text: I could see what she was trying to do from a mile away--simple mirroring techniques to build a rapport. I didn’t have to study psychology to understand her techniques, she wasn’t even trying. “Do you have any siblings?” She asked. She looks quizzical, interested in my reply. It was all an act. “Yeah, I’ve got 3 older brothers” I answered without even thinking. She started moving her pen in erratic strokes across her pad. I bet she wasn’t even making any notes. Probably just drawing pictures and doodling. When her pen stopped moving, she asked another inane question. “I’m the youngest of 4 girls. How was it growing up surrounded by boys?” This was a complete waste of time. I was sent to see this woman to deal with my outbursts. She was just making it worse. I could feel my fingers gripping the armrests of the chair. My nails were digging into the soft padding. I could throw this chair at her, that would shut her up. She didn’t matter, she was useless. She couldn’t help him, no one could. “We used to fight, like most brothers” I answered while imagining what her face might look like after the chair had hit her. Blood pouring down her face. Again, with the notes. What was she even writing about, what was so interesting about my upbringing? So what if I got into fights with my brothers, everyone fought with their siblings. Okay, sure, theirs were probably more violent than the average. Blood was often spilled, but they always made up afterward. Or at least enough to trick our parents. “My sisters and I used to get into fights too, they sometimes got out of hand. Did your fights ever go too far?” She stared at me, unblinking, waiting on a reply. It was as if she was transfixed. Simply following a script. Psychology 101. Time to have some fun then. If she is going to reflect everything I say, let's see how far she'll go. "Oh yeah, all the time. One time they locked me in a shed and left me overnight." She looked shocked, and hastily scribbled more notes. This was probably going to get him in trouble with the principal, but it was worth it. "That reminds me of a time my sisters tied me to a tree. How did it make you feel, being so powerless?" Why was she reflecting such an obvious lie? Maybe it wasn’t obvious enough. He would have to go further. “It wasn’t fun, but I had to accept my place in the food chain. I’m the youngest, the runt of the litter.” I didn’t take my eyes off her, speaking without thinking, studying her motions. I’d work out her game soon. More scribbles. This time I won’t give her a chance to continue with her line of questioning, it was my time to have some fun. “This one time when I was younger, I was annoying my oldest brother. He wanted to stay in his room, but I was insisting he come play with me. I was banging on his door, ignoring his protests to leave him alone. I think I even dented the door at one point. Eventually, his shouts got so loud I could hear him straining his voice. I’d pushed him too far. He barrelled out of his room, grabbed me by the collar, and threw me down the stairs. I don’t remember the fall, just the impact. My head hit first, there was a deep ringing inside my head, then silence. I came to a few minutes later, in a small pool of blood. I cleaned the wound from my head and just ignored it like it never happened.” There was no way she could reflect that much detail. I’m not sure if that event even happened. Was I modifying a memory, or was it completely made up? I was just speaking. The colour drained from her face; her hands had started to slightly shake. Had I gone too far? She was definitely going to report me now. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to see her again. I wouldn’t be subject to this farce anymore. She didn’t reply, just continued with her notes. Was she on to him, had she worked out what he was doing? “Excuse me for one moment.” She got up from her chair and made for the door. She was trying to hide her hurry. It wouldn’t be long until I’d be escorted out of here, given to the next amateur psychologist to try their luck. Looking at her empty chair I spotted her notebook. She’d left it behind by accident. This was my chance to review her notes - more likely just doodles. I looked and listened to the door, making sure no one was coming. Then quickly jumped at her chair, retrieved the notebook, and got back to mine. If someone came in, I could throw the notebook back at her chair. No one would know. It was a simple book, with no distinct logo or patterns on the front. Lined paper on the inside. Flipping through the book I could see records of all her sessions, with other people. She marked each session with the person’s name, age, and a brief profile at the top. I scanned through the pages until I saw my name. *Name: Jonathan Hilcrest* *Age: 15* *Jonathon suffers from outbursts of anger. He grew up as an only child with distant parents. Been bounced around many psychologists, none of them able to help him. He shows above-average levels of intelligence for a child his age...* The profile continued for a few more sentences. I’m more interested in her notes about the session we just had. Why did she leave, what did she think about his latest fabrication? *... I’m not sure how he knows some of the things he is saying. He obviously knows some psychology tricks. Unsurprising, he has seen enough to pick up a few things. He seems to be trying to reflect my experiences back at me...* What was she on about? Me, reflecting her experiences? That’s what she was doing to me. *... But he is doing it before I even tell him about them. He must have researched me before our meeting. Manipulated a few of the other children to give him details about me...* I haven’t even got to her notes about my made-up story yet. These were all the notes, from the beginning of the session, about the real events that had actually happened. How was I mirroring her experiences, when it was all real? Maybe she knew I would read her notes, so she kept the game going even in her notes. This might have been all part of the plan. *... He grew up as an only child...* Why had she written that? I have 4 older brothers. No, 3. I have 3 older brothers. Their names are... Why can’t I remember their names? I haven’t seen them for a while, that’s probably why. I can’t remember exactly the last time I’ve seen them. This isn’t concerning though; I often struggle with recalling events. My memories turn into fog-covered dreams. It was like trying to see through a frosted window. Maybe I don’t have any siblings. Had I started making stuff up, testing her, before I’d even realised? No, don’t be silly. Of course, I’ve got siblings. I’ve got 4 older sisters: Anabelle, Daisy, Polly, and Margaret. We used to fight, just like any sisters. I was the runt of the litter, always the one to receive the beatings. Once they tied me to a tree. Another time I was banging on my oldest sister’s door, trying to convince her to play with me... No! They aren’t his memories, they’re someone else’s. A shadow appeared across the frosted pane of the door. It was her, the woman. I know it. As quickly as the shadow moved away from the door, the memories were gone, drifting back into the fog.