text: Logike was a deeply unsettling boy to look at. At only 16, he was 6’ 7” tall, and he loomed over most people. But at 140 pounds, he was dangerously underweight. His skin was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and a constantly displeased grumble to his voice. He wore nothing of note. A plain white T shirt, plain blue jeans. No tattoos, no piercings, no decor of any kind. His head was buzzed fairly short. It was clear he cut his own hair, as it was uneven, and too long in the back. He exuded an aura of aggression and disinterest. He sat on the red leather therapy couch, but didn’t rest lying down. Instead he sat forward, hunched over, his neck craned forward awkwardly. His long fingernails absentmindedly raked across a patch of psoriasis on his forehead until it bled into his eye. He didn’t blink, and let the blood drip into his open eye. "The hardest thing about being a sociopath, is the lack of guilt." Logike monologued. "It's not hard for me, per se, but it's frustrating for the people around me. They can't stand it. If I do a "bad" thing, they glare at me. They're waiting for me to show remorse for whatever I did. Big or small, they want me to act like I feel bad for what I did. But I don't. I can't feel bad. And that's out of my control. Did I intentionally skip the event you invited me to? Yes. Baptism? Not coming. Wedding? Not a chance. Birthday? What are you, five? Do I care that I skipped the event? No. If I wanted to go, I'd've gone. Do I care that I hurt your feelings? No, literally can't. Do I understand how it made you feel? No. I have no idea. But if you were really my friend, you would've known me well enough not to invite me in the first place. Did I do something careless, and it resulted in someone getting hurt? Maybe. Do I care? No. I can't. And shaming me will only annoy me. No amount of scolding will make me show guilt. See, the thing is, everyone thinks I'm an apathetic asshole. Maybe I am. But I'd honestly rather not be. If I could just fake emotion, it would make my life easier. That's what makes it a condition. This is literally out of my control. And I'm not just saying this to get you to feel bad for me. Fuck your pity. And don't you dare call it empathy. And even if it's genuine empathy, don't tell me. I don't understand how that feels, and I don't care. All I'm really trying to say, is leave me the hell alone. And if you don't, I won't feel bad about anything I do in retribution." Doctor Infigo was a short, fit, studious man, wearing a contoured white suit. His white rimmed glasses were the same shade as his suit. At 4’ 11” tall, he was nearly a dwarf, but with none of the telltale signs of a disproportionate body. His shoulder length dreads, only a single shade of black darker than his skin, were kept tied into a ponytail with a single dreadlock. He paced from side to side, actively scribbling in his notebook. "You're in therapy to better improve your own behavior." Dr Infigo said. "But it sounds like you'd rather manipulate everyone else's behavior instead." "I'm perfectly fine with my mentality, other people are the problem." "Well I can't teach you how to manipulate people." "Then this was a waste of my time. Good day." Logike stood up, and headed for the door. "This is court mandated therapy, Logike. Sit down." "Nah." Logike said, opening the door. "I will call the police, and they will send you back to prison. I don’t care if your a minor, and neither do the courts. You don’t get to assault your teacher with a scissors and get away without consequences. So, what's less inconvenient? Therapy, or prison?" Logike stood in the middle of the doorway for a long time, weighing his options. "Do they have internet access in prison?" Logike asked. "Yes." Dr Infigo said. “But it is highly limited, and strictly supervised.” Logike still hovered in the doorway. "And the food is terrible." Dr Infigo added. Logike turned around and shut the door. "That sounds too inconvenient." Logike said. "Prison usually is.” Dr Infigo said. “That's kinda the whole point." "Why do you care if I go to prison?" "I don't. But I get paid to help assholes like you, and I like to eat and pay rent." "Makes sense." Logike said, taking a seat. "Well then, therapist. Therapy away." "I want you to look sad." "I want you to jump off a bridge. But we can't all get what we want." "I'm serious, this has a purpose. Try to look sad." "But I don't feel sad. I'm not an actor." "Put your face in your hands." Logike put his hands over his face, and looked through the gaps in his fingers. "Don't be an idiot, you've seen sad people before.” Dr Infigo growled. “Weep you uncooperative bastard!" Logike hunched over, his face buried in his hands. He moaned like he was dying. There was a knock on the door. "Come in." Infigo said just slightly quieter than a shout. A police officer in a stab-resistant vest came in, his baton at the ready. He looked nervous. He saw Logike appearing to sob, and lowered his guard. "Holy shit.” the officer said, a surprised expression on his face. “Did you actually get through to that creep?" "It's my job." Dr Infigo said. "Holy shit." "Could you give us a moment, we're having a breakthrough." "Take all the time you need." The officer left with pep in his step. As soon as the officer was out of earshot, Dr Infigo’s eyes narrowed. "Alright you little shit, I'm gonna teach you how to act." Dr Infigo said. "I'm not an actor." Logike complained. "Acting is just lying with body language, and you're a very good liar." “Lying is easy when you don’t give a fuck what the truth is.” “Then acting should be just as easy for you.” “Why are you teaching me how to act?” “People are more likely to respond positively if they think you can empathize with them. So we are going to fake it ‘till you make it. You’re going to pretend to give a shit, even though you don’t.” “Why teach me how to lie? Doesn’t that go against your job description?” “If you act like a reformed criminal, it’ll make me look good.” “See, there’s the ulterior motive. Now you’re speaking logically.” “I don’t think you’d listen to me if I didn’t have a selfish motive.” Logike’s eyebrows narrowed in suspicion “Are you pretending to be selfish to help me?” Logike asked in an accusatory tone. “That would imply I’m trying to help you out of the goodness of my heart. Do you believe anyone is really capable of altruism?” “Of course not.” “Then you’ve answered your own question.” Logike mulled the situation over in his mind, chewing over the details. “Alright.” Logike said, holding out his hand for a shake. “I’ll let you teach me how to lie.” “Only if you make me look good.” Dr Infigo said, accepting the handshake.