The Enemy From Tomorrow, Today (Part Two)

Freaking therapy, man. I'd been to Dr. Garrison two more times in the interim and while it was slowly getting less awkward, I couldn't imagine having people know about what kinds of things we actually talked about in his office.

In the middle of the normal sort of thing we did; talking about my day, general conversation about me and the people and things around me, he decided to juts move things in a whole different direction.

Sitting down in his big, important-looking chair, Dr. Garrison looked up from the tablet he took notes on, "I'm going to go with a hunch I've been getting over the last few sessions we've had, Bellamy. Stop me if I say something here that offends you."

I scoffed from where I was laying on the therapy couch, killing two birds with one stone by doing my homework during the session, "The fact that you actually asked me before saying it already puts you one notch above most of my friends. Go for it."

I didn't look up when I spoke, but then again, I hadn't much since we'd started that day. He didn't let that stop him from sharing his mind, "From everything you've told me, and from what I have on file... there's plenty of reason for me to believe that you don't like yourself very much."

That quickly got my attention. I looked up with a skeptical look on my face, "Have you heard me talk about me before?" The guy knew people, but he had to have missed a few things about me.

He admitted as much, but not in a way I had expected, "Since you've been here? No," That surprised me. I hadn't? Not even once? "I have no idea how you tend to interact with your peers. Do you talk about yourself a lot?"

I grinned and set my homework off to the side to focus on my therapist, "My arms are jacked from patting myself on the back so much. Hisako and I fight a lot because she thinks I'm cocky."

"You never reference any particular events though. You talk about who you are and what you can do, but never what you've done," Dr. Garrison said, "You are aware that you've accomplished things many young aspiring heroes would find amazing, aren't you?"

I took a moment to chew on my own thoughts and words for a moment before replying, "Whenever I succeed, it's because I'm saving my own ass, Doc. The second the stakes got any higher, I couldn't do anything."

We'd been over that before. If there was a reason I didn't like to talk about anything I'd done, it was because in my own head I hadn't done much. However, the good doctor then hit me with a curveball.

"Have you ever stopped to wonder how much worse things could have been if you hadn't been there at all?"

I gave him a look as though he were stupid. He had worked with all kinds of people, rubbed shoulders with important people, including big-time heroes, "You're kidding. There are whole rosters full of X-Men that could have stepped in a made a bigger difference than I did."

Trying to make me think anything else was just dumb. Dr. Garrison wasn't trying to go there though, "I'm not saying a more experienced hero couldn't have done better. But they weren't there. You were," He said gravely, "You're not getting replaced by anyone in any of these scenarios. You're simply not there. Tell me anything would have gone better."

I couldn't. There was no way I could say something along those lines and justify it. Just from a sheer numbers perspective, I couldn't. I just shrugged my shoulders and kept my mouth shut. I was at a loss for words. A rare occasion for sure.

"You have very high expectations for yourself," He continued, "You also don't look for other things to blame when you believe you fail. Those things are good. It would be a fine mindset to have in most other fields... but in high-pressure environments where lives are at stake. Because the failures stay with you."

I could feel the scowl grow on my face. It wasn't like I walked around doing everything, always expecting the worst to happen, or expecting to fail whenever it did. But that just proved his point. I didn't expect to fail. I made a point to myself and to others that as long as you were still standing, there was a way to solve any problem. You just had to find it.

When you thought like that, and you couldn't make it work, it stuck in your damn craw.

Dr. Garrison gave me a moment to try and let that sink in, "Those are poisonous thoughts. I've seen men and women with the potential to be great destroy their potential that way. I don't think anyone should be held back from achieving all that they can," He tempered his remarks with something a bit more positive to help me stomach it all, "I look at you and see a young man who can be extraordinary. I think you realize it too. You're just afraid of being wrong."

Because my being wrong about myself would mean that other people would get hurt. Other people would die. More bad things would happen and then get worse, because I wouldn't be man enough to stop them.

I didn't say anything for what felt like ages. He didn't either, at least until the clock struck 4:25, "I think that's all we have time for today," He said, setting his notes aside.

I had never stood up so quickly in my entire life, "Thank God," I said, before realizing that could have sounded a tad bitchy, "I mean, nothing against you, doc, but that was getting a little too heavy for me."

He chuckled as he got up to shake my hand and pat me on the back. Suddenly, I felt much better, "It's never easy to make positive strides, Bellamy. I'll see you in a few days."

And when he said that, I wasn't necessarily dreading the next session. The more I listened to him, the more sense he made. He was a successful guy. It stood to reason that he knew his shit. And he wasn't a teacher, or one of my teammates, or an X-Man, so he didn't really have any stake in me or my experiences.

It was different. I didn't have to temper what I said, because nothing would be reaching anyone at the school verbatim. He would just give them his take of what he could glean from what I said. It was comforting that the other people in my life who saw me every day wouldn't get to put my thoughts and words underneath a microscope themselves.

On my way out, I almost bumped into someone who went to great lengths to avoid making any kind of contact with me, "Whoa!" Even when I reached out to keep them from falling down, they squirmed to keep me from touching them, "Kevin? Oh, man, I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

Clad in his normal near full-body black, synthetic clothes, Kevin stood up and brushed himself off, "Yeah, I'm fine," It took him a moment to realize that he was talking to someone he knew, "Wait, Bellamy? You, uh... you go to Dr. Garrison too?"

Crap. I'd wanted to keep it under wraps from as many people as I could that I was going to therapy, "Yeah, I've had a few sessions so far. X-Men's orders," I said sheepishly, "Don't know how many more they'll have me do though. I guess that's up to him or something."

"I like coming here. I like talking to him," Kevin admitted with a shrug, "It's just... he really makes it seem like your problems matter, you know? That you're not just a stupid kid dwelling on petty shit."

Yeah. I did know. Dr. Garrison seemed like a smart guy, and he actually listened to me. Not that I was keen on saying much, but what I did say, he didn't let go into one ear and out the other. I could absolutely relate, and it made me feel better that there was at least one other person doing therapy.

The question stood as to what his reasons were for apparently needing it, but if I wasn't going to answer that question to just anyone, I wasn't going to bother speculating over anyone else's. We simply parted cordially, "I've gotta go. If I take too long, my ride back to campus will kick my ass."

Kevin looked confused. I assumed that Miss Frost spared the time to bring him out New York City for his therapy, "...Who brought you out here?"

"Wolverine."

"Really? Why?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "I dunno. An excuse to get sloshed during the middle of the week? A booty call in town? Because he's getting paid? Anyone's guess, really."

Yep. Making things nice and awkward whenever possible for my own amusement. I shouldn't have said that, as Mister Logan would kick my ass if that got back to him later, but the look on Kevin's face was just the pick-me-up I needed on a Wednesday afternoon.