Refuge

[Lizzie Lovental]

What am I doing here? I might as well go back and write into my diary instead of speaking with the school's psychologist... Mother assigned many of those to me and none of them have helped?

Assuming that he works here, he also has powers, but what sort of powers? Is it why I was sent here? To discuss with someone who is close to me by nature? ...they never understand. How could they? ... i have not heard anyone of stealing here, even after all those years; they all seem so perfect, why am I here?

Lizzie stared at the name on the door. Doctor Sean Neville. She had seen this man around the school, but had no opinions of him; it was not like her to form such things only by judging their appearance.
She took one step back, eyebrows furrowed. Why was she here? Because her mother had asked the school staff to help her to get rid of the issue with stealing. She had gotten into trouble because of it several times now, but not many complaints were directed towards her. It was as if they had finally accepted the fact that if something had gone missing, it was in her wardrobe, stuffed all in a box. It was funny that even if they knew, Lizzie never noticed that something had gone missing. Everything she stole was perfectly looked after, all items looked like new.

Sighing quietly, Lizzie looked at the watch on her wrist. This one, at least, belonged to her without being taken from anyone. It was three pm and, hesitantly, the girl lifted her hand and knocked seven times on the door before taking a step back. Even waiting for a second was a torture.

Is he not there? ... should I leave?

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Certain job titles at Hammel necessitated meta-human status on behalf of the staff member. Powers trainers, for instance, could only serve their roles if they were meta-human themselves. The Headmistress (or Headmaster, depending on the gender of the person running the school), as the face of Hammel, was always meta-human, and, by this stage in Hammel’s existence, was also always a Hammel alumni. By the nature of the job, the Side Effects Specialist needed to be meta-human. The school technopaths were meta-human; much of the security team was meta-human. The Head of Research and the Head of Recruiting, and most of their respective departments, were meta-human by necessity.

Nothing in Sean’s job description mandated that the school psychiatrist be meta-human. However, Sean’s experiences at Hammel as a student had led him to apply for (and eventually accept) the job as Hammel Psychiatrist. Likewise, they had kept him here for twenty-four years, even if his powers alone had not sparked his interest in his career path.

Due to his job description, Sean had to interact with students for a variety of reasons. Some came voluntarily. Others came at the insistence of their families or by arrangement from staff. Lizzie Lovental’s mother had alerted the psychiatrist that her daughter had kleptomania-related tendencies. That alone was reason for Sean to make an appointment with her.

In preparation, he had reviewed her file. Then, when the clock struck 3:00p.m. and she knocked, he was ready. “Please come in, Lizzie,” he called out to her. He had no intention to keep her waiting.

[Lizzie Lovental]

Lizzie looked at the door. It did not move nor did she hear anything from the inside. Waiting for an answer seemed like an eternity, especially when she really did not wish to be there.
It was not the job of her opinion. Lizzie did not know much of the psychologists and if they were kept at this school and if they managed to help others, then she had no rights to judge them whatsoever. But whether or not he would be able to help her - that was a whole another case.

Her thoughts and nerves were stirred and she did not notice how her hand had taken the color of the door right in front of her. She did not reach it out once more to knock on the door; if he was not there, she might as well leave and meet with Sean another time. But the answer came, inviting the girl in.

The pink haired girl entered the office, eyes moving to the clock on the wall. She was on time.
Hiding her hands behind her back, her blue eyes turned then to the man who she observed cautiously. He was aware of her tendencies, he was aware of her powers and who knew - maybe, with his psychological skills, he was aware of her fear although Lizzie's face remained monotone and calm.

She did not move from her spot, though. The only movement that the teen made was closing the door behind her before turning to face the man as if expecting him to execute her.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean did not bite.

He had said as much to nervous students before. Sometimes, the reassurance helped, even though they did not consciously worry about him rebuffing them or otherwise behaving in a frightening or aggressive manner. Sometimes the light humor was enough to diffuse the nervousness by lightening the mood and shifting focus away from nervousness. Other times, it had the opposite effect and made the students more nervous, as they did not know how to respond to the comment, or the reminder of his telepathy made them second-guess themselves.

Given how nervous Lizzie appeared, the psychiatrist chose to err on the side of caution. He did not make the remark.

Instead, he smiled a welcoming smile at her. “Good afternoon,” he remarked, his voice gentle and friendly. He then gestured at all of the seating options in his office, from the chairs in front of his desk to the more comfortable arm chairs at the other side of the room, leading up to the sofa, which was the crown jewel of furniture in his office. “Would you like to sit down?”

If not, they could work around that. Sean had conducted sessions with students before during which they insisted on standing. He had done one with someone who had insisted on sticking to the ceiling for the duration.

[Lizzie Lovental]

I want to leave...

She observed the man quietly, face still and calm, betraying no thoughts that bothered her. He seemed like a man who was not only reasonable, but also trustowrthy. But then again, weren't all the psychologists supposed to be trustworthy? She bit her lower lip as she tried not to smirk at this thought. It would be a shame if he'd betray her condition to others, would it not? Then again, who knew. Maybe it was for the better.

When he smiled at her, Lizzie tilted her head as if thinking what that friendly gesture could possibly mean. That was not meant for her, was it now? People rarely smiled at her, not to mention this polite tone he used. There was something strange and off and she did not like this new situation; not that she missed being bullied or ignored by other people. But it was so new and so strange.

"No," she said, perhaps far too quickly, but then she flexed her lips enough to force a smile on her face:"I mean thank you, yes." Then she looked around and sat down on the chair. Once there, she was surprised how soft it actually was and how her tiny body was almost drowning in it.

Positioning her hands on her lap, Lizzie turned her blue eyes back towards the man and waited quietly for him to start. She did not know what to do in a situation like this. Was it her who was supposed to do the talking or him? What was she supposed to talk about anyway?

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Lizzie’s forlorn thought was hardly the first time anyone had felt that way in Sean’s office. As much as he tried to ease any trauma to students who found themselves here, he acknowledged that it would hardly be the last. Many students were intimidated by him at first glance, even with his gentle and patient demeanor. He was very tall and solidly built; he was in his mid-fifties, soon to enter his late-fifties. He was a telepath, and he did nothing to hide that, even if he also didn’t wear it on his sleeve every moment of the day, at least not around students. He was an administrator who had been at Hammel for close to twenty-five years. He was a psychiatrist, with all of the baggage that included.

At least he was trustworthy. And part of proving that worthiness involved not responding to her unarticulated thoughts, even if that would make some assurances easier.

He offered her a gentle smile and waited for her to sit down. Once she had, and once she seemed about as comfortable as she would become given the circumstances, the psychiatrist took her by the hand (metaphorically) and led her through the general paces of these meetings. “How are you doing today?”

Best to begin with small talk. If she appeared uncomfortable with that, then he would try another tactic or else jump right to business.

[Lizzie Lovental]

Again she wondered if she should say something, or maybe ask the man a question or two, but nothing besides “Why am I here?” came to her mind and she was certain she already knew the answer.
She was a thief and there was nothing she could do to hold her urges back. That made her relatively miserable, but not yet suicidal to end the torture of the others. This act, no matter how strong willed or how cowardly, was too frightening for Lizzie. She loved life and killing herself because of one issue was not a right thing to do. Hopefully. But then again she did not know the future.

She tilted her head to the right and looked at the man, not aware of his abilities and she began wondering what did the poor soul do in his past life that he had to work with people who were obviously not so stable. Of course he saw so many those who possessed potential, but still: his work was more than tiring. With whom did he talk about his own problems?
Lizzie realized that even though she knew nothing of Sean, she was already pitying him.

“Uh, what?” she started and lifted her chin to look back up at him. How was she feeling today? That question was odd since people did not ask her that and she did not know what to say at first. Lie? “Perfectly fine,” she retorted, offering him the best smile she could put on.
If he truly was in contact with her mother, then perhaps if she acted well, they would realize that she was fine on her own. No need to summon her to complain.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean tried not to use the word ‘thief’ when discussing kleptomania, particularly with patients. Yes, they engaged in theft, and he did not advocate such behaviors. However, kleptomania, actual kleptomania as opposed to using the word as an afterthought, was an impulse control disorder. Compulsions were difficult to control, and the failure to do so did not indicate the same mindset of a person who stole for fun. Any more than someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder indulged in their compulsions for fun or to irritate those around them.

However, they would have to address those tendencies and her compulsions. In due time. There was no need to confront her loudly or aggressively about them.

He preferred honesty in this room. He did not like for the students to lie to him, both because it was counterproductive and because nobody enjoyed being lied to. But it could take time to establish trust, and he understood that; such was the point of introduction meetings. Such was the benefit of his patience.

“Good.” The psychiatrist kept his attention on her. “How have classes been going?” The semester was coming to a close, as there were only three weeks before graduation. Classes were winding down, and that opened questions about summer plans. He would reach those in time as well.