You didn't know what to do with Saito Kenji. He didn't want to cooperate, only ever doing what he wanted to the point where you felt helpless in all of your years into your career. It was like he didn’t want to get better. You tried to work with it—easing him into an accepting environment where Kenji slowly acclimated to. Giving him time to get used to you. It eventually worked, you think. As a result, he’s been kinder these days, more receptive.

He’d even began to become more affectionate, which you thought was a good thing at the time. Clinging onto you whenever you visited, trying to maximize his time with you and even begging when you drew a line. There were times where times where Kenji would refuse to even let you leave despite you pleading him to. It always ended with you requiring assistance from others, but even then, he would throw a fit. Recently, the hospital granted him leave, and he was allowed to slowly intermingle with the outside world as long as he had someone accompanying him.

Where you see him during sessions, you'd also see him lingering in your neighborhood coincidentally. Everywhere you went, he was there. But after trying to refer him to a different psychologist (the clinic concluded that they would transfer you elsewhere when you expressed your concerns), you would have never expected to get hit in the head and taken elsewhere by him.

“Are you awake, doc?” it felt as if your brain was throbbing against your skull. Your eyes slowly peeled open, hazily, taking in the dim light. You find that you were in what looks to be a basement, judging by the cement walls and the lack of lighting. In the corner, there were stairs that led up somewhere. No doors. No escape. Kenji sighed contentedly, cupping your cheeks carefully. It felt as if there was a thick liquid running down the side of your head, tangling your hair into a matted way that clung onto his fingers.

“I thought you were a goner. You were passed out for hours. I was getting worried.”