When Life Gives You Therapy

Ch2-Batter, Batter, Batter

Ch2-Batter Out

My next session, the following week, I tried something new. I came early and I marched straight into the therapy room. I told my place at home base and readied myself for the inevitable fast balls of the day.

Scary was sitting distanced from the circle with a kid I didn't recognized- a skinny boy around my age wearing jeans that went past his ankles and glasses with rims that were far too big for his eyes. I could only assume he was going off about love and unity or something equally cheesy.  I hovered over his chair, my arms crossed and my eyes hard and determined.

He tried ignoring me for the sake of his conversation, but either my looming presence or the tapping off my foot (or maybe the wary look on the boy's face) was distracting enough that he tore his eyes away and towards my charming self with a sympathetic smile.

His gaze met mine for half a second before gesturing to the new kid, no doubt preparing to introduce him.

I was actually quite offended. At least, for a split moment, Jen genuinely thought I would play nice. I suppose that was his first mistake of many for the day.

"I need therapy much more than Twinkie Toes right now," I snapped at Jeb before he could get a word in edgewise.

Then, I sat back and watched as the initial, immediate shock set in. He stood, far too excited, and I couldn't help but notice as this surprise melted into suspicion when I took hold of his arm and lead him outside the therapy room. Right before we entered the deserted hallway, I heard him call back a desperate apology to new boy over the blood rushing to my ears.

The minute the door clicked shut behind us, I let out a breath I didn't notice I was holding. "What's the deal with Sam?"

Scary deflated, just subtly enough for me not to comment, to only stiffened again a second later with recognition. "You know his name?" It was supposed to be a question, I figured, but it sounded more like he was coming to a realization.

"Yeah?" I said, hating how naively oblivious I was to the implication behind it. There was a typical, sarcastic underlining of duh lining the shape my words. "He told me- like those rare, mythical, normal creatures do." I wiggled my fingers in his face. "Although, I know it could be hard to remember them after your type of isolation, so I'll look past the confusion."

Jeb's eyes had widened fractionally somewhere during my dramatics and had began speed-walking down the hall and towards his office. I fought the urge to break my composure at his little old man waddle. Right before he entered, he gestured wildly for me to follow him inside and to sit on one of the cliche, lush therapy seats.

He shut the door behind me and sat down directly across my seat and into his desk chair. He crossed his hands together, practically bubbling over with barely contained excitement.

"What's the big deal?" I finally asked.

"Considering how much you enjoy discussing the 'clinical insanity' of your group, I thought you would instantly understand the weight of someone acting 'normal'," he huffed a laugh. "Look, usually I wouldn't tell you this, and it's very important you keep it to yourself, but I feel as if I don't have a choice in this matter. For the sake of both your and Sam's wellbeing, of course. Sam has a type of social anxiety that manifests as selective mutism."

There was a pause in which I was staring and Scary was practically bouncing in his seat.

"Well, obviously not," I snorted, "he talked fine with me. I mean... it took him a while, I guess, but once he started talking he seemed fine with it."