Late at night, after he got out of work, Dr. Park immediately went to the bathroom. Turned up his collar and jumped in the shower. With her mother's voice coming after his back and pestiferous questions spilling nonstop from her mouth that he still had to shout to shut her up. Dr. Park was frustrated, he was tired and the event that occurred on that day still left him miserable. He could still not delineate what it was.

He spent nights researching the creature that he saw. He had reached the last website but neither did it give an answer to his question. When he heard noises or even just a drop of the can, he would come running to the door, panicking and checking what it was. He's slowly turning crazy and that is something he doesn't notice nor does he have the ability to think of it for now.

At weekends, when he has the time — he would sneak to the library, picking every one and each book consisting of Urban Legends, Supernaturals, and Tales of Satan, expecting to see the name of the creature that had shown itself to him. He was certain only books could give him an answer to that. When he dropped the heap of books on the counter, the librarian would give him a look, raising her eyebrow whilst she chewed with her gum like an old dappled cow chewing its cud — but Dr. Park could be careless. Whenever he walked down through his neighbors, they always gave the same look the cat would look at the pig. Dr. Park was irked by their inquisitive eyes that followed him in the butt—he could scarcely retrain himself to snap at them and turn their heads away or bug their eyes out.

At night, he would stay in the Cellar, sitting on the cold dusty mucky floor with the book open on his left and a dying kerosene lamp. The small yellow flare that is nearly gutter serves the eye from the shadow, and there, he would read until dawn. His mother thought that he was asleep—but Dr. Park is pouring tears on the clean pages.

He can't sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the creature would always appear in his dream.

In his dream, he would wake up at 2:57 am with a freezing breeze covering his entire body, as if someone was rubbing their hand on him and he was paralyzed. He just lies there, staring at the ceiling immovable and still. After some minutes of just listening around his surroundings—abruptly, the gaunt face of the woman would leap at his vision, and her terrible laughter ringing in his ears. She towered over him and choked him, laughing maniacally until he had a black substance leaking from his mouth. For this reason, Dr. Park was afraid to sleep or even when he just closed his eyes.

The figure that stood within the corner of his room seems to watch him when he lies on his bed. Those glowing eyes were piercing through him, and just as he was drifting off to sleep — he could hear a strange whispering sound just close in his head and hot breath as if someone was blowing air to his ear. Those reasons kept him sleepless at night, and to form a pair of black circles under his eyes when the first spark of the sun showed. Then he staggers down the street to his work like a walking dead, looking like Erik in the movie 'The Phantom of the Opera'. The effects of termination are fairly shown in his face. 

Those people that he happens to meet in the street tell him he could nearly become Erik's twin and that he looks like a person that just had his blood all squeezed out—to which Dr. Park would just laugh at them, not in amusement, but a sarcastic one.

His colleagues noticed the strange behavior of the psychologist. One would try to ask him what the matter was but Dr. Park refused to answer. Mrs. Park also began to worry about her son, but Dr. Park just won't respond whenever his mother tries to ask if something is bothering him— he insists that he's fine and not to worry. Though she's a mother, and even if Dr. Park claims everything's alright, she knew that something is not right.

He seeks explanations but the logic just seems to lay around. Playing with his mind—but overall, Dr. Park is still smart. Those phobias, images, voices, they clustered in one frame, protruding through a golden border like a tuft of hair, and he stood there, scrutinizing each strand. He won't stop unless he gets the answer and he's satisfied with it, even if he had to walk through the smoldering coal of hell.

_____

The water splashed on the tile, trickling from the tiny holes of the metal shower. The dark sweat slid off along the water, tapping on his feet. Dr. Park leaned against the wall, letting the water split on his flesh and roll off. His hair, completely dead in color, sticks on his forehead in sogginess. Gaze dropped to the corner of the wall across as though he was counting the lines on the tiles, his breathing slow and even. The water whirl under his feet like a thin sheet, making a gurgling sound as they twirl and shoot down the drain.

Dr. Park snapped out of his recollective thoughts by the voice of his mother calling outside behind the door, telling him it was time for breakfast. He yelled back with a short 'Coming' and twisted the shower off. The bead of water glistened on his skin like pearls of coral designed the aqua tail of a Merman. He grabbed the black towel and helped himself dry. He wrapped the towel around his torso and walked out of the bathroom thereon.

Waters are dripping from his hair, trailing down his stomach. Dr. Park is a hunky man; well-built chest, six firm muscles artistically formed on his stomach, muscular arms, and thick thighs—few reasons women were attracted to him. He took out a white polo to match with a dark trouser with a belt, and a black and gray striped tie to kick it all off. He moved to the mirror and put his clothes on. His hard chest plumps up visibly through the fabric, and the bulge under his pants appeared strongly on the outside.

He fixed his tie, the sharp brown eyes stared back at him in the mirror through his reflection. He then put on his clinical jacket, grabbed his case, and ploded downstairs, making sure to lock his room beforehand.

____

Dr. Park hopped out of his black Mercedes- Benz, grabbed his case, and started walking inside the building casually. The nurses behind the counter bowed and greeted him politely as soon as they saw him walk in, to which Dr. Park responded with a small smile. He stepped inside the elevator and pressed his floor, fixing his jacket as he waited for the elevator to arrive on the 3rd floor. The elevator stopped on the second floor and a woman walked in. She does not wear a nurse outfit nor does she look like a psychiatrist in the hospital. She wears a white long selves with a big white ribbon on the chest and a blue inappropriate skirt. It was so short that her white thin thighs were on display. It may look sexy and fancy for others, but for Dr. Park, it's just indecent. He deduces she's going to visit a patient.

The lady noticed him gawking at him, she offered him a smile and bowed slightly. Dr. Park gives back the smile and bowed. The elevator chimed and the metal door slid open, he quickly got off and walked away. He ambled down the empty hallway, turning left, and then right, proceeding down to his office.

The white door approached his sight, he stood close enough and rummaged in his pocket to take out the key. After that he had the key in his hand, he inserted it into the small keyhole and twisted it all around. The lock makes a soft click and it opens, he pushes the door and slips in. He turned on the light, walked over to his desk, and settled his things down.

Today is his first session with Min Yoongi. He's excited and nervous at the same time. The nurse had transferred Patient 666 to his new private cell already as his therapy will start today. Dr. Park cannot wait to see his patient any longer, he hopes it will go smoothly and nothing will go wrong. He has a fat feeling this session is on success, he can feel it. Sure, there are blocks to take down and turns but he's confident in himself and his ability to help the boy.

He opened his suitcase and took out the things he needed. A clipboard with a file clipped on it and a blue pen. After he takes what he needs, he immediately exits the office and goes to cell 666. As he got closer, he could already see two guards standing outside the cell. The hospital had provided security for safety.

As his feet stopped at the door, the guards bowed and opened the cell for him. The heavy metal scrapes with a loud bang as it slides to the side. Dr. Park looked around the place, he saw Min Yoongi sitting in front of the silver table already (which is placed in the center of the room), head hanging low. A small size bed in the corner, a CCTV camera pierced on top in the corner, near the door. The room is not that huge and enough only for one person. Some of the paint on the walls are ripped out. There are long scratches as though they're made by long claws—but Dr. Park did not think much of it as for him it is made by the patient.

He strides in and sits across Min Yoongi. Yoongi heard the chair being dragged out, scraping upon the ground, and the presence of a person sitting down in front of him. Min Yoongi sat still like a statue, no movements were made by the black-haired boy. Dr. Park sat properly, the clipboard and pen laid in front of him.

He observed the man across from him for a minute, realizing how young the boy is to be put in such a situation even an old man would not survive. When he was Yoongi's age, he still went to parties with his friends until dawn, played video games, and watched football at weekends. He goes to college and learns more about life. He could not imagine himself in his shoes. Min Yoongi's life is more than living in prison, and if he has an option to choose between both—he would rather be living in jail. He would be rather called a criminal than a lunatic.

Dr. Park feels sorry for him. He's always in the dark, the room has no window, and the door is made purely of metal and has only a small square mini window in the upper part which the guards use to check on him. He is not allowed to come out of his cell as he's considered dangerous. He never gets to see the sun, the moon, and the stars. Min Yoongi doesn't even remember what the flowers look like anymore or how they smell—but he's only sure about one thing—they're all dead.

His life was plunged into hell, and he's only twenty-two. Poor Yoongi, indeed.

Dr. Park clears his throat before speaking. "Hello, Yoongi, so as you can guess, I'm your new doctor," he started. "Before we get going today, let me explain to you a little bit about who I am and what I do. I’m Dr. Park and I'll be your new psychologist. My job as your psychologist is to help you with any problems that have come up for you at this point. To do this, I’m going to spend about twenty minutes with you to get a snapshot of your life; what’s working well and what’s not working so well," he said softly with a charm and gentle voice. "Now, to start our session, I want to ask you first, what are you feeling today, Yoongi? Is there something you want to tell me before we start?" He asked and waited for the other to reply.

However, the said male only remains silent, looking down at his lap impassively. Dr. Park waited a bit more, understanding that Min Yoongi just met him and doesn't want to share anything just yet. One minute passed and nothing, no response from the patient.

Dr. Park smiled warmly, taking a deep breath in. "Okay, how about your past? Yoongi, is there something you want to share about your past? Your parents? Friends?" He tried again and for the second time, the room fell into complete silence. He bit his lip, watching the man sitting on the chair on the other side of the table. Min Yoongi stays motionless. His purple eyes were dull and empty, sucking in the colors behind them.

"How about a dream? Is there any goal you want to accomplish?" Yoongi again did not reply, when Dr. Park finally deduced he can't cajole Min Yoongi to speak, he decided to end the session.

"Okay, if you're not ready to talk just yet, we'll end here. I will come back again to talk to you and I hope when that time comes, you're finally ready." He began to collect his stuff.

It's okay Jimin, we can try next time, it's okay… he thought.

…And just when he was about to leave, a deep flat voice spoke; "you…" Dr. Park stopped and slowly turned around. Min Yoongi slowly lifted his head, eyes hollow with no spark, and stared straight at him in the eyes. Gaze cold, solemn and steady, and unwavering as if he's searching for something in his eyes. Dr. Park finds it strange. Indeed, an odd look.

And slowly, his mouth opened again. "Do you also believe I am crazy?" He asks, voice glum and gravelly.

Dr. Park looked at him for a moment to study his expression. There is nothing in them. He can't read his emotion, not even a single life stains his soul. Dr. Park was taken aback by his question. He had heard it a million times from different voices, different people—yet when Min Yoongi asked him those, he was quieted. Yoongi watched the psychologist strive for a word. Dr. Park as well has a doubt he was.

Dr. Park took a deep breath in and looked up at him, and smiled; "Yoongi," He carefully sat back down, "I know it's not easy for you to be here, I know it's rough, difficult. And that is why I am here to help you. Yoongi, you can still come out from here if you cooperate with me. We can—"

"So, you believe I am insane?" He cuts him off. Min Yoongi's gaze had now dropped to the table. Dr. Park looked away, he dreads answering the question as he doesn't want to upset Min Yoongi. In paper and diagnosis, he is—but in the eyes of many, he is far from it.

Dr. Park gripped his clipboard. Inhaling deeply, he slowly stood up. "It's nice talking to you, Yoongi. See you in our next session." He spied the other for a minute as though he scrutinized him before his feet had dragged him back away from the former man. He slinked outside so that the cell is a hiss behind him. He closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them back, he was met with a thick white wall, whispering with pure disgust. He fixed his jacket and walked back to his office, trying to forget the question and the voice that was tattooed in his head.

Now, Min Yoong sits there alone. He watched the door slowly close and he once again lived in solitary. No, he was never alone, 'cause they live forever with him.

He heard them laugh behind his back, their tittering tongue sticking out at him, dancing like a monkey as the wildfire scorches around him. They teased him for having no one to believe him, yelling altogether:

‘Loser!’ ‘Loser!’ ‘Loser!’ They chant, surrounding him and tiptoeing as though they step on smoldering coal, legs spread, knees bent, and arms hanging loosely in front like a foolish monkey. They climbed onto his desk, and orbits around him, screaming ‘Loser!’ ‘Loser!’ ‘Loser!’

They had his voice and his face was covered with tar. He wanted to tell Dr. Park about the devils that are listening to them, but he knew he would only laugh at him and that would convince him more that he's schizophrenic. Collective Psychosis, they say.

He wants to warn him that Vexana, the vengeful demon, is after him — but it was too late. The devil had stuck with him. She dogged after his shadow.