He adjusts his glasses, the missing nosepad causing the metal to sting the bridge of his nose. This is a familiar position for him, that of counselor; he'd been doing it since they three were in high school, ever since that day, sitting in the portable class room and writing the word 'Seven' into their flesh.
It had been easy enough to align themselves with the basic ideas of ego, superego, and id. He was the Superego, the thinker, the analyzer, the reasoner, and she was the Ego, the frightened but idealistic child upon whom everything rested. He and the Id could be driving forces, but it was ultimately for the Ego to decide, to choose, to do or not.
She hadn't come alone this time, having followed through on her decision to reintegrate the Id, who had been banished for many years after its outbursts. While he had his reservations about the move, she'd said she needed it in order to live, and that the Superego knew to be true, even if he wasn't sure they were ready for this.
The anger was still there, though; the marks of rage and anguish were visible upon her skin, cold and intractable with the Id to fuel them. With the Superego running out of ideas, he'd decided that it couldn't hurt to try and burn off the built-up anger. Well, it could hurt, but they were running out of options.
He took a deep breath, watching her for a moment, able to see the small, burning flame of Id inside of her.
"What do you want?" he asked.
She averted her gaze, folding her arms and giving a slight shrug.
"What do you want?" he asked again.
"To be happy," she said, again with a shrug.
"What do you want?" he asked again. That wasn't going to cut it.
"You know what I want. We all know what I want; let's not play this stupid game," she said, running a hand through her hair.
"What do you want?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.
"To not be here. To be anywhere else, anyone else, so I don't have to put up with this bullshit."
"What do you want?"
"Fuck you," she said, the Id flaring defensively.
"What do you want?"
She just stared at him.
"What do you want?"
"I want what I can't have."
"What do you want?"
"I want to set the world on fire."
"What do you want?"
"I want to rule the ashes."
"What do you want?"
"I want to make everyone else feel my pain."
"What do you want?"
"To not hate myself anymore."
"What do you want?
"Stop it!" she cried, getting to her feet. "This is idiotic; you know damned well what I want."
"So, say it," he offered.
"I. Want. Justice," she growled, stepping over the table and closing the distance, staring into his cool, observant gaze. "I want to hurt them. I want to make them understand what they did to me, what they allowed to happen. I want them to know what happened to me; not just be aware of it but to know, to feel it in their soul, to not be able to do anything without being afraid of someone judging them or yelling at them."
She turned away, stalking about the small room, her chest heaving with each enraged breath.
"They owe me!" she yelled. "They owe me the years they stole from me!"
"You won't get it," he calmly remarked. "It's not something that can be given; the time is simply gone. You won't get it back."
She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head back and sighing in frustration.
"That's not fair," she said.
"It's not," he agreed. They sat in silence for a bit before she finally moved to sit back down.
"You know what I really want?" she asked.
"What's that?" he asked, unable to keep the small smile of his face.
"... I want help," she said, leaning her head back against the couch. "I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't have the energy to figure it out while I'm having to fight myself every step of the way."
"So, maybe we find a way to stop you from fighting yourself?" he offered. She raised her head, looking at him skeptically, but knowing what he was going to say.
"That's a lot to just eat," she said.
"It is," he agreed. "And it won't be easy, and it'll probably take more than one try, but it's what you need to do, in the end."
She folded her arms once more, closing her eyes, thinking of the task at hand.
"I deserved better," she said.
"You still do," he countered. "But you're the only one who can give you better."
