents told her. The judge in court told her. And now, her therapist is telling her.

"Attempted murder. Not many would get away with that; think yourself lucky that you're here and not in a cell." The therapist's bushy eyebrows were raised as he gave Mina a patronising nod.

"I'm basically in prison anyway," she muttered to herself, scowling at her doctor from behind a curtain of hair that she let flop forward over her face. It was dark, unruly- a mess.

"What did you say?" the doctor was surprised, she hadn't actually spoken to him yet and she'd been in the hospital for two weeks.

She stared blankly at him.

"Hm. Thats what i thought," he mumbled, writing something down.

He then sat in front of Mina, his face incredibly close to hers. She could count each wrinkle around his eyes and possibly manage to punch him pretty quick if need be.

"Now. Mina. Can - you - even - hear - me?" He spoke loudly, clearly, like you would to a deaf person or a tiny child. This made her angrier than she already was.

She wasn't a violent person, despite almost killing someone. She wouldn't have ever hurt anyone unless it was as important as hurting him was. But it was when adults looked down on her and spoke to her like her doctor did that made her want to rip each individual limb off his body.

Everything was pointless. Her doctor didn't care and wouldn't help and everyone deemed her unfixable. Not that she could be completely fixed, but no one had anything they could do for her.

Well, apart from let her murder someone, but that would never be allowed.

She scowled at her doctor again, and he just sighed in her face. His breath smelt of tobacco and unbrushed teeth.

"I give up. You win, Mina. You can stay here forever for all i care. No one will ever be able to help if you dont cooperate." He sighed, folding his arms before rubbing a hand exasperatedly across his forehead.

All the while, her brown eyes were trained on the window that faced onto the waiting area. Families would wait out there for their kids or mothers or fathers or whoevers to finish therapy sessions normally, but now the small room was occupied by one boy.

She stared unblinkingly at him.

"Make him leave," she croaked. Forget her doctor, she hadn't spoken to anyone in a whole two weeks. Her throat still hurt from screaming.

Her doctors head snapped up. "What?"

"Make. Him. Leave." She ordered through gritted teeth. She felt sick and her head span, and she could feel her throat contracting and she couldnt control her breathing. It was happening again. Oh god, it was happening again. She gripped the arms of the chair she sat on.

"I can't do that," her doctor breathed, in shock or almost in fear of the girl before him. This was the most responsive she'd ever been and the stimulus wasn't even a new one; the boy had always watched her therapy sessions.

"He has to," she could barely speak now. Her head was a blur of thoughts, of things talking to her. Her knuckles were white and her knees trembled. Her gut twisted and knotted, her left hand subconsciously flew to the waistband of her trousers searching for the gun that used to be tucked there.

"No. He cares about you more than your parents do even after you tried to kill him," her doctor spoke firmly. This was a lie, really- her doctor just couldn't send the one thing that made her react away. Maybe they could find out what was wrong with her if he stayed.

She shot up out of her chair, her hands flying into her hair.

"Listen to me! He needs to die! I can't control it!" she screamed. Her doctor jumped a little but she forced herself to sit again, her head in her hands. "Oh god," she muttered repeatedly.

The boy by the window was scared, he wanted to rush in and help. Mina's doctor showed no sign of consolation- he just stood there- and it panicked the boy. He needed to be there with her.

Sobs started to leave Mina's mouth, as well as sharp shaky breaths. She screamed, clutching her head. She stood and kicked her chair over, her hands over her ears. Her face showed pure pain.

She turned towards the window, towards the boy. He was banging on the door.

She shook her head furiously as he tried to get in and ran to the other side of the room. She crawled up onto a desk and hid her face in her hands and kept crying. The pain she felt was unbearable.

The boy finally got in and ran to her; he lifted her up and held her to him.

"Mina! It's okay!" He shouted, but all he got was a punch to his jaw as she writhed in his arms. It hurt him but he ignored it. He tried to grab her face to make her look at him, but she was having none of it and kept fighting.

He began to get tired and his jaw hurt a lot- for a small girl she had a huge punch. He could feel her frame shake as she tried to push him away from her, shouting "i'll kill you!" with a voice so hoarse it barely sounded like words anyway.

They struggled and fought together, and the boy desperately tried to calm her down as her hands reached his throat. She gripped and her hold got tighter and tighter, and the boy began to panic. Maybe this was it.

But then everything went still. She flopped in his arms, unconscious, as her doctor pulled a needle from her arm.

"Michael, help me take her to her room, please," he muttered.

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i got the name mina from a book i read when i was 11 bc im so creative

but ye. idk anything abt therapy/mental homes etc etc so this is entirely made up!!