Valhalla High (A Magnus Chase Fanfic)

I Don't Think Insurance Covers That

January 1

    Nothing like starting a new year with a therapy session, right? Right. I couldn't believe my intake appointment was actually on the first day of the year, but apparently they had open slots then (probably because everyone was partying instead).

My mother seemed to picked up my nervousness. We drove and she put on Nirvana songs — including some of my favorites. I wasn't in the mood to sing along, but listening to it was soothing.

My mother parked and checked the time. We were half an hour early. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the same tune as the last song we'd listened to: Lithium. I tried to recall the lyrics instead of listening to the thoughts in my head, screaming at me that this was all a mistake. "This is very courageous of you," my mother finally said, her voice soft.

I felt something swell up in my throat. "I don't feel courageous," I said. "I feel scared."

"Oftentimes, that's the true meaning of courage," my mother said. "I know we got here early, but I wanted to check in with you before we go in. Therapy can be hard. It may feel like it's making things worse before it gets better. Trust the process, but don't be afraid to share your doubts. I'm here for you, Magnus."

A wave of emotion swelled up in my chest and I blinked away tears. "Thanks mother," I said.

My mother finally turned off the engine and we got out of the car. The building looked to be pretty small and plain on the outside, but once I stepped in, I realized the deception. The lobby was larger than I expected. The walls were painted to look like a forest in the springtime. There were cushy armchairs and even beanbags for people to sit on as they waited.

I nervously tagged my mother as she went to the receptionist. Since I wasn't 18 yet, my mother had to fill out a ton of paperwork. The receptionist gave her a clipboard and she sat down to do it. "Will I have to fill these out when I turn 18?" I asked.

      "Unfortunately," my mother said, "yes."

      I groaned. I was turning 18 this month. "Worst birthday present ever."

    I checked my phone to distract myself and saw that my friends had texted me. They'd all sent messages or memes expressing support. I smiled. I could do this. Who was I kidding? I couldn't.

By the time I was called back for my session, I was ready to fight gigantic blue wolves. My therapist turned out to be none of these things. She was a smiling lady with blonde hair who insisted I call her Idun despite the fact she probably had a masters or PhD or something.

When she opened the door to her room, I gasped. It was outside, but looked like it was inside. There was an evergreen tree growing out of a large pot, giving us shade and scenting the air with its sweet tang. The room was filled with potted plants and planters overfilling the lush growth. It looked more like a scene out of a fantasy book than a therapist's office. "Sit down wherever you feel comfortable," Idun said.

     I ended up sitting with my back resting against the missy tree trunk. I closed my eyes and for a second I was on a hike with my mother, sitting down to rest. The second didn't last that long. "I thought you'd choose that spot," Idun remarked. "What does it make you think of?"

     "Hiking," I said.

      Idun nodded, scribbling down something on the clipboard she had perched against her knee. "What do you prefer to be called?" she asked.

     I blinked. "Magnus."

       She asked me a ton of more basic questions and I started to relax. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all. "Alright, we're done with that section," Idun said.  "Now we'll get into more personal details."

     "Oh great," I said. "I just love disclosing my personal information to strangers."

Idun reached over to a fruit bowl — was that something normal to find in a therapist's office? — and handed me a golden apple. "Eat it," she said.

I shook my head. "I did not come here to be Snow White. Besides, I don't think my insurance will cover it."

Idun laughed. "As you wish. Magnus, let's talk about your childhood."

"Well, I'm still in it," I said in a neutral tone.

She nodded. I noticed she did that a lot? Was that a therapist thing? "Let's begin with your infancy. Was it normal?"

"I dunno what infancy is normal," I said, "but I did all the baby stuff."

"Did you reach milestones on time?" she asked.

I shrugged. "As far as I know."

She continued to ask questions about my early childhood. Most of my responses were five syllables or less. When she got to asking about middle school, I leaned back more against the tree, so I could feel the rigidity of the trunk against my spine. "I don't want to talk about it," I said.

       Idun wrote something down on her clipboard. "And high school?"

     "I've been to many," I said flatly.

      "Were you bullied in school?" she guessed.

       I bit my tongue. Bullied. What a simple word and yet it covered a string of pains. What word could do justice to that experience: the pit in my stomach of knowing I didn't belong, the fear sour in my throat as I walked down the halls of school, and the utter self-loathing that had consumed me at the end of each other? Bullied; that word didn't even begin to detail it all and yet, could any one word convey so much pain?

     I looked at Idun and I saw something I hadn't seen when I'd gone to counselors' office and been told that maybe I should "act less gay": empathy. Maybe she wasn't just a therapist for the money; maybe she actually cared about helping others. I swallowed back my fear and nodded. "Yes," I said hoarsely. "I was bullied in school."