Superheroes

Chapter Fifteen - Paranoid Schizophrenia

                            Chapter Fifteen – Paranoid Schizophrenia

I arrived for my session five minutes late.

The waiting room was deserted. Through the walls I could hear a recording of an opera piece playing from within the counsellor’s office, a soprano with heavy vibrato ascending through two octaves with ease. It was beautiful singing, yet something about the shrill, piercing notes set me on edge. Then again, perhaps it was the still quiet of the waiting room that unnerved me, or the sudden sense of isolation.

I had never handled conflict well. Even when I got in trouble for the smallest things I became a nervous wreck, prone to pacing and erratic internal monologues. Committing a serious felony and being assigned a therapist rather topped my list of wrong-doings. The state of play with Andrew didn’t exactly help either.

Approaching the office door, I hesitated, tried to calm down with a deep breath, and then knocked. The song cut off mid-crescendo, and a few seconds later the door opened.

“Mr. Griffin,” the counsellor greeted me, his voice calm and clinical. I thought I heard an unspoken comment on my tardiness in his tone, but I couldn’t trust myself to make that call. He could be smiling and offering me refreshing beverages and I’d still be terrified of him. “Come in.”

Wordless and obedient I followed in after him, glancing about cautiously whilst trying not to come off as insane. All of a sudden my simplest habits felt like an indication of crazy. What if not saying hello back had indicated that I was socially deficient? I dreaded to think what he would make of my stutter.

To the credit of his office, it was far from intimidating. Fitted out in elegant, neutral colours, it was one of the most stylish rooms I’d seen at the prestigious Academy. Everything was modern in its appearance, the furniture minimalist and neatly ordered. A series of beautiful paintings were hung on three of the walls, one image occupying the centre of each. At the back, a sleek sofa sat before a full-length window that overlooked the forest.

With a simple hand gesture the counsellor prompted me to sit. Avoiding eye-contact, I hurried over and perched on the edge of the sofa. An armchair was positioned opposite, and I presumed it was where he’d take his seat, but he remained standing.

Still he had yet to say anything, and the silence was becoming noticeable. He took his time in preparing, however, collecting a series of files and papers from his desk in the corner. I could do little else but fiddle with my fingers and watch, my panic mounting with each passing second. The silence continued.

He was nothing like I had imagined him to be from Andrew’s tales. I’d been expecting some balding middle-aged man with ferret like features and an expanding waistline, quite the opposite of the individual before me.

The counsellor was thin, ridiculously so. There was nothing anorexic about his appearance, he simply possessed the most bizarre, spindly limbs I had ever witnessed. He wasn’t especially tall, yet the narrowness of his body created the illusion that he was, and in many ways he looked more like a caricature than a real human being.

Dressed in a crisp dark suit that matched the colour scheme of his office, he exuded an air of professionalism despite his odd proportions. His face had the ageless quality of a man who could reach sixty and still look twenty, his hair thick, black, and untouched by wisps of grey. The oddities of his appearances combined to make him unexpectedly attractive. Coupling that with his neat, graceful movements, I caught myself staring more than once.

“So, Mr. Griffin,” the counsellor said when he was finally finished, taking a seat in the armchair as predicted, “what would you like to talk about today?”