Greetings. My name’s Lisa, I’m 18 years old, and I’d always wanted to be a therapist.
Now, I know what you might think: “If she wanted that soul-sucking job as a kid, then clearly she wanted to go to a university that could help her understand herself. After all, lots of mentally ill young people desire a job in this field.” Well, I’ve never met you, so I can’t really be sure you’ve just thought that… However, I disagree. I only wanted it because it would be the ideal way to both make money and use my abilities to help people.
I think empathy is made of two parts: understanding and caring. While I do struggle with caring about other people’s feelings, I’ve never really had an issue with understanding.
Many users of this sub have told about their extraordinary experiences, so I know you’ll believe me, and yet I’m a bit anxious. Here it goes. I can read minds.
As a kid, I never thought it strange. Surely, I was not the only one? But as I grew, I met new people, and no one’s mindscape mirrored mine. I have always been alone. I liked to hint at having powers just for fun, though. I was always the best at Mafia and I performed great card tricks.
And that’s the summary of my life before the last couple of days, I guess.
On the 24th of December, I was casually walking outside, having just drank an expensive coffee, trying not to pay attention to strangers’ thoughts, and enjoying my winter break. Suddenly, my phone rang. I sighed at the thought of my mom making me cook the Christmas dishes. My assumption was wrong. It was actually some man dryly informing me she’d been murdered. Stabbed four times, to be exact.
I couldn’t really come home as there was an investigation, so I stayed over at my aunt’s. I grieved quickly, like I always do. I became an orphan. I would get inheritance but I’d have to go through a lot of bureaucracy first. I had the worst Christmas-birthday ever.
You’d think my aunt would be helpful, but she just stared at the wall with only gore and misery on her mind, so it was me who had to provide comfort and cook soup.
Yesterday, I actually tried to sit through the whole murder scene in her head so I could be of better help to her - never miss an opportunity to practice what you’re passionate about. It was pretty standard for a murder, I assumed. But then I realised she was seeing it from a first-person perspective.
That was certainly alarming. I was stuck in an apartment with a murderer and I had no real proof of it.
I knew, however, that she couldn’t really kill me right away as that would have caused suspicion. I politely asked her to lend me some money so I could stay at a hotel and not inconvenience her anymore. She then had her first comprehensive thought in a while. “She knows. And she knows I know she knows.”
Even if I hadn’t been in danger before, I am now.
I’d always wanted to be a therapist, but I guess I’d be bad at it as I can’t even predict such a major destructive action. I now have to prove her guilty - somehow. If I succeed, I’ll probably try to become a police officer. If I don’t, I’ll most likely be dead.