A/N:...Hey =w=;; I just wanted to say that the only reason I'm ever even escritura this fanfiction is because I wanted to tell Banditt's actual backstory, and how she was supposed to turn out~ (She changed a lot because of some rps xD) so..yeah >w>;;
OH! Small tiny warning before I start =w=; :..I'm usuing the BandittxJosh crackcouple. uwu; Just thought tu all should be aware of that! :D'

This was routine. I'll sit in front of tu and your desk, compleat with your laptop, tape recorder, and other office-y things, in the same, large, tan, worn-out looking arm chair that has taken my form from my many times of sitting on it. You'll drum your fingers to a catchy, but difficult, beat on your escritorio that tu do a lot during our sessions..You'll stare at me for a while, like every time, and the pregunta will still be floating in the air: 'What do tu think is so fucked up in your head, Emily?'...
"Emily..are tu going to answer?" You'll ask, you're voice will be soft, calm..and it'll scare me. I won't answer you. I won't even look at you. I'll stare at the gray carpet bellow me, my footprints will still be there from last week..And I'll wonder if tu have o had no new paitents. If I am the only one who tu see now? If there is no one else?
"Emily.."
I won't answer. My mouth will remain shut, my eyes will remain in my footprints.. And tu absolutly know that.
I'll check the clock and it'll be 10 minutos until the end of the session, like always. Your tape recorder will pick up nothing from me. It will pick up your voice, the clacking of your keyboard, your assistante, who doesn't like me very much, and her voice when she comes in and tell tu that tu have a call waiting from Mr. Lee, the therapist siguiente door, who wants to invite tu to lunch after I leave, and the closing of the door when she walks out. It'll pick up the horns of trucks blaring from outside your window, and maybe, some boys and girls who are crying about how hard their lives are because they're 'so different' than the other kids in school, if we're really silent. But it will not pick up a sound from me.
A sigh will come out of your mouth, a sign that means it's almost 3:45 and it's almost time for me to leave.
"Our session is compleat, Emily." you'll finally say, you'll pinch the bridge of your noes, sighing out. "You win again, this time.."
'Don't I always?' I'll think to myself. I'll stand up, and stretch slightly, realizing how stiff I am when I sit.
"We'll try again siguiente session." You'll say, looking at me.
I wonder if you'll ever figure out that I'm not going to speak.. I'll think to myself again. I'll look back at you, and nod, like I'll really try siguiente time.
You'll stand, and walk over to me. 'Goodbye, Emily...' you'll smile wearily, and open the door for me. I'll nod a 'goodbye' back, and slip out the room, thinking about why I even come to therapy, if I never say anything. I'll wave goodbye to your assistant, who'll shoots me a soft glare, and leave your office. It won't be until I leave out the building that I speak, but to myself. It won't be until I leave the building that I wonder 'Why exactly do tu come here, Emily? What exactly is your problem?' And I'll think, and then sigh. I'll soon realize that if I have to find out what's the matter with me, I'll have to start at the beginning..
I'll guess it started when I moved to Washington State..