Black Butterfly [written by TheRealGonZoldyck] Killugon fic

chapter 9

Black Butterfly

TheRealGonZoldyck

Chapter 9

Summary:

"Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it."
Macbeth, Act I Scene IV

Notes:

today's chapter will have a special guest from Free! :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"So," says Dr. Blythe, "what's going on today?"

Killua takes a deep breath. "I'm going to die."

"Oh," she replies, eyes opening in surprise.

"I mean...eventually," he adds.

Her eyes narrow. "Right. So, everything is normal."

"It's not normal. I'm dying. You're dying. WE'RE ALL DYING."

She crosses her legs. "That's a normal phase of life."

"Dying? No. Dying is like, the opposite of life." He crosses his arms. "Aren't you a medical professional? Because I think you should know that."

"No," she replies. "I meant that thinking about your mortality is a normal phase of life."

"I can't trust anything you say right now. You just found out you're dying and you're obviously in shock."

She raises an eyebrow. "I already knew I was dying."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

"No," she says, "I'm not dying now. I'm just the regular kind of dying. It's called 'aging.' And that's a good thing. Each day is another chance to enjoy life."

"It's also another chance to get kidnapped by a serial killer," Killua counters. "Or to end up at the bottom of a well. Or both. That's probably where serial killers dump their victims. Which is probably why we don't use wells anymore."

"Hmm," she replies absently, writing something on her notepad. "What about wishing wells?"

"You know, I always assumed that the dead girls in the wells were the ones giving out the wishes. And that's why my wishes never came true. Because dead girls don't give wishes."

"Huh."

"You know," Killua says, "I feel a lot of silence coming from you and it's feeling a lot like judgment."

She puts her pen down. "Okay. Is this fear of death a real thing that we need to discuss, or...?"

"Not really. Just coming up with small talk. Which is sort of weird because I'm paying you to talk to me and yet I'm the one having to come up with topics of conversation."

She pauses. "Do you want me to come up with the conversation?"

"I'm just saying, you could try a little harder."

"You seem a little defensive today. What's going on with you?" she asks.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "The entire time I was driving here I was thinking about what I wanted to talk about today and for once I'm totally doing okay, and now I don't know how to entertain you for the next forty minutes."

Dr. Blythe glances at the clock. "Thirty minutes, actually."

"Yeah. I've been meaning to ask you...why do therapy hours only last fifty minutes? Because that's sort of fucked up. What if I tried to pay you with a five-dollar bill and I told you it was a 'therapy six-dollar bill'? That's not a thing anywhere other than therapy and I think that's probably because you guys know you're dealing with crazy people so you're pretty sure you can get away with it."