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Please do not read if you are under 18! The following contains mature content not suited for general audiences. You have been warned.

Sylvia attends her first court-mandated therapy session.

TRIGGER WARNING! Contains: rape (mentioned), transphobia (mentioned), audism, arguments, strong language, ableism, parental failure, PTSD (discussed)

Sylvia, Umbre, etc. are characters made by me, based off of characters in the Pokémon universe owned by GameFreak and Nintendo. I do not claim rights to characters such as Sylveon, Umbreon, etc.

By PseudonymousUmbreon. If you wish to use or reference my work and/or my characters, please contact me first.

*****

Mandated Torture

Coevolution Ch.17

Court mandated therapy.

If Miss Clements really wants to commit herself to a self-improvement strategy, at it were, I suggest we make it as easy as possible for her to do so. Miss Sylvia Clements is hereby found guilty by the court, and will be attending therapy sessions—with a court-ordered journal—until the court deems her to have properly improved.

The gavel still rang in Sylvia’s ears. Her college career was as good as dead, and Dad hadn’t spoken to her since her conviction—not that Dad was necessarily speaking to her to begin with. Dad had sent a secretary to bring her home and keep her holed up at the Clements estate, and to make matters worse, the family name was in jeopardy because of her.

Still, it could have been much worse. She could be sitting in a prison cell for the rest of her life. Instead, she was in the back of one of Dad’s cars, the doors child locked, on her way to her first session with some shrink. And the driver wasn’t playing any games. A month ago, Sylvia would have been able to tell Wilson where to go whenever she wanted. Now, the window was locked shut, and Wilson refused to speak to her.

Jonah, her knight in shining armor. He had tried, just not enough. Maybe if he had been there to defend her from the beginning instead of showing up late like some coward, she wouldn’t have to deal with this therapy bullshit. With or without him, the odds were still stacked against her, between a whole legion of snowflakes nitpicking her every fault and an attorney who didn’t know how to win a fucking case.

The car slowed to a stop, and the door of the car swung open. Wilson was holding a book—some kind of murder mystery or something, likely to read while he waited for her torture to end—and gestured for her to follow him. It was a small building, surrounded by trees, with a sparsely populated parking lot that matched in size with the building itself. The outside was unassuming and betrayed no indication of being a therapist’s office.

Inside was a surprisingly cozy waiting room, washed with warm light. Plants sat tall between overly upholstered chairs and couches decorated with floral designs. A soft piano came from one of the pots, and upon closer inspection, Sylvia noticed a retro-style music player sitting in a little dish like the one her father used to have. A framed picture hung on the wall of a drawing that could have been done by a child and a quote.

Once, I thought

That all the world

Was the little box I’d lived.

Then I peaked outside

And I realized

You can’t live inside

A cardboard box.

Tacky, Sylvia thought to herself as she flopped on one of the couches. Wilson had placed himself in a corner and somehow, the plants were already starting to eat him. Silently, she hoped that one of them was carnivorous.

The door jangled, and an Umbreon stepped through, wearing a blue hoodie and gray track pants; though, Sylvia noted, he was definitely not an athlete with as scrawny as build as he had. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place if or where she’d seen him before. He sat down in the chair facing Sylvia, pulled out a phone, and started scrolling through something.

“What are you in for?” Sylvia joked.

The Umbreon ignored her. Rude.

“I feel like I’ve seen you around, do I know you?”

The Umbreon turned their phone sideways, clearly too focused on his game to care.

Sylvia sat up and leaned forward. “Hellooooo?” She waved a paw around.

That got his attention. The Umbreon looked up, saw her, and froze. He scanned her up and down, then blinked a few times. Then, he circled a closed fist on his chest, pointed to his ear, and finally to his mouth.

Sylvia squinted, then realized what he meant. “Oh shit, you’re deaf? Uh, SOOORRRYYYY. IIIII DIIIDNNNN’T KNOOOOOOW,” she said, drawing out each syllable so that he could read her lips. She hoped that that got the message across.

The Umbreon rolled his eyes and signed something else that was way too quick for Sylvia to follow, then returned to his phone, furiously tapping away. He almost seemed disgusted, but—nah, she’d done her best, hadn’t she?

The door on the other side of the waiting room opened. A Hariyama stood in the doorway, sporting a jolly smile and the same orange and yellow shirt and skirt combo typical of his species. He looked down at a clipboard he held.

“Sylvia?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s me?” Sylvia said, standing up. The Umbreon eyed her with a look of contempt on his face. Asshat.

“I’m Harry. Come with me and we’ll go get to know each other.” He glanced at the Umbreon, but said nothing else, stepping aside and holding the door open for her.

Sylvia cast one last look at the Umbreon before she moved to follow Harry through the door. The hallway on the other side was ornately decorated with paintings of figures that Sylvia assumed were from some eastern culture. A rock fountain stood at the end of the first stretch of hall, complete with a mirror set in the stone that framed Sylvia’s face with the words, “You are enough.”

Harry guided her around the corner past the fountain and to a room just beyond that was decorated much like the waiting room, this time with one couch and a couple armchairs. A desk sat along the back wall supporting neatly filed paperwork, a stack of books, and a laptop. Fidget toys, tissues, and mints were always within reach, and a clock on the wall calmly proclaimed it was always “time to breathe.”

Harry sat down in one of the armchairs and motioned to the couch. “Please. Sit.”

Sylvia hesitated.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but your legs are likely to thank you for it, and it will make our conversation much easier.”

Fair enough, Sylvia thought, and moved to the couch, sitting as far away from the Hariyama as possible.

Harry folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “So. What brings you in today?”

“The government?” Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you know that already?”

“Oh, I do,” Harry said with a light chuckle. “I have your file, yes, and I have read it. But I would like to know, from your perspective, why you are here.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Because I’m some kinda… college delinquent, I guess? Look, I don’t wanna have to do this any more than you do, can’t we make this easier on both of us and just skip the whole psycho… whatever, bit?”

Harry tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “What is it that you believe I’m here to do?”

“I dunno, diagnose me as some kinda retard, give me drugs for it that’ll kill my personality, and send me on my way?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here, it seems,” Harry said with a hint of a smile, “but no, what you’re thinking of is a psychiatrist. I’m a therapist. I don’t try to solve your problems with ‘drugs,’” he continued, making finger quotes to accompany his point, “but with words.”

Sylvia huffed. “Whatever. It’s all a bunch of psychological bullshit anyway.”

Harry paused, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He studied Sylvia for a moment, then stood up, walked over to his desk, and grabbed a manila folder from among his files before making his way back to his seat. “Sylvia Clements,” he read, then looked up. “That’s you, right?”

“The one and only,” Sylvia muttered dryly.

Harry continued reading. “Clements is convicted on one count of aggravated assault, one count of resisting arrest, and one count of sexual assault, all of which she pled innocent for, citing a lack of proper communication skills with her partner and unchecked emotional instability as her reasoning. Clements interrupted court proceedings three times—”

“How is that relevant?” Sylvia cut in.

“—and the therapist once, it seems,” Harry added, meeting her gaze. “What’s the issue?”

Sylvia crossed her arms. “Sorry, I just don’t know why they have to put every little problem they have with me in my file.”

Harry blinked. “It’s a criminal file, Sylvia. The whole point of it is to document every little problem they have with you. And interrupting court proceedings is a legal issue.”

“Well—they didn’t tell me that!”

“It wouldn’t have affected your sentence. Rape is a much larger issue,” Harry replied, setting the file aside.

“I didn’t rape him! And he even said that, in court! Surely they told you that,” Sylvia spat.

“Evidently his ‘confession’ wasn’t enough to sway the jury, because you’re here now, and it’s a conviction on your record.”

“What’s the point of him coming in to back me up if the jury isn’t gonna listen to him anyway?”

Harry folded his hands and sighed. “Usually, Sylvia, they would. However, the jury was aware that victims of abuse will occasionally defend their abusers, even in court, and especially in cases of severe psychological trauma or the use of psychic powers on their victim.”

Sylvia could hardly believe what she was hearing. “There was a psychic there! They should have known he was telling the truth!”

“It’s true, none of your abilities had any active effects on him,” Harry conceded, nodding, “but, psychological trauma is no psychic ability. It’s a mental illness that you gave him.”

“So we just, shouldn’t believe what traumatized people say, ever?”

“That’s going just a bit too far—yes, sometimes the effects of our traumas can lead us to do or say things that some might see as unexpected, but mental illness never takes control of us completely. It is a condition that Jonah will have to learn how to manage, probably through therapy of his own, but he most certainly did not have the tools to manage it at your trial. That’s why he lied to try to protect you.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Jonah still needs me, I know it. He’s just too stupid to see it.”

“Are you sure you aren’t too stupid to see that he doesn’t?”

Sylvia shot up. “How DARE YOU?!” she screamed. “I could have you fired for that.”

Harry, annoyingly, remained calm. “Unfortunately, part of my job is to try and make reality a bit clearer to people.

“Listen, smartass, I don’t need a reality check,” Sylvia said, stepping closer to the Hariyama. “I don’t wanna be here, and I am well within my rights to make this a living hell for you until you pass me out of this bullshit. If all you’re gonna do is berate me or try to ‘make reality a bit clearer’ to me, I’ve got news for you. I’m not playing your games. I can clearly see that you think me, or my world view, or what I did—probably all three—is wrong, which—I didn’t even do it, so why are we even bothering?! The bottom line is, I’m allowed to believe whatever the fuck I wanna believe, and you need to respect that. Am I clear?”

By this point, Sylvia had met Harry face to face, and she absently realized that he had not moved a muscle since she’d started. Harry looked at her, calmly picked up a pen and clipboard from the side table, and started writing.

• Responds to criticism with verbal abuse, deflection, and projection.

Sylvia stared at the words, then up at Harry’s face again.

“I can see we’re going to have a lot of work to do together, Sylvia. Unfortunately, our time is up for today, but I will look forward to seeing you next week. Make sure to maintain your journal, and that’ll give us some topics of discussion for the future.” He stood and walked over to the door, then pulled it open and motioned for Sylvia to walk through.

“Prick,” Sylvia shot back. She stormed past Harry and back to the waiting room, nearly toppling over the Umbreon, who was making his own way back through the waiting room. She slammed into him and stumbled backwards into someone else, stepping to the side to regain her balance.

The Umbreon glared at her at first, then donned a sick smile. He signed something to the other person, then turned back to her. His paws flew almost dizzyingly, and Sylvia was completely lost.

Then the other person spoke up. “If I had a nickel for every time I was nearly knocked down by you storming angrily through a doorway, Sylvia, I’d have two nickels. You’re now, officially, down not only a college degree, but also a reputation and ten cents. Watch yourself, asshole.”

Sylvia whirled around and faced the Alakazam standing behind her. “I don’t even know who you are, asshole, so you watch yourself.” She jabbed a finger into the Alakazam’s chest.

The Alakazam took a step back and threw her hands up. “Miss, I’m just their interpreter. They asked me to interpret, so I interpreted.” Sylvia noticed that she was signing while she talked to the Umbreon.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what the deaf-dumb bitch says, you don’t get to cuss me out like that, even if you are interpreting.”

“Ma’am, it’s my job to interpret for the deaf.” Then, she pointed back to the Umbreon behind Sylvia. “Clearly you’re the dumb one if you’re still using such an old-ass slur.” Then, she pointed at herself. “I’m not allowed to censor myself, and technically I shouldn’t even be involved in a conversation between you and them anyway, but you initiated, so I’ll let it slide.” She pointed back to the Umbreon. “Please leave us alone, hearie. And, yeah, I said that shit. And meant it.”

Suddenly, Harry appeared from around the corner. “What seems to be the issue, Sylvia?”

Sylvia stepped back from the Alakazam reflexively. “They were in my way. I was just leaving—”

“She was harassing me,” the Alakazam cut in. “Both of us, actually.”

“I am done with being accused of harassment!” Sylvia said, throwing her arms up in despair. “I swear if one more person—”

“Sylvia,” Harry interrupted, “please don’t make this any harder on us than it needs to be.”

“You weren’t even there and you’re siding with these ASSHOLES?” Sylvia practically shrieked. “Every person I have met in the past YEAR has turned out to be nothing but a good-for-nothing, self-entitled LOSER and I’m being accused of harassing every person I meet!”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Have you considered, perhaps, that maybe it is not everyone else in the world who is wrong, but you?”

“I—” Sylvia stopped. The Umbreon and Alakazam were staring directly at her, almost expectantly. She couldn’t let them have the last laugh, could she? “What are you assholes looking at?” she muttered as she whipped open the waiting room door and stalked through it.

“C’mon Wilson. Let’s go.”