"How would you describe your sleeping schedule?"

Non-existent.

You knew it wasn't her fault, it was her job to ask. But you couldn't help but think how utterly pointless half of these questions were. Then again, you couldn't go to a new therapist. Not after last time... and the one before... and the countless others... You lost count by now. Was she your fifth or sixth?

Today went just like any normal day. By seven o'clock in the evening, you had smoked at least two packs of cigarettes and downed eight coffees. You barely functioned anymore. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Shoko had given you multiple check-ups. "Try to sleep more," she'd told you, but once again you wanted to ask how? How can you sleep when night terrors plague every hour of rest? How can I sleep when I think of the people on the street and wonder what it's like for them to see a nearly identical face of the one that brought chaos and destruction upon them?

And so you tried to carry on, even when you were broken and bruised beyond repair, clinging to childish hopes while hesitating to ever speak your name. Geto. It hurt.

...You didn't even notice someone had been calling for you in the crowd until you felt his hand on your shoulder.