Let Me Bring Pardon.

"No-one can hurt me more than I hurt myself." Emily thought, staring around the room. Everything was deliberately neutral, from the magnolia walls to the beige carpet. It made her feel sick. She hadn't wanted to go to therapy, but her doctor insisted. If she didn't, he said, she'd be committed to a hospital and forcibly treated. Emily couldn't understand why anyone would want to "treat" her - her punishments were never too much, and she was always careful to make sure they fitted the crime, as it were. It was only when that nosy bat Helen poked her nose in that it all started. She'd decided to let herself in to "check on her", but Emily knew it was really to snoop. Helen hadn't checked on anyone in over thirty years, and it was doubtful she'd have started now. When Helen had walked in, she'd stared at Emily like she'd gone mad. Emily, for her part, had been stark naked, her hair wet, and the scars from previous punishments painfully visible on her arms and back. She'd tried to cover herself with the towel, but Helen had seen enough. Two hours later, a very serious policeman was standing at her door, asking to see her arms. Now, six weeks later, she'd been released from the hospital on the condition that she attend therapy. Her doctor wasn't too bad, but he didn't understand. Her punishments were necessary, mandatory almost, otherwise how was she supposed to improve? Her left arm started to itch, and she fought back the urge to scratch it. Itching would just be taken as a sign that she wasn't healing inside, and she desperately wanted to go home and resume her life. The door opened and a tall, slender woman with blonde hair walked in. Her ID badge said "Alexis", but the name didn't suit her. She looked more like an Amy, if anything, but Emily wasn't going to argue. After all, she'd changed her birth name as soon as she'd hit 18, so she couldn't really say much. "Emily, right?" the woman smiled, sitting down opposite her. "I'm Alexis, nice to meet you." Emily nodded back, her instant mistrust rising to the surface. Therapists had become the enemy - people you could never trust, not with the truth. Alexis raised an eyebrow, and she cleared her throat. "Sorry." she forced a smile on her face. "I'm not a fan of therapy." "Yes, I saw from your notes that you've had ... six therapists over the years. Why is that?" "Just never found the right fit." Emily shrugged. "I don't like men, and women are as two faced as it gets." "OK, well, hopefully you don't think I'm two faced?" Emily laughed shortly, adjusting her seating position. Her legs opened, and her arms flopped onto the arms of the chair - the classic pose her father had taught her. No weakness, ever. "I barely know you." she said irritably. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Alexis smiled again, making a small note on her pad, and Emily couldn't help but roll her eyes. Note taking was the worst part of therapy - you just knew that everything could and would be held against you, even if confidentiality was a thing. "So, Emily." Alexis said. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?" Emily raised her eyebrows and leaned forward in her chair, rocking her knees from side to side. She didn't mind talking about her lifestyle, but she knew it made a lot of people uncomfortable to hear about what she did, particularly the pearl-clutchers on her street. It worked a treat with cold callers, though - they only ever knocked once. "Where do you want me to start?" she asked, glancing up at her therapist. "I mean, we've got quite a few decades to get through."