A/N: I'm not sure what made me write this (Besides the fact that it's been WAAAAYYYY too long since I've written a new Psych story) , but I've had the idea since the season 5 finale. I mean, did no one else but me notice that Yang was never really named?
So, I know this is weird, and seems kind of disjointed, but remember that Yang is certifiably insane.
Sitting alone in her colorless cell, the convicted serial killer was forced to see her face in the glass. Her reflection, which no one else seemed to see. It stared at her; crazed, yet soft. Friendly, yet malicious. There, yet not there.
The face in the glass, which was hers but not hers, demanded she thought about it: How had it gone unnoticed all these years? How had no one seen it? Was there anyone on this God-forsaken place known as Earth that had ever really seen her?
She didn't have the answers, and neither did anyone else.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. Daddy had known. Daddy knew everything.
"But Daddy's gone now," she murmured to herself, careful not to draw the attention of the burly guard stationed outside.
Because you killed him, the reflection in the glass hissed at her. You killed the only person that knew who we were!
She didn't disagree; instead, she nodded to herself. The face had said Daddy knew them, but not that he had loved them. Both of them, she and her reflection, knew that Daddy had never loved them. Daddy hadn't loved anybody.
So, with his death there was a complete absence of grief. She felt nothing but giddiness. She had rejoiced in his death. Her oppressor was finally dead and gone. She could be somebody now. She could finally have a face, a name.
But it was much harder than she'd expected it to be. The government didn't see her as anything more than a psychopathic killer. And frankly, she didn't know how to be anything else.
After being no one for so long in a constant state of motion, never staying in one place for too long, and never pretending to be someone for too long, she didn't know how to be normal. Whether she had ever been normal was still a question, and while it was she couldn't ever pretend she was normal. Not even for a minute.
Daddy had told her being normal, predictable, was overrated anyway. He had said she was better off being no one than one of the brainless masses that walked the street. So far, he'd been right. Being no one was somuch better.
But Shawn doesn'tlike you like this, the face sneered, bringing up a painful topic. He likes normal girls.
"But Shawn isn't normal," she argued. "Why would he like normal girls?" She was genuinely confused. She couldn't see any reason for Shawnie not to like her. Hadn't he asked for her help just a few months ago? Didn't that mean something?
No, it doesn't, the reflection in the glass answered her silent questions. He hasn't even come to visit you. Not once. He's probably too busy with that Juliet O'Hara.
She smiled a crooked smile at that; she liked Juliet. She didn't see her as any sort of competition. She knew that she and Shawn were on a whole different level than Juliet O'Hara. They understood each other, far better than he'd like to admit.
But then she began to wonder: Would Shawn like her if she was someone? If she had a face, would it be accepted? If she had a name, would people use it?
Looking around her surroundings, she was suddenly struck by a moment of lucidity.
She would forever be known for Mr. Yang's crimes.
She would always be faceless, nameless.
Hey, let me know what you thought by pushing that lonely little button down there and reviewing!
Remember: Reviews are love!
PS: For anyone reading my other Psych stories, I haven't forgotten about them! I WILL update! I just have the WORST case of writer's block EVER!
That, and I've been trying to stick with my own, original stories.
Needless to say, it hasn't been working out very well...