Chapter Text
Catra was staring intently at the crumpled sheet of paper on the table.
That was the fifth time she'd crumpled it up, tossed it in the farthest corner of the room, picked it up, and tried to think of something again.
Her task was simple: write (according to her) why she was in therapy.
The doctor had advised her not to look too far. A simple recent event could be good for him to better understand her condition.
But Catra did not agree. She believed that going back many years was a must. It needed a little neatness.
... but her childhood was anything but neat.
To facilitate the task, during the period in which the doctor had to leave her country, she read some treatises on psychoanalysis online.
They were hard to read (they're research papers), full of complex words (of course, it's psychology, moron), and extremely boring (Catra, they're damn texts on how the mind works with childhood traumas).
Her brow was smooth, freed of any thoughts that seemed too isolated from her.
Her memory took the shape of light too far away to catch. As soon as she got too close it disappeared.
She gripped the pencil tighter.
There it was again. It lighted up, approached, she took a step forward…and poof. Disappeared again.
From Catra's lips escaped a groan that made her temples throb.
It shouldn't have been that hard to explain why she was there.
Her mood swings were getting worse and worse, she continued to hurt others without regrets and she fell again into self-harming delusions.
There. It was simple and easy.
But the doctor didn't want that. Even if he hadn't told her directly Catra was certain that he wanted something more from her.
Nobody ever tells someone what they want. And that was also another reason she was in therapy.
The pencil started making little doodles on the paper to make her think of something. As crumpled as it was, it was hard to write on it.
The next day she attempted again to completely surrender to her reflection.
Let go of the flow of thoughts that went around two unpronounceable names which brought with them an almost unbearable bitterness in her mouth. She couldn’t. Not yet.
... "I'll be back again tomorrow," she said, getting up from her chair and going to light a cigarette to calm herself. Without even realizing the hand with which she was writing began trembling.
—
—
It had been a week since she had last tried to write to the doctor.
The problem continued to persist and on that day she found herself empty-handed in the studio ...or rather not totally.
Between her fingers, she kept turning and turning the cigarette that she had taken out of the pack before getting into the room.
the doctor gave her permission to keep it at the cost of not lighting it during the session.
As she waited for him her eyes traveled around the room to pass time.
Doctor S.
She kept reading in her mind the various certifications posted on the wall.
Catra sincerely didn't know what the S stood for in his name (or last name?).
During one of the first sessions, she had asked it to deflect a question about old recoveries.
"S. can stand for whatever you want," he answered her calmly that time.
She found that an odd response but it didn't stop her from mentally labeling him as Dr.Sigmund.
She justified the choice because he was not so physically different from the father of psychoanalysis.
Jokingly she thought that if by chance instead of mood stabilizers and antidepressants he would give her some hard drugs like the real Freud she wouldn't complain.
"Here I am," the doctor stepped in with his notebook under his arm ready to take note of whatever topic they were going to talk about.
"How was this month?" He asked quietly as he pressed the cap on the pen and made himself comfortable in the chair in front of her.
Shitty. She sincerely wanted to answer him. I’m tired. I thought several times about ending it all but the only thing that kept me alive was Melog who would no longer find food and would be left alone to die of hunger.
The answer she should have told him stayed in her thoughts.
After nearly a year of therapy, she still wasn't sure how honest she had to be with him without risking being hospitalized. And surely talking about suicide would not have been wise.
When she still didn't say anything, he asked another question.
"I asked you to write some notes. Did you do it?"
She froze.
She should have expected that question because it was obvious. It was her job for that day and he had just asked if she had succeeded in finishing it.
But his words (spoken moreover in a calm tone) seemed to fall on her shoulders like a boulder taking the breath away from her lips.
She didn't answer.
Silence fell heavier in the room but this time Doctor S. didn't ask any more questions to relieve her shame.
"No," she said in a low tone. Her words managed to escape her lips without needing to cry.
"...I couldn't write anything" she resumed shamefully.
The sound of the pen writing on paper went around the studio.
It bothered her greatly. Even though she knew it wasn't as bad as her mind wanted her to believe.
"Is there a reason for this?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the notebook.
She wet her lips holding the cigarette tighter between two fingers.
"It’s like…
It's like I'm stuck."
She settled better on the couch. Suddenly lying down made her feel awkward.
"I picture my thoughts as a light, okay?
I try to understand… remember how long I've been feeling like this but I get tired immediately,” she confessed.
Doctor S. did not stop writing. Every word spoken, every doubt that she was being spelled out was being noted.
...but that wasn't helping her. Not directly at least.
"Have you tried starting with something small? From your current emotions and how you were spending the day?"
She frowned at the question. It seemed that he wasn't listening to her.
"Are you even listening to me?" she asked. Her voice raised with every word
"I can't do it! I don’t even know the emotions I'm feeling!" she snapped crippling the cigarette in two.
The noise was inaudible but it sounded louder in Catra's eardrums.
A lump in her throat came seeing the cracked thing.
How could she do it? It was the last of her package.
The ears for such an insignificant thing shut to every external noise and the palpitations began to increase.
The only type of sound that was registering was a screech without any tuning.
Her eyes remained fixed on the cigarette.
Could this also be one of the reasons she left?
"..tra"
"atra"
"Catra?"
The doctor distantly called her.
Her face was pale even after the doctor lightly touched her arm bringing her back to reality.
He asked another question.
"Why are you here?"
Catra was still stunned. Her eyes never left the broken cigarette
“What?” she asked disbelieving.
"Why are you in therapy?" he reiterated.
She looked up at him disoriented.
The question was the same as the task. But if she couldn't write it how did he think she could say it out loud?
"Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind," he reassured her. The doctor didn't stop looking into her (slightly watery) eyes.
Her mouth went even drier. She swallowed but the saliva stopped in her throat and then with an almost spontaneous whisper she replied:
"...because I want to be a better person"
He continued to stare at her. He made no sign of understanding or rejecting her.
He turned the page of his notebook and pointed the pen at the opening lines.
"And what's stopping you? Does your bad habit of smoking have something to do with it?"
...bad habit of smoking?
Oh, that's where he was going to.
"Are you implying I'm addicted?" she asked incredulously. An embarrassed laugh instinctively escaped from her dry lips “That I’m starting an addiction?”
She held up the shattered cigarette to show the absurdity of the new hypothesis.
"This? This isn't an addiction or a bad habit. It's a stress reliever. "
"And why did you choose this one?" he asked going into more detail about what he believed was the real problem.
The sound of the writing came back. This time it seemed louder and more annoying than before.
"...because yes."
"Was there someone in your family who smoked?"
A vivid memory appeared in Catra's mind, stopping her breathing.
Among the smoke and fog of memories, she distinctly remembered the figure of the woman who throughout her life always looked down at her.
She gave her more wounds than actual love.
"...
I smoke because I like it." She replied after a long pause. She didn’t want to give that woman the satisfaction to have ruined another part of her life by developing an addiction "No one pushed me to do this".
"Wasn't that the same with alcohol?"
Another exposed nerve...
"Ye- No!" shit, a slip.
"..No. The alcohol was...
I drank to relax," she stated even though she was wrong. Alcohol was the reason why she went into recovery the last time.
The pain in her temples that began to show at the beginning of the session got worse as she continued.
"And isn't smoking the same thing?"
He wanted to frame her. He wanted her to admit how fragile she was.
Her next words caught in her throat with anger.
She didn't answer. She had fallen into the trap as soon as she answered the first tricky question. She was such a fool.
She brought the broken cigarette to her lips, biting it hard to stop her mind from suggesting to bite her hand instead.
A satisfied smile formed on the doctor’s lips.
It was informal for his occupation to laugh at the patient he was treating because he discovered a new weakness of hers.
"Therapy," the doctor began, "is a slow and painful process…
You can't expect to improve from one moment to the next," he concluded.
"I've been here for a year," Catra answered bitterly biting the cigarette even harder.
The material that it was made of had entered her mouth giving her both relief and annoyance at the taste.
"Exactly and we managed to put the finger on the disorder you are suffering from.
We need to continue with the treatment both discursively and in certain cases pharmacologically too.
…
But you see, it takes the will. It takes the will to be better.
Words can sometimes help us to convince ourselves that we want something but if we don't turn them into actions it will be unproductive. They will be and stay just words."
A confused expression shared the place with the anger on her face.
What the fuck had he just said?
The doctor seemed to notice this because he then added:
"Change must be complete and it starts with being true to yourself"
"Why? Am I not true to myself?"
"No, Catra" he replied smiling at her (in her mind it looked like he was mocking her) "You are not." and he closed the notebook.
——
Those words echoed through her mind from the doctor’s place to her house.
Despite his obvious warning about her new…bad habit she still went to the tobacconists to buy a new pack.
What he didn’t understand was that smoking was different from drinking or any other more violent harm that she had used to release anger and any other emotion too intensified to be able to live with it.
The smoke had connected them.
And with this awareness, she couldn't be able to abandon it.
This is insane. She inhaled the tobacco and kicked the stone she found in the middle of her path as far as possible.
The apartment was nearby and although the sky didn't show it, the hour was late.
There, waiting for her lying on the sofa was lying Melog.
A sad smile formed on her lips.
That cat was the only good thing that happened to her in the latter years.
When its mistress had to turn on the lights, her animal opened its eyes a little and then closed them again.
It stretched slightly before turning on its back, with its paws in the air waiting for any caresses.
The unusual warmth spread through Catra’s chest seeing the cat waiting for her.
As she approached, she began to scratch its fur.
Even though it had been almost two years since she took it she still didn’t know how to properly pet a cat.
Honestly, she didn't care that much. As long as Melog was happy with her and it didn't bite her too hard when she showed affection everything was going to be fine.
——
That night she could not sleep.
The heat of the night made her skin stick to the blanket underneath.
The cigarettes that she had smoked before her did not calm her down and even worsened her distress.
Although she tried in every way to forget the day, his words kept spinning around her mind. It almost seemed as if the doctor was in the same room as hers and was still talking to her.
"You are not true to yourself"
She? Not honest?
In her life, the thing that set her apart from her peers was her sincerity.
Thanks to that she was able to move forward in life reaching good triumph (but losing many others along the way).
His job wasn't to beat around the bush or make her feel more miserable.
The reason she had relapsed three times was due to other doctors with similar behavior that couldn't do their job.
She tried to toss and turn in her bed but the feeling of irritation and unease was driving her insane. Neither position gave her comfort.
Even the coldest part of the pillow immediately became hot and humid as soon as it was turned over.
She could have turned on the air conditioning but the last bill she got made her cry for days so she had promised herself that only on rare and very dangerous occasions she would use it again.
She got out of bed and took the pack of cigarettes with her. By now, half of it was left inside despite her buying it a few hours ago.
Looking out the window which she left open to circulate some air she smoked another one.
Maybe the ones she smoked after eating weren't enough and she just needed one more (and one more) to calm her down.
…
It wasn’t working.
Catra's body was still too full of negative energies and her stress relief (until then always reliable) was not working.
She wanted to hit her head against something. Maybe that way she could sleep.
She threw her cigarette out the window. She knew it wasn't ethical to do that. I wonder if by throwing away it from here I can set on fire the bushes at the bottom of the building.
She got back into bed and turned on the phone to distract herself.
An idea crossed her mind as she opened the app with the bird icon.
The first picture on her feed just confirmed the thought. She could try another stress reliever that, unlike her cigarettes, had never disappointed her.
She had to masturbate until she got tired.
She kept scrolling down and the pictures that appeared were not…that explicit.
Some girls in the photos only showed their progress in the gym. Muscles, biceps, and then… naked bodies.
Those accounts could go from being dedicated to the importance and interest in the workout to being borderline porn.
Her sheets were clinging to her legs again and her pillow was getting warm after turning it over and over. She put it between her legs for more than one reason.
She didn't take off her underwear. The action had to be fast so that she could immediately fall asleep.
Starting to hump the pillow she kept seeing posts that didn't give her all that desire to continue. She started to wonder if she had made the right decision to not smash her head first.
The photos and videos were all the same. She honestly didn't know why right now she was getting so picky about the kind of material she had to jerk off to.
It's not like Catra had problems with coming. Lately, her orgasms (if she can call them that) were so small and unsatisfactory that they didn't even cause all those stains on her
garments.
But no, she just had to look for the right one.
She didn't know for how long she kept moving her index finger down the screen in hopes of being able to find the perfect video to masturbate to.
When she had lost hope and her mind was already sending an order to the limbs to move and approach the closest wall to smash into it and sleep she saw a photo that took her attention.
It wasn't even all that explicit.
A simple girl who showed her results with the workout. And damn if that didn't make her horny.
She didn't recall ever following this account as it was the first time she saw her on her feed but something about her seemed so familiar in that picture.
She bookmarked the post and clicked on her account for more photos and videos.
Catra had never felt so turned on by a person.
“she_ra123” had no porn posts. Every picture, retweet, and like was about routine, various moments of the day, and also her (clothed) body.
Catra reluctantly stopped the movement of her hips which had increased.
She was masturbating on material and photos of a person she had published without that intention.
A sense of guilt began to build inside her chest until it reached her throat forcing her to close the last video she had open of her exercising.
This thing was wrong. She couldn't do it. Not if those videos weren't for that kind of activity.
She was starting to search for another account when- Ah no, she had added another nsfw account in her bio followed by her OnlyFans link.
Part of her discomforts disappeared but some seemed to stick with her as she watched the contents of the new account.
Oh, her contents.
If just watching her exercise turned her on, watching her fuck herself was destroying her.
Her pinned post showed her in all her glory.
Even on this account, she showed herself from the chin down (she had a few scratches there) with her biceps contracted to show the hard work that extended to her entire body.
Her breast was built. It was neither too big nor too small. And this view in the other account was (rightfully) hidden by the sports bra.
The only thing that 'covered' her was the presence of a very light undergarment so small and thin that it looked like it wasn't even there.
Catra slid a hand along her pillow to ride it better.
The picture was only the beginning of a thread containing several videos. Her heart seemed to go crazy.
The warmth she had been feeling for the whole night was being stimulated by another reason and her mouth felt too dry and watery to swallow normally.
She didn't even wear her headphones to watch the video.
Catra was infatuated and horny.
She clicked on the first video and enlarged the screen.
The cam girl was in front of the camera not showing herself entirely but wearing the same garment as in the photo above.
She was visibly embarrassed and it was possible to notice a slight shaking.
However, she could not know what was the cause of it.
In the background, music could be heard coming from an external source but close to her.
She didn't speak, indeed the welcome to the video had been written as a subtitle.
Aw, she’s camera-shy. Catra slowed down a bit humping against the pillow which was getting damp.
Her first impression immediately disappeared when she saw “She_ra123 '' (no, BigAndMuscleGir- that’s a cringe username) seductively take off her panties and put her
pillow in front of her starting to ride it. There was only one subtitle:
"Are you going to be a good girl for me?"
The warmth invaded her completely as she read those words. Her movement increased as the girl began to sensually fuck the pillow.
The video wasn't even halfway through and Catra was sure she was going to cum. What brought her closer was her words. She didn't know with what lucid mentality she was able to read those subtitles.
The sounds of pleasure and grunts that came out of the camgirl's lips were driving her more insane.
Suddenly the girl stopped in the middle of her peak.
"Stop" she ordered.
Catra reluctantly stopped. Dissatisfaction climbed up her throat and was expelled in the form of a painful groan. She was so close.
She_ra took the camera in front of her to move it behind herself giving an even sexier and softer view of her figure.
Her back muscles, the blond hair characterized by an undercut (that screamed that she wasn't straight), and that bead of sweat that was running down her backbone...
All these were sending more and more pulses to her clit which was now thick and swollen from the violence with which she was rubbing against the pillow to reach the much-desired climax.
When the girl settled back in the bed, showing her ass, she gave the order to the viewer (to Catra) to resume the previous act. That sight was killing her.
Bringing her ass back as well and lifting it slightly she tried to bring more and more of her weight in front of her clit as if she was getting fucked by the girl.
Who knows what it would be like to be that pillow between her legs?
Her arms held it tightly while she continued to fuck it and Catra wanted with all her heart to feel those hands on her hips controlling her movements.
"Are you close, baby?"
Catra nodded.
"Say it"
"Y-yes," pleaded Catra, increasing the speed even more.
Her clit felt like it was on fire just like her legs. The resulting pain didn't stop her from going harder. It stimulated her even more.
Though, Oh God she was just out of her mind to answer someone who doesn’t even hear her.
"Good girl." She praised her. Catra's heart skipped a beat that went straight to her clit.
"Then come, baby. Come for me"
Catra buried her face against the sheets below. She was so close, she was getting closer, one more little stimulus and she would come as she wanted and needed.
Her hand found itself reaching around her neck to bring just the right amount of pressure against the throat.
Yes, yes yes she was close, she was getting closer.
She raised her head as she began to hear the camgirl's heavier and less elaborate breathing and louder moans.
In her mind clouded by the ever-increasing pleasure, Catra had the opportunity to truly see the girl.
That familiarity that she felt when she looked at her last account seemed to finally make sense as she noticed two deep wounds on her back. They were like deep scratches
that had scarred the skin.
At first glance, it could seem only a simple act of passion that perhaps the girl had passed with another one.
But it wasn't like that. Only one person she knew had similar wounds and Catra was the reason. She made those in one of her breakdowns, not of passion.
The realization came when she also connected the haircut, especially the hair color.
Blonde.
Platinum blonde.
It was her.
"Adora-!"
Her orgasm hit her stronger than she expected.
The enormous tension that had built up in her lower abdomen was all expelled onto her underwear and against the pillow as she continued to roughly thrust to ride out the pleasure.
Her legs and clit felt like they were burning and this time the pain didn’t feel good.
In the fog of satisfaction that had invaded Catra's mind and senses, she was thinking about the name that she must have screamed out loud without even realizing it.
If...if that girl is Adora this means that she has a porn Twitter account…
no, even worse. She also has Onlyfans.