When I first met her, I thought she was delusional. Possibly even suffering from some unknown medical illness I had never seen.

Everything about her from the neck down looked normal. A pair of worn jeans, and a t-shirt wrung through so many dry cleaners, the print wore off. Even her Converse flats were scuffed to hell.

Overall, a perfectly functional member of society.

From the neck up, however, she was a victim of a horror movie. Either by her own hand or by somebody else's, the end product was enough to send a lesser person staring and recoiling in fear. Maybe even judge her.

I wasn't some lesser person. I was here to set her right. Normal. A functioning and productive member of society.

I read her file a few minutes ago, over a cup of my imported coffee. Charlie Orent, aged 17. No history of mental disorders within the family, and a stable family life. A wealthy mother, a well-to-do father, and a younger brother. A happy family, through and through.

She was here because of what she did to herself.

According to her own reports, she sewed he own lips shut with knitting needles and thread in a very futile attempt to keep quiet. When that didn't work, she covered her mouth with "intermeshing layers of wire tape and double-sided tape, all attached to a black mouth mask". This, I assume, was another, slightly more successful attempt.

What an idiot. She knows she can't stop, but she still continues.

I will set her right. After all, I'm the only one who could.

She entered the room hesitantly, her vacant eyes taking in my assorted décor: the plastic plant, the chairs, the various diplomas arranged on the wall, and me. She should be proud that someone as qualified as I am is taking care of her. I shudder to think what would happen if a lesser member of this institution were to take care of her.

She finally sat down in one of the chairs in front of me, her chestnut eyes still looking this way and that. She was distracted, that much I could tell. Aside from that, she was just another nutcase. 

"Hello there, Ms. Orent. How's everything so far?"

The patient stiffened up, and grabbed a notebook from her knapsack. She scribbled something, and presented it to me.

I'm fine. 

I was going to have to try something more if I were to cure her.

"You know why you're here, right?"

Yes. 

"I'm going to help you. I'll help you feel better, and to make you normal again."

Why?

"Don't you understand?! I'm giving you your LIFE back!! There's some way I can turn this mess around for you!"

I don't want to.

In fact, my life's gotten better.

"HOW?! You're just an ABOMINATION! A FREAK! Some self-centred attention whore who decided to scar her face so she could be loved! How do you think so!?"

Every time I speak, something goes wrong.

I'm tired of being judged for the things I say. I don't want to speak!

"You just need to SPEAK UP! It's that simple! Why can't you do just that?!"

I'm scared! Okay? Please...just let me out.

"No!" I slammed my hands on the desk in anger, making everything tremble. "I will make you normal, if that's the last thing I'll do!"

Let me go.

"I won't!"

Let. Me. Go.

"Remove your mask, Charlie! REMOVE IT!"

In a fit of anger, I lunged forward, ripping her mask off, and the layers of tape on it as well.

I lay on the floor, amidst the piles of paperwork, and finally looked at Charlie in the eye.

"Time for you to speak."

Her eyes widened, surprise and fear clearly evident in her chestnut orbs, and shook her head. 

The little shit.

I stood up, grabbing her by the front of her shirt, and slammed her into the wall. 

"WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK, GODDAMMIT?! WHY?!"

She twisted and wriggled, like a slippery fish, but I held firm. 

"WHY! WON'T! YOU! SPEAK!"

"WHY?!"