Author's note: I really am going to try to write faster, I promise. But thanks for waiting!
Ghost on the Couch
April 3 (part two)
"Go ahead and have a seat," said Brandan as he closed his office door.
Danny dropped onto the sofa, his whole body feeling heavy. His head fell back, eyes directed at the ceiling. He wasn't sure he could straighten his neck even if he tried. He didn't feel like he could support it right now.
"Hey, what's going on?" Brandan sat in his office chair and leaned toward Danny. "Can we talk about what you're feeling now? Did something happen?"
Something. Everything. His mom was upset with him and didn't trust him to ever become what she wanted and was maybe going to give up on him altogether. And could he blame her? Maybe he just needed to give up on himself, too.
Danny kept his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.
"Danny? Can you tell me what's going on?"
"I don't want to talk," said Danny, not moving at all.
Brandan did not speak for a moment. "All right. Take your time. Talk when you're ready."
"No," said Danny. "I'm not going to be ready. I don't want to talk."
Another short silence.
"That's fine," said Brandan. "We don't have to talk."
Danny could hear Brandan shifting in his chair, then no sound at all except the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.
The muffled breeze whistling past the closed window.
Brandan's steady breathing. Danny's own strained breaths that shook through his core.
"Well, you can talk if you want," muttered Danny, folding his arms against his body.
"No," said Brandan. "I don't want to talk right now either."
Brandan's shoes shuffled against the carpet.
Danny's jeans scraped over the couch as he moved his leg.
And the clock kept tick tick ticking.
So slowly.
Maddening.
Was Brandan upset with him, too? Was this why he wasn't talking? Was he disappointed in Danny? Just like all of the other adults in his life?
Brandan had told him it was fine if he didn't want to talk and yet this definitely felt like the opposite of fine.
"Look, I'm just not sure this is going to work, okay?" blurted Danny.
Brandan looked at him but did not say anything, didn't even open his mouth.
"Like I just don't want to waste your time." Danny's voice trembled slightly. "Or anyone's time. I just feel like I'm wasting everyone's time."
He looked down at his lap and gripped the fingers of one hand, crushing them.
"Even my mom's time since she has to drive me over here. And then she actually waits for me. I don't want to waste her time. I don't want to waste anyone's time."
"Why are you so convinced this is a waste of time?" asked Brandan. "Because you think it won't work? That you won't succeed? That you won't get better?"
Danny did not look up.
"It's never a waste of time to give therapy a try, Danny," said Brandan gently. "Talking to someone, talking to me, it will never be a waste of anyone's time. I want you to understand that. Even if it doesn't always have the exact outcome we want, it is always worth the time. Because there's no way to know if this is what you need otherwise. No matter what happens, we will all learn something valuable along the way."
Danny hunched his shoulders and gripped at his jeans.
"I wish I could tell you that I have had only perfect success with my clients," Brandan continued. "But I have to be honest and tell you that some people have given up. Some people have ghosted me, just stopped showing up one day, stopped answering my calls or emails. Some people have been talking to me for years and have not progressed as much as they had hoped. Some have even regressed. I wish I could tell you therapy is a perfect process, that it's a perfect cure, that it always works. But that's not the case. There is still so much we do not understand about human psychology, and everyone is just...so different."
He paused. Danny tentatively raised his eyes.
"I cannot guarantee you or your mom will get what you are hoping for. But I can guarantee you will get something out of it, some sort of valuable information. Even if the information is just that you need something other than therapy. And even if you have trouble believing you are not wasting your time, please believe me when I say that you can never waste my time here." He raised his arms in a gesture indicating the room. "This is what I'm here to do. Even if it doesn't always work out, this is my job. Talking to you is what I'm meant to do, what I want to do."
Danny balled his hands into fists, tapping his knuckles against his thighs a couple times.
"Okay, Danny?"
Danny nodded.
"Is there something else on your mind you can tell me?"
Danny shook his head.
"We do have plenty to talk about already," said Brandan. "More cognitive distortions to go over. But you really don't seem to be in a good place right now. Can you at least tell me if that is true? Even if you don't want to tell me why?"
He was definitely not in a good place. He was in a terrible place. An awful place. He hated being here, hated being stuck in this room, stuck in this life, wanted to go home but then he'd still be the same disappointment there, could never escape this definitely not good part of him.
Danny allowed himself to nod. Brandan hummed his understanding.
"It's your birthday today, isn't it?" asked Brandan. "April third?"
Danny lowered his eyes.
"But I guess you haven't been having the best birthday, huh?"
Danny thought back to just a couple hours ago, the cake Sam and Tucker had brought to class just for him. He had forced himself to eat the entire slice they cut for him but it felt so heavy in his stomach.
And his mom didn't even care. She made him come here anyway. Because he had disappointed her by breaking curfew yet again.
It was his own fault he wasn't having a great birthday.
He didn't deserve one.
"It's been okay so far," said Danny.
"Has it really?"
Danny shrugged. "Yeah, I mean, I didn't even think I'd make it to my sixteenth birthday, so the fact that I'm still here today… I mean, that's pretty okay. I guess."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Brandan. "That you didn't think you'd make it to your sixteenth birthday. Can you tell me what that means? What did you think might happen to you before today?"
"I…" Danny could feel heat in his face. He wished he hadn't said anything because he was sure this was going to sound stupid. "I don't know. I guess I thought I'd just...die. Somehow. Before today."
"Is there any reason you thought that? Have you been sick at all?"
"No," Danny stammered. "Not...really, it was just...a feeling I had. I just didn't think I'd be alive today. I couldn't imagine me making it to this day."
He directed his attention out the window. All the people in their cars going through the motions of their own day, doing what they had to do to make it to the next.
"Did you want to be dead before today, Danny?" asked Brandan gently. "Was this more than a feeling? Was it a desire?"
Danny creased his brow. He had never wondered this before. He had simply been unable to imagine a future past this day, but was he disappointed now that it had come after all?
"I don't think so," he said. "I… I don't think I wanted to die, no."
"Are you relieved that you're still here, then?"
"I… I don't know how I feel about it. I don't feel relieved but I'm also not sad. I just feel confused, I guess. And surprised. I just didn't expect this day to come. I had been so sure that somehow it wouldn't." He paused. "And now that I'm here, I don't know, I just… I don't even know where to go from here. I don't understand why whatever force there is decided I should keep staying here. To keep disappointing my parents? To keep failing in school? To keep being the weird loser girls never want to date? To keep being useless at everything?"
Brandan was staring at him intently. Danny shrank back and shut his eyes tight.
"I'm sorry," mumbled Danny. "I shouldn't have said all that."
The clock tick-tick-ticked away a long silence.
"How long were you feeling this way?" asked Brandan. "How long did you have this belief you wouldn't make it to your sixteenth birthday?"
Danny searched his memories. He didn't remember feeling this way in middle school, but he definitely remembered thinking it before his fifteenth birthday.
But before the portal incident…
No, he didn't remember thinking it before he got his ghost powers. It was definitely after that event. But how long after, he couldn't say.
"I guess maybe a year and a half?" offered Danny. "I don't know for sure."
"Was there something that happened around that time? Something that could be related?"
He became less human. He became a target. So many wanted him imprisoned and enslaved. So many wanted him dead.
Danny shrugged. "Not that I can think of."
Brandan appeared to be thinking hard. Danny squirmed under the scrutiny.
"I mean, I started high school around that time," said Danny, hoping Brandan wouldn't pry beyond this excuse. "Maybe that was it?"
Brandan reached for a notepad and pen on his desk. "Yes, high school is definitely a common starting point for those sorts of thoughts in teens."
He wrote something quickly. Danny frowned.
"Oh, sorry, is it okay if I write some notes?" Brandan looked up from his notepad.
"I guess," said Danny dully. "It's your job."
Brandan returned his eyes to his notepad and wrote a few more lines before setting it down in his lap and looking up at Danny again. "Shall we resume our discussion of your cognitive distortions from last week? We're on your third most frequent one."
Danny furrowed his brow. That was it? Brandan was done talking about how he thought he'd be dead by now? He was just going to drop it like that?
Brandan gave him a wary look. "Unless you want to talk about this more instead? How you didn't think you'd make it to today?"
Danny quickly shook his head. "No, no, I don't. I just thought—" He shook his head again. "No, I don't want to talk about it more."
Brandan pulled out Danny's tally sheet from between the pages of his notepad. "Do you remember what your third most common cognitive distortion was?"
"No. I told you, I didn't count them."
"Fair enough. It's labeling. Does that surprise you at all?"
Danny's thoughts returned to his conversation with his mother in the car less than half an hour ago.
Jerk. What an asshole.
A failure.
A major disappointment.
All the labels he had applied to himself because he really was such a useless person.
"No," he said softly. "I can't say it surprises me."
"Do you want to tell me why it doesn't surprise you?"
Danny shook his head.
"Let's remind ourselves of what this thinking error is real quick," said Brandan. "Labeling is when you apply a label to someone for just one thing they do or say. You might label someone a 'jerk' if they bump into you in the hallway without apologizing. You might label someone else 'stupid' if they make a small mistake or do not know something you feel they should know."
Danny nodded his understanding.
"You can also apply labels to yourself," continued Brandan. "You might call yourself a 'loser' if you fail at something."
Danny nodded again. Yes, that sounded much more like him.
"Are there any examples of labeling you've done you'd like to discuss?" asked Brandan. "You said it doesn't surprise you, so you must have some examples that you remember."
loser failure idiot freak
"I don't really want to talk about mine," said Danny.
"Could you maybe tell me why you don't want to talk about them?"
"I—I don't know," said Danny more snappishly than he meant to. "I just don't want to talk about them, okay?"
"Do they make you uncomfortable? Do you not like thinking about them, or do you just not want me to know?"
Danny glared at Brandan but did not answer.
"All right, all right," said Brandan, showing his palms in surrender. "We don't have to talk about anything personal to you. Let's maybe talk about labels relating to, hmm…"
Brandan cupped his chin and appeared to be thinking. Danny curiously waited.
"Danny Phantom."
Danny's stomach dropped.
Brandan nodded. "Yes, I think that's a great one. Danny Phantom gets a lot of labels, doesn't he?"
"Why—why—" Danny breathed and steadied his words. "Why him? Why?"
"Do you have a problem with talking about him?"
"Yes!" shouted Danny. "I keep telling you I don't want to talk about him, about ghosts, not when I hear enough about them from my parents."
"But you won't give me any personal examples to work with."
"Yeah, so? Why don't you use some of your own? Or maybe just make them up?"
"Labeling isn't one of my frequent cognitive distortions, to be honest with you. And it would really be better to discuss something authentic."
Danny seethed. "Well, why does it have to be Phantom?"
"Because I think he's a good subject for a discussion of labeling," said Brandan. "So unless you want to offer your own examples, I'd like to continue with talking about labels that might be applied to Phantom."
Danny couldn't hold back a pout as he crossed his arms.
"You seem to have some strong feelings about him," said Brandan. "Is there some other reason apart from your parents' work why you don't want to talk about him?"
Danny shook his head. "No, just—whatever, talk about him if you want, I guess. If you're so obsessed with him."
"Would it bother you if I were obsessed with him?"
Danny did not reply.
"I don't know how much you really know about Phantom or if you keep up with the news stories about him," said Brandan. "I only know them because I try to stay up to date with what's going on in the town—that and my brother is a weather presenter for the local news station. But I remember when Phantom first became widely known, he was immediately labeled an enemy."
Danny's nerves twitched.
"Do you remember that, Danny? The exact label applied to him was quite extravagant. 'Public ghost enemy number one,' they called him."
Danny suppressed a sharp inhale. Yes, he remembered. Of course he remembered. How could he possibly forget how terribly he failed at the one good first impression he absolutely needed to make because he was stupid and hopeless and—
And it didn't matter that Walker set him up for that disaster. He probably would've still somehow turned the town against him all on his own because he was a reckless incompetent useless idiot.
"All based on just one incident," said Brandan. "The one thing he did, allegedly attacking the mayor, the one thing no one even really saw him do. But that was enough for officials to brand him with such a serious label, enough to make everyone in town believe it was true."
"Yeah, well." Danny shrugged. "I guess people just believe everything they hear on the news."
"Did you believe it?"
"Does it matter?"
Brandan did not answer right away. He then smiled and hummed to himself. "Well, anyway, as Phantom has become popular, as he's done more heroic things, saved the town and its people on multiple occasions, that label has changed. He was once labeled harshly for just one incident, an incident many now believe might have been some sort of conspiracy or misunderstanding, and now he's widely labeled a 'hero' for more recent things he's done."
"Is it still a bad thing even if it's a good label?" asked Danny.
"Well, the idea is that thinking errors are always bad no matter what, but I certainly couldn't say that a label that might make someone feel more confident or good about themselves is a bad thing necessarily," said Brandan. "I would say it comes down to how the one being labeled perceives it. If it goes to their head and makes them narcissistic, maybe it's not such a good thing. But if it helps them be more involved with the world, gives them the confidence to do something they'd usually be afraid to do, maybe that's not so bad."
Danny recalled how when he had been labeled an enemy, his confidence in his abilities crashed. He wanted to give up, he wanted to stop. Because maybe they were right and he wasn't helping anybody.
But the few times when someone called him a hero—his classmates, random strangers, even Dash or Paulina—he suddenly felt like he could do anything, that he was the perfect one to protect the town. The only one, even.
"Just imagine how that would make you feel, Danny," said Brandan. "If someone called you their enemy because of just one thing you did that they didn't like, maybe even something you didn't mean to do, something you wish you could take back."
Valerie hated his ghost half. She called him her enemy all because of one thing he did that really wasn't his fault. He didn't mean to ruin her life; in fact, he was trying to help her. Why couldn't she believe he was sorry?
"But then imagine being called a hero," said Brandan. "How might that change your perspective of yourself? Of your abilities? Or do you think you'd even believe it? Do you think—"
"Stop."
Brandan closed his mouth.
"I don't want to talk about Phantom anymore." Danny hunched over. "Please. I don't want to."
There was silence for a short moment.
"All right," said Brandan. "Let's continue our discussion on labeling. I think we have enough examples, unless you'd like to give me some of your own."
Danny shook his head, almost feverishly. He wished he could just get up and go home but then his mom would be even angrier with him and he really didn't mean to make her angry, he was so sorry, why did he keep screwing up?
"As we did with the two thinking errors we went over last week, let's talk about how we can work on improving this type of thinking," said Brandan. "How to train ourselves to stop labeling people and judging their entire character based on one action."
"What if it's not one action?" murmured Danny, not really intending for Brandan to hear but of course he did.
"What do you mean?" asked Brandan.
"I mean—" Danny sighed, really wishing he hadn't said anything. "I mean, what if it's not just one thing I do that's stupid? What if—like—everything I do is stupid? Am I not then an idiot if everything I do is stupid?"
"Labeling can sometimes apply to actions, too," said Brandan. "I can pretty much guarantee that there are things you do that aren't stupid and you just think they are for some reason. Possibly because you've already labeled yourself an idiot and so you just automatically think everything you do is idiotic, not the other way around." He leaned forward. "Do you have any specific examples of something you've done that you thought was—"
"No," said Danny firmly. "No, I don't want to talk about me. What about—what about—Dash. He's shoved me around and punched me and called me names so many times. Is it wrong of me to then label him a bully?"
"Dash." Brandan's face became serious. "Your mother mentioned him to me, but she said she called the school about him. Is he still bullying you, Danny?"
Danny shrank back. "No," he stammered. Not a complete lie. Dash had stopped physically hurting him to avoid getting kicked off the football team, but the taunts and jeers and names… No, those hadn't stopped. But no way was he going to tell Brandan or his mom or anyone that. Dash and all his other jock friends already made fun of him for having his mother come to his rescue the first time; he didn't need more of that.
"I want you to know that I am not asking you to excuse behavior like that from anyone for the sake of not labeling," said Brandan softly. "That's not the sort of labeling we're talking about here. I'm talking about labeling someone or yourself for something that doesn't actually indicate anything, especially by itself. And I'm definitely not talking about labeling someone for a very serious action, such as violence or assault."
Danny did not reply.
"Is Dash still hurting you, Danny?"
Danny shook his head.
"You remember not to lie to me, right?"
"Yeah, I remember," snapped Danny.
Brandan held out his palms. "All right. Well, to actually answer your question, the answer is no, it's still a cognitive distortion to label yourself an idiot even if you do a hundred stupid things in a day. Because you're applying the label to yourself and not the actions. And a lot of the time, you're probably wrong about labeling the actions as stupid, too."
"And what if I'm not wrong? What if they really are just stupid things I do all the time?"
"Well, there are probably some other thinking errors going on there that are only making you think that. Emotional reasoning, jumping to conclusions, catastrophizing. If you give me an example of something you've done that caused you to label yourself an idiot, we could pick it apart and see what the root thinking error might be."
Danny groaned. "No, no. Just… No, I don't want to do that, okay?"
Brandan smiled. "Of course it's okay."
Danny suppressed another groan. This guy was just too damn nice.
"Getting back to how we can begin overcoming this particular thinking error, the first step is always to identify when we are labeling something. And as pointed out before, you are already pretty good at that." Brandan held up Danny's tally sheet. "Although I wish I could say identifying it is the hardest step. It's actually the easiest."
Danny couldn't disagree. Even within the first couple hours from when Brandan went over the cognitive distortions with him, he was already identifying them in his thoughts. So easy if not annoying at times.
"Once you've identified that you're labeling yourself or others, your next step is to examine the evidence for why you feel a label applies," said Brandan. "Let's say you took a math test and failed it, just completely bombed it. You get the test back with a big F on it and you immediately think, 'Wow, I am an idiot.'"
Danny said nothing.
"Is that an okay example?" asked Brandan.
"Yeah, it's fine," said Danny curtly.
"So when you apply that label to yourself and then identify it as a cognitive distortion, you need to determine what your evidence for the label is. In this case, the only evidence you would have is the F on the paper, nothing else."
"Seems like some pretty good evidence to me."
"Well, that's the next step," said Brandan. "Talking through the evidence, deciding if it is actually substantial or not. Do you really think failing one test means you are completely stupid?"
"Yeah, probably," muttered Danny.
"But even the most intelligent people in the world fail tests sometimes, Danny. Even I have failed tests."
Danny snorted. "Yeah, that doesn't really prove anything to me, sorry."
"I'm sure your parents have probably failed tests, too. Or perhaps your sister?"
Danny's smirk vanished. "No," he said quietly. "Fentons only get A's. That's what my parents always say."
"Have you ever asked them?"
Danny shook his head. But he was sure that they had never failed before, that he was the only failure in the entire family.
"What about your friends?" asked Brandan. "Have they ever failed any tests?"
Danny thought for a moment. "Tucker has, yeah."
"And do you think he's an idiot?"
"No, of course not. He's really smart. He just—" Danny cut himself off, realizing he was playing right into what Brandan was trying to tell him.
"One failed test is not by itself evidence that someone is an idiot, right?" pressed Brandan gently. "It's not substantial, is it?"
The back of Danny's neck grew hot but he refused to nod.
"So once you have determined that the evidence for the label is not substantial, the next step is to see if there are other possible explanations for the failing grade that do not indicate you're an idiot," said Brandan. "Maybe you could've gotten a good grade but just didn't have enough time to study. Maybe you just don't have a very good grasp on math but you are knowledgeable in other subjects. Or maybe you are skilled in other areas of math but just not the specific kind of math on this test."
"Okay, but what if it's not just one test?" asked Danny with a bite. "What if I fail every test?"
"That still doesn't mean you're entirely an idiot," said Brandan. "All it means is that you failed those tests. And that's all you can take it to mean at face value. You can try to come up with reasons for why you keep doing poorly on tests, but I guarantee the reason isn't because you're an idiot, Danny."
Danny checked the clock. Far too much time left.
"Is this something you do, by chance?" asked Brandan. "Do you not do very well on tests and then call yourself an idiot because of it?"
"I don't want to talk about me," said Danny, attempting to keep the cracking emotion out of his voice because YES tests were hard for him and he hated them and a test was the entire reason his soul darkened in an alternate timeline where he nearly killed everyone.
"All right," said Brandan with a small sigh. "Maybe we should move on to the next thinking error. Unless you have any questions about labeling?"
Danny shook his head.
"Or an example of labeling that you have actually done this past week?"
Danny shook his head even harder.
Brandan referred to Danny's tally sheet. "Your fourth most common thinking error actually ties in quite nicely to labeling. Wanna take a guess what it is?"
"No," said Danny. "I really don't."
"It's polarized thinking," said Brandan. "You remember that one, right?"
Danny nodded.
"Do you want to review it for us?"
Danny shook his head.
"Polarized thinking is also commonly referred to as all-or-nothing or black-or-white thinking," said Brandan. "It refers to the idea that everything can be categorized as either good or bad with nothing in between. For example, it's very common for highly academic students to see only A's as 'good' grades and that a B-plus is the same as an F."
"A B-plus is a good grade to me," said Danny. "I'm happy with anything above a D, honestly. It's my parents who want me to do better."
"Yes, perhaps grades are not a source of polarized thinking for you," said Brandan. "That is just one of the easier examples people can understand. It can also mean getting second place in a contest out of hundreds of participants and still feeling like a failure. Or fumbling just a couple notes in a song and considering it a bad performance. Maybe being unable to complete a task on your to-do list and deciding your entire day was wasted because of it. Or feeling your relationship with someone is over because of one argument."
Danny's gut dropped. That last example was just a little too keen. His friendship with Sam and Tucker seemed so much weaker to him now after the events from earlier. Now that they knew he was in therapy, now that they had confirmed they thought it could be beneficial to him, now that he had been so angry with them as a result. He wasn't sure he could ever face them again.
"I'm hesitant to ask," began Brandan with a smile, "but would you be willing to give me an example of any polarized thinking you might have from this past week?"
"Are you gonna try using Danny Phantom again as an example if I don't?" asked Danny wearily.
"Well, why not?" Brandan leaned back in his chair. "I think he'd be an excellent example. He's mostly done good for this town but when he does one thing seemingly out of line, suddenly he's considered completely evil and an enemy—"
"Stop," said Danny. "Just stop, please."
He was tired now. Tired of being angry, tired of fighting, tired of trying to get Brandan to stop being so irritating.
He wanted to sink into the sofa.
"I do have examples," said Danny in monotone. "My sister is a genius. I'm not. I'm always being compared to her, and it just makes me think I'm an idiot."
Brandan nodded. "Okay. That's a good one to start with. So—"
"And this girl. Valerie. She went out with me a couple times but then suddenly told me she didn't want to be with me. So I feel like I must be—I don't know—ugly or repulsive or something."
"Oh, okay, that's a good one, too—"
"And when I drive with my mom, I feel like I'm the worst driver ever when I forget to turn on the blinker or cut a corner too close and she yells at me." Danny paused. His voice cracked when he spoke again. "God, I hate when she yells at me."
Brandan hesitated. "Danny, are you—"
"And I could tell you more," said Danny. "But I don't want to."
Brandan said nothing.
"I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to be here anymore. I just want to go home." Danny closed his eyes. "Maybe celebrate the rest of my birthday by sleeping. Going to bed really early sounds nice."
Brandan did not speak for a few moments. "Did something happen with your mom today, Danny? Did she yell at you?"
Danny could only stare at Brandan, not sure what to do or say next.
"You don't have to tell me about it," said Brandan quietly. "But I'm here to listen if you do."
Danny sat motionless for several tick-tick-ticks of the clock. He wondered what information Brandan was able to gather just from him being frozen like this.
His body restarted with a shudder. He fell back into the couch, feeling drained and far too tired to resist anymore.
"I broke curfew last night," said Danny just above a murmur. "I tried to sneak back into the house, but she caught me."
Brandan gave a small nod but did not say anything.
"She's caught me before," said Danny, his eyes glazing as he recalled the incident. "But this time was different. This time, it was like...she wanted to give up on me. Like she was just done with me. Like she didn't want to keep waiting for me to get better or stop disappointing her because she no longer believes I'll ever stop disappointing her."
His nails dug into his thighs through his jeans.
"I just feel like I'm not what she wants," murmured Danny. "I feel like I can never be the kind of son she's actually proud to have."
"Hmm." Brandan nodded a few times. "And what kind of thinking error is that?"
Danny shot him a glare. He just confessed something so difficult for him to say out loud, and this was how this guy chose to respond?
"Come on," said Brandan gently. "Do this for me, won't you?"
Danny relented with a sigh and lowered his gaze. "Jumping to conclusions."
"And?"
Danny pressed his lips but breathed in sharply, recalming himself. "Emotional reasoning. I guess."
"Oh, definitely."
Danny shot him another look. Okay, yeah, he knew he struggled with this, but he didn't exactly want this guy so enthusiastically confirming it.
"Anything else?" asked Brandan.
Danny blinked and sank back into the couch.
"I'm sorry to hear that this happened between you and your mom," said Brandan, his pleasantry fading into something more serious, sympathetic. "Would you mind telling me why you broke curfew last night? Maybe we could start our discussion there."
Fighting ghosts. Getting his face torn open. That's what he had been doing.
"I was just out. Does it matter?" asked Danny testily.
"It just might help me get some perspective," said Brandan. "By any chance, did you get that injury on your face while you were out last night?"
Danny reflexively placed a hand over the adhesive bandage on his face, his heart beating fast. "I—no—it's just a cut. It's nothing."
"All right, all right. You don't have to tell me what you were out doing last night when you broke curfew," said Brandan. "But is it okay if we talk about what happened between you and your mother afterward?"
Danny lowered his hand. "I mean, I already brought it up. Can't take it back. So I guess so."
"You feeling like you're not what your mother wants for a son is indeed jumping to a conclusion and emotional reasoning," said Brandan. "But let's talk about how it's an example of polarized thinking since that's the thinking error we're on right now."
Danny began trying to work out how this was an example of polarized thinking before deciding he was far too tired. Brandan was just going to tell him anyway, so why bother?
"As I said before, polarized thinking is also called all-or-nothing thinking. Either it's all completely perfect or it's a complete failure; there is no in between," said Brandan. "In this case, it seems you feel that because you're not a perfect son, you're a complete disappointment to your mother. Because you make some mistakes and do things that upset her, you feel you must not be good enough for her."
Danny blinked down at his lap a few times.
"Am I correct on that, Danny?" asked Brandan. "That is what you said, isn't it?"
"I don't know. Maybe I didn't really mean it quite like that."
"Do you want to try explaining it to me again, then?"
Danny ran a hand across his mouth, tugged at his lips. "I don't—it just seems—I feel like I always screw things up with her. With everyone. But especially with her."
His fingers traveled to his neck, his throat, pinching at the skin as if to loosen and unstuck whatever was clinching it.
"It's not just one or two mistakes, it's all the time. Every day. Another failed quiz, another late assignment, another teacher emailing her to let her know how bad I'm doing. Another mistake while driving, another missed curfew. That look she gets on her face when she realizes once again I'm just nothing like her, that I'm not into what she's into or good at what she's good at, that I'm not as smart as she is, that I'm just lazy and won't ever be anything like her."
He ducked his head and covered his face with his hand. The examples and all the ways he knew he was not what his mother wanted kept coming and filling his head but he didn't want to say them anymore, just wanted to hide them, hide himself.
"Okay, so you have some reasons why you think you make her unhappy," said Brandan. "Can you try something else for me? Tell me three things you do that you know make her happy."
"Three things I do that make her happy?"
"Yes. You don't think everything you do makes her unhappy, do you?"
"Well, no, I mean—I guess obviously not everything I do makes her unhappy."
"So can you tell me three things you do that make her happy?"
Danny's mind blanked, numbed. "Ah—I—"
"Okay, how about just one thing?" said Brandan. "One thing for now; we'll start easy."
Easy? He thought this was easy?
Danny turned over incidents and reasons in his head. When was the last time he had made his mother happy? Proud? When was the last time she smiled at him because he actually did something she appreciated? When was the last time he did his chores without being asked? When was the last time he got an A on a test without forcing her to spend money on a tutor or without her grounding him until he actually studied?
He slowly shook his head. "I… I can't…"
"You can, Danny," said Brandan gently. "You know you can think of something you do that makes her happy. You know there are reasons why she loves you."
His mother did love him. He knew that.
But he had no idea why or what he did to deserve it.
And he had no idea how he was going to make anything up to her because he didn't want her to be mad and he just wanted her to know that he was sorry he wasn't as smart as Jazz but he really was trying his best but then maybe he wasn't trying his best maybe he could do better maybe he just needed to try harder—
He sucked in a breath to fight back the burn in his eyes. "I don't want to do this anymore."
"Don't want to do what anymore?" asked Brandan.
"This—this—" Danny gestured to the space in front of him, not sure what he was trying to indicate but it was definitely this.
"I don't know," Danny tried again. "I just don't want to talk anymore."
He clutched the front of his shirt in an attempt to relieve the pressure in his chest. Brandan didn't say anything for a moment.
"We can end a few minutes early. It's probably close enough." Brandan checked the time. "Yes, I think that might be for the best. It is your birthday, after all."
Danny didn't move right away, not sure if Brandan was really serious or not.
"Come on. I'll walk out with you and say hi to your mom." Brandan pushed his chair back as he stood and opened the door for Danny. He smiled at him, waiting.
Danny stared at the door, wondering why Brandan was being so nice to him. What did he do to deserve any kindness at all?
Danny looked down at his lap and scratched at his jeans. "Hey, um… I'm sorry for what I did last week."
Brandan blinked. "Hmm? Last week?"
Danny groaned quietly. Was this guy really going to make him say it? "Yeah, you know, when I… I yelled at you and then walked out. I'm… I'm sorry. I was just mad."
Brandan kept quiet for a moment before closing the door and returning to his chair. He rolled the chair forward, just a little closer to Danny.
"I appreciate that," said Brandan. "Really. But you are allowed to feel however you want here. You know that, right? That's the whole point of you being here. This is your time."
Danny tightened his arms against his stomach but said nothing.
"I want you to always be honest about how you're feeling when you're here," said Brandan. "Even if it means you might lash out at me. At least you weren't trying to hide it from me."
Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwd, why couldn't this guy just accept his apology or simply tell him it was okay and that it didn't matter anymore like a normal person?
Danny couldn't even look him in the eyes. "I still feel bad about it."
"I understand," said Brandan. "Thanks for letting me know." He stood again. "I'm really looking forward to talking to you some more."
Danny eyed him warily. "You are?"
"It's as you said," said Brandan. "You're not like my other clients, even just other teens I've worked with." He paused, gave him a warm smile. "I'm very interested to see what comes up next here."
Brandan opened and held the door. Danny rose to his feet from the couch, giving Brandan a curious glance as he walked by and out of the room.
Out in the waiting room, Maddie stood as Danny and Brandan approached. Danny searched for any signs of the anger and frustration from just an hour before, but she seemed much calmer now. Maybe her smile was somewhat tired?
No, he shouldn't be jumping to that conclusion, he knew that…
Maybe he could just ask her if she was still mad at him in the car.
Or maybe he could just ignore everything that happened before and hope she wouldn't bring it up again either and he could try to salvage the remainder of his birthday. Going to bed early without fighting any ghosts, getting some sleep and not waking up in pain, that actually sounded like a decent birthday to him.
"How did it go?" asked Maddie.
"It went great. As always," said Brandan.
It went great? Was Brandan always just going to lie for him to his mom?
Maddie's expression changed from tired to relieved. Danny definitely preferred seeing that.
Brandan turned to Danny with a smile. "Happy birthday, Danny."
"Oh." Danny nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
"See you next week."
"Yeah. See you."
Maddie placed a gentle hand on Danny's shoulder and guided him out of the waiting room. Danny wondered who Brandan was going to talk to next now. Would Brandan just forget about him in the next hour? Would he have to reread all his notes next Monday just to remember exactly who this Danny Fenton was and what his issues were?
Danny wasn't even sure if it would be more comforting if Brandan really did remember and care.
