Chapter Text
Saving the world is some really traumatizing shit. So it's no surprise that a few months after things settle down, at the behest of Celine, all three Huntrix girls are signed up for therapy.
“Dr. Kim Su-hee is a leading specialist when it comes to PTSD,” she tells them over facetime on their way to their way to a group activity. “You’ll be seeing her individually and as a group.”
“I think paying for therapy is the least you could do after traumatizing me,” Rumi snarks with a shit eating grin.
Celine rolls her eyes, sighing in irritation. “Goodbye, Rumi.” Rumi's phone beeps repeatedly, indicating she ended the facetime.
Zoey whistles. “Aigoo, are you ever letting her live that down?”
“In the future maybe,” Rumi giggles. “But for now I'm going to rub it in as much as possible.” her smile grows as she leans back into the seat.
“I'm surprised you even let her live in the first place,” Mira doesn't miss a beat, not even bothering to turn from the car window. She hadn't meant to say it like that. She was mostly joking. Mostly.
She can feel Rumi and Zoey staring at her in the pregnant silence that follows. “What? You were all roided up with demon rage. Is it wrong to assume that that was your next course of action?”
“She's still my mom though,” Rumi responds with a concerned look. She knew a little bit about Mira’s homelife and family so she could understand if she got an affirmative answer to her next question.“Have you ever thought about—”
“No,” Mira deadpans, knowing exactly where her question was going. “And if I did, I wouldn't tell either of you.”
Rumi pouts. “What? Why not?”
Mira points to her. “Because you over catastrophize everything,” then she points to Zoey. “And you can’t keep a secret to save your goddamn life.”
“Wha?! I can for sure keep a secret!” the maknae balks.
Mira raises a brow. "So you're telling me, that if I told you right now that I used my trust fund to hire a hitman off the dark web to off my family you wouldn't call the cops?”
Zoey opens her mouth.....and then promptly closes it.
Mira gestures towards her in vindication. “See?!”
“That’s not fair! I'm like, legally obligated to not keep that a secret!” she pouts, folding her arms with a huff. She petulantly places her head on Rumi's waiting shoulder, who pats her head like a consoling parent.
Mira could give her that. “Okay fine, what about when we were throwing Rumi a surprise party and you blabbed about it on Bubble?”
“She didn't tell me directly,” Rumi points out, stroking Zoey's hair. “So maybe that doesn't count?”
“She didn't have to,” Mira reminds her. “Because everyone else did.”
And she wasn't wrong. Rumi had come out of a brand deal meeting with hundreds of notifications from various platforms of people telling her to enjoy her birthday party. She hadn't known of any birthday party. She called Mira to ask her what everyone was talking about and the shouting match she witnessed over the receiver was one for the ages. Suffice to say, the surprise had been ruined, and there was no surprise party.
“Sorry,” Zoey apologizes sheepishly hiding behind Rumi.
Rumi giggles while Mira rolls her eyes.
“It's all good, dude. Just don't do it again,” Mira sighs, patting her on the head. Because of the stilted relationship she has with her family, she isn't used to being the one receiving any affection. She's not exactly touch adverse, but is way more comfortable giving it than receiving. (She's working on it.)
Plus if she doesn't placate the younger girl, she'll sulk the whole day and then Rumi in all of her group mom glory will force her to apologize anyway. No thanks.
They arrive at the photo studio and decide to stretch their legs before walking in.
“Shit, we're like half an hour late,” Mira says, shielding her eyes from the hot July sun.
“Ugh, why was there so much traffic!” Zoey groans as she shuts the door behind them.
“That's just what happens when you drive in Seoul on a busy Wednesday afternoon, Zoe,” Rumi replies, putting on her Gucci sunglasses. “Hopefully the photographer will be cool with us being a little late.”
Mira knows those are her favorite pair. And she knows that because the right lens has a small scratch from when Rumi had dropped them on a flight to London during their first tour. Insanely specific, she knows.
“Thirty minutes is more than a little,” Mira says as they walk in. She'd be more than happy if they ended up having to reschedule the shoot.
She's always hated photoshoots. The flashing of the cameras, hot lights, and endless hours of standing still, just to have to stand still some more later on to do inevitable reshoots. Sometimes she thinks of her lithe figure and angular face as less of a blessing and more of a curse.
But to Mira's dismay the photographer's sitting in the studio messing with his camera when they enter the room. His face lights up as soon as he sees them.
“Sorry,” Rumi tells him, taking her glasses off with a shake of her hair. “There was an unbelievable amount of traffic getting here,” She gives him a sickeningly sweet smile that makes Mira want to roll her eyes all the way into the back of her fucking skull.
No braid today. Definitely practical for what they're doing. Rumi’s long hair already seems like hell to deal with, so her having it down when people are going to be playing in it all day anyway just made sense.
“That's okay,” He responds as he stands with a soft smile. “How about we get started?”
Mira remembers him.
Mira also remembers that she doesn't like him.
He's not a bad guy or anything, but he was constantly trying to check out both Zoey and Rumi the whole time they had a shoot with him a few months ago and it made the entire process even more aggravating and unbearable for Mira. She really has to tell Bobby to check who the photographer is before they accept any more shoots.
This one is for some fancy overseas magazine Mira can't care to remember the name of. All she knows is that the exposure will be good for the group and that's all that matters to her. They had already done the interview for it a few weeks ago, and now was the hard part. For Mira, at least. Rumi and Zoey love playing dress up and posing.
And Mira will never admit it, but the both of them make the experience better. When it’s just her, sometimes she’ll beg one of them to tag along just so she doesn’t feel like she wants to shoot her brains out. Now it’s become such a recurring thing that she tags along to their shoots. It’s definitely different when you’re not the one in front of the camera and hot lights.
They quickly get ready and mill about as the photographer sets up the first shoot. Thankfully, it’s not anything too crazy, just a cover photo of the girls posing in some semi formal wear from brands they all know and love. Mira can handle that.
“Look how flowy it is!” Zoey shouts with glee, twirling around in her gold backless evening gown. Mira admires her for being able to wear anything she wants without feeling like crawling out of her skin.
Rumi must sense her discomfort because she interlocks fingers with her and gives her a small smile. “How are you doing?” She’s wearing an intricate long red and gold evening gown with a slit down the side that has Mira trying (and failing) not to look at her legs.
“My suit is itchy,” She grunts in annoyance, tugging at the sleeves of her jacket. It’s a simple tailored black and gold suit but the material is scratching her arms and neck because of the black bralette top under it. “I can’t wait to get this over with so I can get back home and sit in my boxers.”
“You wear boxers?” Rumi's shock is slightly feigned, considering this change had happened gradually over the past couple of months.
Mira knows she’s not making fun of her, but the teasing tone she said it in has a tinge of something else she can’t exactly place. “They’re comfortable,” she responds defensively. It comes out more as a whine than anything and Mira hates it because it makes Rumi tease her more.
She leans her head on Mira’s shoulder. “You’ve dealt with hoards of demons and defeated Gwi-Ma himself, yet photoshoots are your kryptonite?” She teases.
“You’ve been doing this modeling shit since you were in fucking diapers, I don't want to hear it,” Mira huffs, letting go of her hand when the photographer claps his hands.
“You guys ready?” He asks expectantly.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Mira grumbles under her breath.
Rumi gives her a good natured pat on the back for reassurance as she walks past to her get on set, and it does help, but it also makes the material of the jacket scratch at her back in a way that makes her want to punch a fucking wall.
For the next half hour almost every single pose they do has the fabric rubbing against her skin. Specifically the ones that have Zoey or Rumi leaning against her, causing friction. She let’s out a “Thank fuck,” when the photographer says he got the shot: Mira sitting down in an arm chair with Zoey and Rumi flanking her sides.
She gets some reprieve with the next one because she’s in a black sleeveless turtle neck and burgundy fitted slacks, but Rumi's got on a white cardigan with little bee charms all over the sleeves, and she’s laying her head in Mira’s lap. Which again, would be perfectly fine, if it weren’t for the stupid fucking bees. And to make matters worse, she’s supposed to have her arm draped over her. So now, not only can she feel the bees on her abdomen and upper legs, she can feel them on her arm and hand too.
The only one who really didn’t have to do much this time was Zoey. Wearing a burnt orange pair of overalls and a slim navy green sweater, she was supposed to be in between Mira’s legs.
Mira truly envies her right now.
The third one they’re standing, and Mira realizes she was better off with the bees. The heels she has on are incredibly painful. She normally doesn’t wear this brand (she thinks they’re the most uncomfortable heels on planet fucking earth), but this spread is basically an advertisement for the brands they’re wearing. The brands that paid for them to wear them so now Mira is stuck counting in her head so she can focus on something else other than the pain.
What was supposed to be a simple, classic trio shot of them standing together in some party dresses, ended up being twenty minutes of torture on her feet. She’s fucking ecstatic when they finally get the okay to go on break. And since they’re at the halfway point, Rumi checks in on her again.
“How are you feeling now?” She asks, sipping on her iced latte. Decaf. One pump of vanilla. Two pumps of caramel. Mira has it so memorized she could probably get all the stuff and make it for Rumi at home at this point.
“Not bad, but definitely not good.” she sighs, and bites into her sandwich. “Sometimes I feel like I should have just shut the fuck up and stuck to being a chaebol so I could take a position at my dad’s company,”
“You could have,” Rumi gives her a short laugh. “But you know you would have hated it.” She still has on the makeup from their last look and Mira studies the way the light shimmers off her eyeshadow as she laughs.
Mira cracks a smile. “Yeah I know. This definitely sucks ass, but nothing would suck ass more than being around handsy old rich assholes everyday.”
“Uh, speak for yourself,” Zoey chimes in from the floor, slurping up some of her jajangmyeon. “You guys would have been set for life either way. I’d be working some dead end job at like, Forever 21 or something,”
Rumi blinks. “Didn’t they go out of business?”
“See!”
“Zoey, I’m sure you would have found something. It’s not like your family is poor or anything either.” Mira points out. She didn’t really know much about Zoey’s home life, just that her parents were divorced and she moved back to Seoul with her mom before she was a trainee. But if Zoey had been destitute at some point in her life, Mira was sure that by now she would have been comfortable enough in their friendship and commitment as a group to tell them both.
“But we weren’t ‘chaebol’ rich! Or ‘daughter of kpop royalty’ rich! We were like, barely ‘two family car garage’ rich! And after my parents divorce, if I had gone to college, I would have been the one behind that counter making your order!” She points to Rumi’s coffee to emphasize her point.
Rumi makes a face that Mira can't help but snort at because she knows exactly what she's about to say.
“No offense Zoe, but I would not want you as my barista,” Rumi replies, setting down said latte on the table and stretches her legs across Mira’s lap like a cat. “You put way too much syrup in yours.”
“Yeah, to the point where I’m wondering how I’m the one with IBS,” Mira agrees, trying not to focus on Rumi’s bare legs. While not the tallest in the group, she still had a great pair of legs. Mira would know, because they're always laid across her lap. “Plus had you posted your raps on Tiktok or something you definitely would have gone viral.”
Zoey thinks about it, and then agrees. “Yeah you’re right, it’s super easy to go viral these days. Plus, if that didn’t work out, I could have always become a cam girl!”
Rumi and Mira have two very different reactions to her statement.
“No!”
“Hot.”
Rumi turns to Mira and opens her mouth to say something, (probably to chew her out for encouraging Zoey's idea) but her phone alarm goes off signaling the end of their lunch break. She glares at Mira before getting up and heading to the dressing rooms.
Mira and Zoey can’t help but do anything but laugh.
Just two more to go now. Another group shot and some solo stuff. She can do this.
This one is kind of fun because it involves props. They’re given a bottle of champagne and told to go crazy. Mira’s in a suit again, a deep mustard yellow with a tie loose around her neck. She actually digs this one a lot.
Rumi and Zoey are also wearing suits as well this time. Blue and red respectively.
The suit Mira has on doesn’t make her want to pull her hair out so she definitely considers that a win. This shoot only takes maybe twenty minutes to shoot and it's the best twenty minutes Mira’s has had the entire time they’ve been here.
Now it’s time for what Mira was waiting for: the individual shots for the splash page of the article. The discomfort is considerably lower when she’s the only one in the shot, and there isn’t someone constantly holding, leaning, or pulling on her.
First Rumi in black slacks and a buttoned up dress shirt. Mira couldn’t help but stare in awe at the way Rumi was a natural, her gaze intensifying every time she looked directly into the camera. It made Mira feel...things. Things that she was definitely going to file away for later because there’s no way she’s going to unpack that right now.
Then Zoey, in a sleeveless white shirt and long, flowy, black skirt. The look really suited her. And judging by the excited look on Zoey’s face when the photographer showed her the results, she thought so too.
Now finally Mira. Black dress shorts, untucked long sleeve button up, black sweater vest, and a black tie. Not her first choice, but she definitely respected it. She didn’t care either way though, because the only thing standing between her and her freedom was the next fifteen minutes.
And that's when she feels it.
The tag.
It’s not like she can take it off either, they're essentially renting these clothes for this photoshoot and any damage incurred would come right out of whatever money they got for it. Every single movement she makes causes the tag of the dress shirt to scrape the nape of her neck and it takes literally almost everything in her not to snap at the photographer.
Soon it becomes so unbearable that she’s actually starting to sweat. She makes eye contact with Rumi, who can tell something’s clearly wrong, but can’t tell exactly what. She doesn’t want to tap out, but if this shirt stays on her any longer this studio is going to be completely trashed as much as their private jet.
Finally at her limit she asks, “Yo, can we time out for a sec?”
Rumi and Zoey’s eyes are immediately on her in concern.
“What’s wrong?” Rumi asks her, searching her face like she already knows.
Mira’s a little embarrassed because she knows what she says next is going to put Rumi in group mom mode. “I’m kind of overstimulated.”
That’s all she has to hear. Rumi turns to the photographer, a small-but tight-smile on her lips. “Do you have all you need, seonsaengnim?” The tone in her voice is still as polite as ever but there's a protective edge to it that Mira knows is her being intimidating just in case he tries anything funny. Something about it feels...nice.
The photographer blinks and checks his watch. “Uh, yes, you three can go.”
“Holy shit did you see his face?” Zoey gushes as they walk into their penthouse. She skips ahead of Rumi and Mira excitedly. “He almost pissed himself because of you!”
Rumi rolls her eyes. “If I wanted to actually make him piss himself I could have.” Not that the situation would have even called for it anyway, but Mira would have loved to have seen that.
Mira breathes a sigh of relief to be back in her own clothes and her own home. No more scratchy fabric, no more hot studio lights or flashing cameras. Just her, her girls, and a couch she can't wait to rot on.
She emerges from her room in her beloved boxers a few minutes later, phone in hand ready to rot on the couch after a long day.
Rumi's laying in her spot listening to Zoey babble on about some amazing k-drama that they should watch.
She only moves to allow Mira to sit, reclaiming her spot on Mira’s legs as soon as the taller girl is settled.
Mira’s heart shoots into her throat when realizes that Rumi's camisole has ridden up and she can feel the bare skin of the other girl's back on her thigh.
Smooth, soft, warm skin that is starting to make her mind drift elsewhere. She clears her throat. “What are you guys up for?”
“We can watch that drama I was telling Rumi about!” Zoey says bouncing up and down.
Rumi yawns, scratching her belly. Mira tries not to look. “I love you Zoe, but I'm not really in the mood for a depressing law drama.”
“Okay,” Zoey pouts a little but nods. “How about a movie?”
Rumi makes a noise of agreement. “I’m down for a movie.” She looks up at Mira and the aforementioned girl has to look literally everywhere else but her face. “Sounds good?”
Mira grunts a response and puts on a movie they had all been wanting to get around to watching together for the longest time.
A comfortable silence sets in as the movie starts, and Mira instinctively lifts her arm when Zoey scoots closer to her to nuzzle into her side. She smells like the sandalwood and jasmine soap she always uses, and Mira can’t help but breathe her in.
Mira has always been an introspective person despite her blunt nature, and emotionally intelligent as well. She can tell when Rumi is on the verge of a panic attack or a depressive spiral (those eased with time after they talked about everything), or when Zoey is getting frustrated and overwhelmed with the writing process and needs a distraction.
But she’s never really been able to pinpoint her own emotions that well. She’s never been blind to them, and she can articulate how she’s feeling if need be. But if she’s not actively thinking about it, she’s not going to look too much into it.
And with the tight feeling that’s been happening in her chest all day every time Zoey or Rumi touch her, she comes to the conclusion that there’s definitely something going on with her emotions about them that she can’t ignore.
Zoey complains she’s hungry so they order takeout.
Mira doesn’t even have to ask what they want because she already knows. She always knows. Even when they don’t. Rumi has joked before that she’s got ‘nothing but files up there’ while tapping her forehead and Mira’s beginning to think she’s right.
They eat while finishing the movie, and by the time the credits roll, both Zoey and Rumi are asleep. Their combined heaviness feels like a weighted blanket on Mira, and against her better judgment, (and to the detriment of her back) she can’t help but follow them into the land of sleep.
She doesn’t quite know what to make of these unidentifiable feelings yet, but that doesn’t matter to her right now. All that matters is Zoey’s limp hold on her arm, Rumi’s slight nuzzle into her abdomen, and the call of rest.
She immediately regrets it when she wakes up to the smell of pancakes with a god awful crick in her neck.
She looks down to see Zoey still tucked into her side, drool dried to her face......and Mira's sleep shirt. “Seriously, Zoe?" She groans in disgust. “Ugh,"
Mira gently pushes the younger girl off of herself and lays her down on the couch, throwing Rumi’s discarded blanket over her.
Zoey doesn't even bat an eye. Mira knows more than anyone else that Zoey can sleep through anything. Turbulence, traffic, a business meeting. Anything.
Mira groggily gets onto her feet and stretches with a grunt, joints popping in protest.
She scratches her belly as she walks into the kitchen. “Yo,” she says sniffing.
“Good morning,” Rumi responds, twirling about in the kitchen. She sets a freshly golden brown pancake on top of the small stack already on the plate on the counter.
From where Mira was standing she could only make out about three or four so Rumi couldn't have been up for more than an hour or so.
She watches her flip the bacon on the stove and then rub her hands on her apron. “How'd you sleep?”
Rumi hums for a moment. “Pretty good. I didn't think we'd all fall asleep on the couch like that, but we did have a pretty long day.” She pours more batter onto the skillet. “How'd you sleep?”
“Terrible,” Mira replies with no hesitation. She yawned. “You slept well because of me.” She slowly trudges over to Rumi and leans onto the counter.
Rumi giggles as she flips a pancake. “Well you do have very nice legs,” her eyes trail Mira for just a second and it was so ‘blink and you'll miss it’ that Mira isn't even sure if that's actually what even just happened.
Suddenly Mira feels very self conscious. “Uh thanks,” She tries to change the subject. “What's up with breakfast? Don't you sleep in on Thursdays?”
“Yeah, but we have that therapist appointment today.” Rumi reminds her, plating another pancake and turning the stove off.
Oh. Right.
Mira completely forgot about it with everything that had transpired the day before. She had been so exhausted. “Do you think therapy would...help?”
The hesitancy in her voice causes Rumi to look at her, eyes soft and full of concern. Despite being the one to come out of this situation with the most trauma, she’s always the one checking up on Mira and Zoey. It made Mira feel awful, even if her contribution to their shared trauma was unknowing.
“Is it because of the stuff with your parents?” Rumi asks, stepping into her space, and Mira doesn’t exactly have a problem with it, but her brain short circuits the moment she places her hand on top of Mira’s, warm and soft. There’s a dusting of flour on her face, and Mira has to focus on one of the few freckles next to it not to think about how close she is, and how easy it would be to pull her in. She feels so fucking bad for having such perverted thoughts while Rumi is genuinely trying to comfort her.
“My relationship with therapy is....complicated,” she settles on, letting out a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding. “It’s my family, but also the fact that I don’t need another person telling me that something is fucking wrong with me.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with you,” Rumi tells her, and it takes everything in Mira not to rebuke that statement with a smart remark. “You and Zoey are the ones who taught me that. Maybe you should listen to your own advice?”
She couldn’t exactly argue with that.
Rumi moves her hand from Mira’s to her face, gently forcing the taller girl to look at her. “I’m not saying you have to like it. But never know, maybe since it's the three of us this time you won’t feel like you’re going up against something alone. Can you just try it for me? Please?”
All Mira’s brain can register is the hand on her face, the pleading look in Rumi’s eyes, and the way her little ‘please’ plays on loop over and over in her head. It doesn’t help that Rumi is basically in her face now, her breath cool and minty from toothpaste. She feels like a teenage boy the way she has to avert her eyes. She can feel her face heat up and knows that Rumi can see her blush.
“F-Fine,” She grumbles, and Rumi picks her up into a bear hug that has her remembering that the shorter girl has demon strength. Mira’s eyes also widen in horror when she realizes Rumi doesn’t have a bra on. Her heart is in her fucking throat. She nearly passes out in relief when she sees Zoey enter the kitchen.
“Good morning!” Zoey sing-songs, wrapping her arms around Rumi with a yawn. She goes to hug Mira as well, and usually the older girl rebuffs her before she’s had her morning coffee, but Mira’s so thankful for the distraction that she accepts it without protest.
The maknae takes advantage of her kindness and holds on for as long as she can before Mira lets out a “Ya, that’s enough!” and pries herself out of her grip.
Zoey takes a moment to sniff the air, her eyes brightening. “Oooh pancakes! I'm starving!” She makes a beeline for the stack on the counter, but is stopped by a very strong Rumi with a raised brow. Typical group mom behaviour.
“Wash your hands,” Rumi chastises her, and laughs when Zoey pouts. “C’mon, I promise Mira and I won’t touch them until you come back.” She looks to Mira for support and Mira immediately looks away trying (and failing) to not remember how Rumi’s chest felt squished against hers.
“Yeah,” She agrees half-heartedly. “We promise.”
Zoey groans but still jogs to the bathroom.
Rumi turns to Mira and squeezes her hand reassuringly with a small smile. Maybe she was right. It was just one time. If she didn’t want to continue, Rumi would probably just tell Celine she wasn’t willing to continue. And with the way she’s been standing up to Celine more the past few months, Mira was sure of it.
And so, despite the very gay internal battle happening in her head right now, Mira can’t help but smile back at her.
“Hello girls,” Dr. Kim greets them when she steps into the waiting room. “I'm Dr. Kim.”
They quietly greet her and Mira realizes she hadn't considered it until this point whether or not Celine had actually told Dr. Kim what they had PTSD from. Can't exactly tell a medical professional they were out trying to seal the Honmoon by hunting demons and ended up learning one of them was part demon. They'd all probably be on a seventy two hour psychiatric hold.
“Is it alright if we just meet individually today?” Dr Kim says, drawing Mira out of her thoughts. “I'd like to get to know you all separately before we start any group sessions,” she adds when she sees them share a look.
Rumi, ever the leader, nods. “Sure.”
Rumi goes first, then Zoey, and now finally, Mira.
Mira saunters into Dr. Kim's office with her hands in her pockets and sits down across from her.
“One minute,” she says, eyeing her from in front of her computer. “I just need to pull up your file.”
Of course she has a file. She'd been in therapy since she was seven. Fought every step of the way until she was eighteen and promptly stopped as soon as she knew her parents couldn't legally force her to go.
Out of the three of them, she was the only one who dreaded going to their appointment. She had nothing against therapists but they always clashed with her and labeled her a 'problem child'. And a child no longer, she really didn't feel like hearing the same things as an adult. But even she knows that what happened them, what happened to Rumi was fucked up and they needed to talk to someone about it. So against every fiber of her being she had acquiesced.
“You've had a lot of therapists over the years,” Dr Kim comments, though there's no judgment in her voice. Mira can actually see a hint of an amused smirk as she says it. “Any reason why?”
“With a lot of them,” Mira says, looking anywhere but her face. “We didn't really mesh well.”
Dr. Kim hums and turns to her. “Why not?”
Mira huffs, sitting up and folding her arms. “They never listen to me. They always tell me what they think I'm saying instead of listening to what I'm actually saying and then get mad at me for getting upset.”
“Did your parents ever tell you why they put you in therapy?” Dr Kim asks, folding her hands. In a lot of ways she reminds Mira of Celine. She's prying, but not enough that Mira feels the urge to push back. She hates to admit it, but the older woman is definitely good at her job.
Mira swallows. “That I was a ‘troubled child’ who needed it to be fixed,” This wasn't the only reason that they told her why, but it was definitely number one. “That I needed to learn how to become a proper member of the family.”
Dr. Kim sighs, like there's something that she's debating on whether to tell her or not. “Mira you...You weren't a troubled child,” she says and there's annoyance in her voice, but Mira can tell it's not directed at her. “You were autistic.”
Mira blinks, the bomb that just got dropped on her barely registering. “I'm what?”
“You've been diagnosed since you were seven years old.”
She can't think. She actually can't really move either. She just sits there, staring at the framed picture on Dr. Kim's desk of who she assumes is her young daughter holding a frog on what seems to be some camping trip. She stares and stares until her eyes lose focus. It was like every single thing she's ever experienced in her life had fallen into place, like the missing piece had been found and put where it belonged. “Are you...are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Dr. Kim sighs. “I know you’ve probably spent all this time wondering if something was wrong with you, and I’m sorry that both your parents and your previous therapists have failed you.” It’s sincere. Mira can tell because when she does finally look at Dr. Kim, her eyes are sad. “It’s not uncommon for parents to hide diagnoses as well, especially within wealthy families like yours.”
Mira continues to just stare and stare at the photo of Dr. Kim’s daughter. She’s listening but nothing's registering. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, mind racing yet slow to catch up all at once. She feels like she’s going to throw up, and suddenly she feels like a frog being squeezed, one that needs to be anywhere but here. “C-Can we end here for today?” She asks, her voice small and quiet.
Dr. Kim agrees immediately. “Sure. Absolutely. This is a lot to take in. I’ll tell Celine you don't want to come ba—”
“No!” Mira stops her. “No, it’s fine. You’re the only one giving me answers. I just...I need time.” She wants to scream. She wants to break every knick knack she can see in the office. Just to have some semblance of control over the situation.
Dr. Kim nods.
Mira rises robotically from the chair, bows awkwardly at Dr. Kim, and leaves. She doesn’t even try to stop the tears when they come.