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Two

 Michael found himself at the therapy room again. Has a week passed? He couldn't tell. He was never that great at telling time without a watch, and perhaps it was getting worse.

The therapist smiled up at Michael. "Michael. Good morning." They didn't waste any time getting to the point, turning to face her and pulling out a pen to write on their clipboard. "Tell me about the incident."

Michael blinked. "...Which... Incident...?" For her, there were many.

"The one you had mentioned, when you were sixteen?" They pried.

Michael blinked. "Oh." Had they mentioned that one? They didn't normally tell anyone about it, let alone, well... Someone they considered a stranger. But they supposed they did mention it, if they knew. "Well... Me and my friend Asher were sort of silly kids. Wanted to be werewolves, so on full moons we would run to the woods in my backyard." Even after ten years, they were a tad embarrassed.

The figure seemed slightly amused, but gestured for Michael to continue. He complied. "Normally we'd stay out for a while, then go home when we were bored. But that night, an... actual werewolf was there." He was silent for a moment.

The therapist gestured. "Go on." They encouraged him softly.

Michael shook his head gently, looking away. The memories came back, and none of them were pleasant.

The figure stayed neutral, but it was apparent they wanted to continue. They scribbled something on their clipboard, then looked at Michael expectantly. He wasn't looking at the figure, but he knew they were waiting for him to finish.

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and moved his hair, showing the therapist the right side of his face. It had claw mark scars, running through a white eye.

The therapist didn't outwardly react, but wrote something down on their clipboard.

Assuming that was enough of an explanation, Michael moved his hair back and continued, albeit slowly and with a subdued tone. "... Father forbid us from the woods, but Asher..." They gulped. "... We had to go back out. Every full moon." He chuckled softly, finding it silly now. They had wanted to be werewolves, and one of them had gotten it, he supposed. "We became well acquainted with the phases of the moon, I suppose."

The therapist nodded. "Tell me, what did you do afterwards?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Well..." He looked away again. "After the visit to the ER, life just went on. It always seems to. I graduated high school, went to college. Ran away."

"Why did you run away?"

Michael shrugged. "Father was more than awful. Wanted me to be some sort of priest, or doctor, or lawyer, none of which I fancied... Perhaps he would have been satisfied knowing where I ended up." He said bitterly.

"Ah... What did you go to college for?" They asked.

"Mechanical Engineering. I later went on to become a Gunsmith, but I had an apprenticeship for that." He shrugged. Now, knowing how things played out, it felt... useless, that he spent so many years learning. Preparing for a life he never got.

"Ah..." The therapist scribbled something down, then put the clipboard down. They eyed their watch. "... We've run out of time for today."

Michael squinted. He knew the visit couldn't have lasted long this time; Even without a clock, the conversation had to have been shorter than ten minutes. Still, he shoved it in the back of his mind, like the rest of the inconsistencies of the therapist's office. There wasn't enough evidence for him to say much.

He stood up, said his goodbye, and left the room again.