Uchiha at the Therapist
At the therapist with Itachi
"Why does it bother you?" asks the therapist, lounging on her expensive leather chair.
"Why does it bother me?" repeats Itachi, looking at the room with distaste because of the cruelty of animal slaughter. He'd prefer Uchiha leather. "Naruto thinks he's so smart. I mean, besides my best partner being eaten by my own father, 'Even an Uchiha can do it?'" He made quote marks in the air with his fingers. "I mean what the [censor does that mean?"
"Well, it's just a commercial."
"Okay, well then, what if they said, 'Geico dot com, so easy even a therapist could do it?' Hm?"
"Well, that commercial wouldn't make sense to me."
"Why not?" asked Itachi, grasping the armchair with an intense force, but the therapist didn't seem to notice the warning sign.
"Well, therapists are"—
"What? Smart?" he spat out. He glared at her through angry slits. Just when she was about to say something, his phone rang. "Hold on, that's my mother. What mother? You want me to kill her and bring her blood home? Gotcha."
The therapist started to glisten a bit, since girls don't sweat. She learned how to stay calm in these situations. She did hire a new bodyguard just the other week. His name was Kisuke or something of that sort. He had a nice blue tinge to him. She pressed the buzzer and said, "Bring in the BG, please." The secretary didn't reply.
"Looking for dear Sakura?" asked Itachi with a cool note in his voice. "Sasuke took care of that. My foolish little brother. I traded him a fight with me in exchange for taking Sakura to the Mexican border. He'll be in the car with her for hours." He chuckled maniacally for at least forty-five seconds and thirty eight milliseconds. "Now where was I? Oh right. Excuse me for a minute." He turned around and put in his prescription sharingan contacts. "There we go. Now look into my eyes…"
We can safely assume that Itachi did not get the psychological help that he sought for. The therapist's office furniture was never found again.