Chapter Forty:

Tyron entered the room hesitantly. He was twisting his fingers and he looked anywhere but where he was supposed to. The room wasn't tight, but Tyron did not feel comfortable at all coming here. "He-Hello?" He called, looking around.

Suddenly a closet door opened and someone stepped out. It was a tall lanky man with brown rimmed glasses and freckles covering his face. He had light brown eyes and a mess of brown hair. He looked at Tyron and then smiled, "Hello there!" He greeted. He was holding a few very thick looking books, but he tried to put his hand out anyway. "You must be. . .?"

"No names," Tyron said immediately. The man rose an eyebrow, a bit confused. "I, uh. . . I. . ." He looked down at his hands, "Safer for m'tha' way. No names."

"Well, that's alright," He assured. "I'm Doctor Bekinghall, but everyone calls me Dr. Bek. Is it alright if I give you a nickname? Just so we can have something on record?" Tyron nodded. "What about. . . John Doe? It's the name the police and other law enforcement uses when they can't identify someone."

Tyron rose an eyebrow, "John Doe?"

"Is Johnny better?" Tyron scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning away.

"Sure, why th' 'ell not. Johnny," Tyron shook his head at the thought, but Dr. Bek beamed.

"Well, then, Johnny, why don't you have a seat," He said, motioning to a chair that was parallel to a coffee table. Tyron nodded and moved to sit down, pulling his phone out and placing it in front of him. Dr. Bek scrambled to put his books away for a moment before coming to a small table at the other side of the room. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee or tea?"

"Water is fine," Tyron said, and the man nodded. He pulled a small pitcher out of a mini-fridge, and poured Tyron a cup of water. He set it in front of Tyron with a coaster underneath.

Tyron didn't touch the cup. He glanced out the window where a bird was perched on a small bird feeder. "So, Johnny, what brings you here today?" Tyron shrugged and Dr. Bek chuckled, "Maybe we can start off with actually looking my direction?" It was a suggestion, but Tyron obeyed anyway. He turned back to the man and twisted his fingers. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Do ya?" Tyron retorted, and immediately felt a bit bad. He was just doing his job, and Tony was paying for him to be here ― for him to be able to talk to someone who wouldn't judge him.

"From what your guardian told me, I'm here to listen to you talk," He said and Tyron gave a small nod. This was already going off on a bad start. He should just go home while he still had the chance to. "I can already tell you've got a few things brewing in that head of yours."

"Yeah. . ." Tyron muttered, looking down, "I, uhm, I had a long week, last week. I. . . I jus'. . ." Why was this so hard?

"Let's start with a few simple questions okay?" Tyron nodded, "How old are you?"

"I turn seventeen in a few weeks, I think." Dr. Bek nodded, scratching something down on a notepad.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Currently?"

"Any at all?"

"I had an older brother. He left us a while ago." The man nodded again.

"Your parents?"

"Wha' 'bout 'em?"

"What's their marriage status? Married, divorced, et cetera."

"Uh, widowed. M'Mom died in the Incident."

Dr. Bek looked up at him, his eyes full of sadness, "I'm sorry to hear about that. My daughter died as well." Tyron nodded, tapping his foot and staring down at his glass of water. "How did you father take this?"

"He. . ." Tyron swallowed. "Uh, he. . . figured himself out."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Fuck you!" His father screamed in his ear, his voice slurred and smelt like drugs and alcohol, not a great combination. He hit Tyron with the wooden bat again and again. Tyron whimpered from each strike, trying desperately to cover his head. "Ya the fuckin' reason Anita died! Dumb bitch! Go to hell!"

"He didn't take it well," Tyron said softly. He could hardly remember the man who used to throw him in the air and call him his little princess, despite how much Tyron disliked the term.

"Were there any signs of domestic violence?"

"He didn't take it well," Tyron repeated, gritting his teeth. Dr. Bek wrote something else down, and continued speaking.

"We'll move on from that for now," He assured, and asked something else. "Are you in school?"

"Yeah."

"What grade?"

"It's. . . complicated."

"Do you mind explaining?" Tyron shrugged.

"M'pose to be a senior by now, but things happened, so m'not."

"What grade are you in?"

"A little bit of everything," Tyron admitted. "I take senior level math, but m'in freshmen history, an' junior english. Sometimes, I join the freshmen classes when the teachers teach a certain topic, but not in all of their classes. It's weird."

"It's interesting," Dr. Bek said, "Do you think it'd be easier if you were just homeschooled?"

"I–I couldn't," Tyron said quickly. If he stayed in one spot, Baron would've dived on his ass. Being in school, in an territory that wasn't even his, it was perfect. Besides, if he stayed holed up in the tower all day, he might have gone crazy.

"Why?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Tyron bit his lip. This was such a waste of money. Why did he come if he wasn't even going to talk!? What would he tell Tony?

"That's perfectly fine," Dr. Bek assured. "It's the first session and we have an hour of time to kill, if you don't mind my metaphor."

"I don'," Tyron assured, and Dr. Bek continued with his questions.

"How are your current living conditions, I assume you live with your guardians?"

"Better," Tyron said immediately, "There's food and heat and it smells a lot better. And, they don't make me―" Tyron cut himself off, catching himself. "I–I mean, they, uh, they're cool."

"They don't make you do, what?"

"I don' have to do a lot of chores," Tyron lied immediately. "It's better than at home, I always had to clean an' shit, it was hard."

"Of course," Dr. Bek nodded and Tyron watched nervously as he began to write again. He wanted to know what the man was writing down. It was making him upset. "Do you have any friends, Johnny?"

"Yeah, I have Peter and Ned, and I think Michelle, but that's it."

"Nobody else?" Tyron shook his head. "And are there any complications there too? Any bullies or rude teachers?"

"'Ere's 'is one guy, Miles Forbes," Tyron said, shaking his head. "But, 'e's jus' a kid. Tried to beat m'up wit' all 'is buddies yesterday."

"Did he win?"

"Yeah, but only 'cause I couldn't—" he cut himself off. Then, he bit his lip, turning away. If he was going to be and talk to someone, he needed to make the most out of what Tony was paying for.

Dr. Bek was waiting, watching him carefully, "Should we move on?" He asked.

"Nah, I... I was gonna say tha' he only won 'cause I... I didn't use m'mutation." Tyron felt his heart race as soon as he said it and he watched Dr. Bek, waiting for him to jump up or shout or accuse him of something he probably did but couldn't remember.

He just wrote something down and then looked back up at Tyron. "Do you mind elaborating on what your mutation is?"

"Yes," He said immediately. Even if he didn't have his name on record, if he had his mutation there and people had a vague idea what he looked like, he would be in trouble. "I don' wanna talk about it."

"That's alright," he said and wrote something else down. "Now, how long have you been staying with your guardians?"

"Uh..." Tyron frowned, "Six, seven months?"

"And before that you were with your parents?"

"Uh, no," he said. "I... I was..." Tyron squirmed, trying to breathe. "I was in a gang."

Dr. Bek rose an eyebrow, "A gang?"

Tyron nodded, "M'not anymore. I got out."

"Was it hard?" Tyron remembered the day he woke up after being raped by those three men. His fingers were broken and his wrist sprained. He was hardly able to dress himself, much less escape. It was a miracle he even got out!

"Yeah. I... I—yeah, it, uh..."

"Suck it hard!" The man demanded, forcing Tyron to his knees. Tyron shook his head no, and the man hit him, hard. "Suck! Now!"

"What did they do that—?"

"No. No, not answering that," Tyron wrapped his arms around him, closing his eyes and trying to breathe clearly.

"It's okay, we'll move on," Dr. Bek said, and then motioned to Tyron's water. "Take a drink."

"M'kay," Tyron said, picking up his cup. His hand still shook from the memory and Tyron forced himself to hold it steady.

"I have something to admit," Dr. Bek spoke, and Tyron looked up as he sipped the water. "I put a little bit of a calming supplement in your water. It's nothing big, it's just to soothe the nerves." Tyron nearly spit it out. He slammed the cup back down, making the water sloshed over the edge. His eyes were wide and he waited for the effects of his mutation to take hold.

Nothing happened. No hallucinations, no cries, no spinning sensation, nothing.

Tyron turned back to the man, who had been writing all this down, "You lied to me," he accused angrily.

"And you responded with fear," the man replied, looking back at him. "Why?" Tyron gritted his teeth and leaned back in his chair. "I apologize for lying to you, but I wanted to gauge your reaction. Even though I said it would just be something to calm down, you were still scared.

"Course I was scared," Tyron scoffed, "I thought I was bein' drugged!"

"Is that all?" Tyron looked away, biting his tongue. "You know, you're here to talk to me. I cannot, by law, repeat back anything you said to me in any way shape or form. If you don't feel comfortable telling me what it is that is bothering you today, well, then we'll always have other sessions."

"Then, can't I tell ya then?" Tyron asked, curiously.

"You could, Johnny, you could. But, if we don't scratch the surface today, then it'll be a lot harder to break the ice tomorrow." Tyron thought about that for a minute, understanding what he meant. "Are you ready?"

"'Ere are still somethin's I don' wanna talk 'bout," Tyron admitted.

"Then, let's scratch the ice. Just a few questions. That's it." Tyron nodded agreeingly. "Good! Where was I...? Oh! Right! Why were you afraid to drink the water?"

"I... Uh..." Tyron swallowed, scratch the ice, right? "M'mutation makes it so I can't, uhm, eat food... I can only drink water, so th'–th' supplement would've made m'sick. I was scared of gettin' sick."

"And is it just like... A headache, swelling, or a stomach bug?"

"S'more like hallucinations, vomiting, and fever symptoms. Dependin' on how much I eat, it could last from a few days to a few hours."

"Wow," Dr. Bek said, surprised. "I can see why you'd be scared."

Tyron just nodded, looking back down at his hands, and then up at a fancy digital clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes ― they still had forty-five minutes of this. He didn't think he would be able to give a detailed account of what happened without having a freak-out. Even the thought of it made his stomach churn in disgust.

It must have shown on his face because Dr. Bek spoke up, "What are you thinking about?" He asked.

"I-I, uhm," He swallowed, "It's nothing."

"Scratching the surface," He reminded gently, and Tyron bit his lip. "If you don't feel comfortable, then―"

"No, I. . ." He sighed, "I was thinkin' 'bout how I might. . . I, uh, wouldn't feel comfortable if. . . if I told you about some things that happened to me. . ."

"That's okay," Dr. Bek assured, "Would you be able to generalize it? So, it's not as detailed?"

Tyron thought for a moment, but nodded, "In. . . In the gang, I, uh, I was forced to carry out. . . jobs for the leader, Baron," Tyron explained, slowly. "Sometimes, I had to. . . he made me scare people straight, ya know? Or. . . or uhm, kill them." Dr. Bek nodded, watching him as Tyron rubbed his hands slowly, as if he could clean the blood dripping off of them. As if he could scrub them hard enough for it to go away.

"How did that make you feel?" Tyron heard Dr. Bek asked, but he felt as if there were cotton in his ears. He sounded far away and Tyron couldn't exactly hear him properly.

"I. . . I—uh, I. . . I didn't like it. I. . . I didn't want to, but he. . . he would. . ." Tyron kept rubbing at his hands. "If I didn't do what. . . what he said, he'd. . . he'd shoot me."

Dr. Bek's eyes widened, "He'd shoot you?" He repeated, and Tyron nodded. "Have you had to get surgery in order to treat these wounds?"

"No. . . 'cause of m'mutation, bullets and knives and other things made of metal, 'ey, uh, don' hurt me. But, if I get shot, it still hurts like it would if a bullet would to hit ya."

"So, you're bulletproof, but you still feel the bullet?" Dr. Bek summarized and Tyron gave a noncommittal shrug. "Interesting." He wrote some more on his notepad, and Tyron glanced curiously at it.

"Wha' are ya writing?" Tyron asked, watching his hand move as he wrote.

"Notes. Things I think of you."

"Like wha'?"

Dr. Bek rose an eyebrow, "You want to know?" Tyron nodded, and he went to the top of the page. "'Patient doesn't want to be called by his given name, may have issues with authorities or other people who might want to find him. He doesn't want my information of him to fall into the wrong hands. Cannot keep eye contact for too long, may have had problems with authorities or suffered from verbal or physical abuse. Confirmed, physically abused by father, who probably was hurt by wife's and brother's death. Disassociated for five minutes. Very―"

"What does that mean?" Tyron asked, cutting the man off.

"Hmm?"

"'Disassociated'. Wha' does tha' mean?"

"Let's exchange," Dr. Bek suggested. "I'll explain what that means, and you tell me what your mutation is." Tyron frowned and Dr. Bek shrugged, "We can go back to questions if you don't want to."

Tyron thought for a moment, but then remembered what Dr. Bek reminded for him, scratching the surface. He nodded, "Fine. But, you can't write it down, okay?"

"Okay," Dr. Bek agreed, putting his notepad down on the table, upside down so Tyron couldn't see what was written on it.

Tyron looked around. He saw a metal ballpoint pen on his desk. He came back to the table, unscrewed it, and took the inkwell out. Then, he put it back together, somewhat. "Okay,... now, don', uh, freak out, a'ight?"

"Of course," Dr. Bek said, and then Tyron ate the pen. His eyes went wide and his jaw slackened, "Wait!" He cried, but it was too late. Tyron swallowed it and placed his hand on the table. He concentrated the metal there and soon his fingertips were metal. It wasn't enough to turn his entire hand metal, of course. He formed them into claws and lightly tapped the table. "Oh. . ." Dr. Bek said, a little bit surprised. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," Tyron said, and put the claw away, leaving his fingers metal. "It works faster and more instantly if I absorb it, though."

"Amazing," he awed, and Tyron looked away, feeling his ears burn. Nobody's ever called his mutation amazing. He didn't quite know how to respond.

"Th. . . thanks," He repeated. "So, uh, now s'ya turn."

"Right," The doctor nodded. "Disassociation is when someone. . . disconnects from the rest of the world. It's usually found in PTSD victims or people with extreme depression. It's usually a way for them to make sense of reality, so they kind of step away ― it's like a way to process. But, sometimes, victims can experience vivid flashbacks that might cause an panic attack."

"Ya sayin'. . . I did tha'?" Tyron asked, his eyes wide.

"For five minutes, yes. You weren't responding to anything I asked you, so I waited. Soon enough, you did come through and we continued our session."

Tyron blinked, "Can tha' happen anytime?" He asked, his eyes wide.

"Well, it really depends," Dr. Bek said. "If prompted, it might trigger it, but things like response times definitely have a factor that goes into how soon you can recover." Tyron looked down, a little startled about this new information. "Don't worry, we can talk through it, usually psychotherapy ― what we're doing right now ― helps get through that."

"Uh-huh," He said, squirming in his seat, and looked back up at the clock. Thirty-five minutes left.

"Is there anything you want me to know?" Dr. Bek asked, and Tyron shook his head.

"Nah, uh, m'good," He said firmly.

"Okay, then, we'll continue with the questions, then." He looked back at his notes. "Are you dating anyone?" Tyron nearly jumped and Dr. Bek smiled.

"No, no," He said quickly. "No, I–I uh. . ." He coughed.

"It's okay," Dr. Bek smiled. "Do you mind if I ask if you've been in a relationship recently?"

Tyron looked away, "Yeah."

"Did it end badly?" Dr. Bek asked, and Tyron nodded.

"He died a few weeks ago," Tyron said softly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dr. Bek said.

"Yeah," Tyron cleared his throat, and then he remembered Peter. The way he comforted him when he was having another 'freak-out'. The way his cheeks start to burn and annoyingly adorable shade of pink whenever Tyron teased him.

"Is there. . . someone else?" Dr. Bek asked carefully.

"No," Tyron denied. Peter wasn't even gay! He. . . that wouldn't be possible. He needed to get his act together. "No, I. . . m'jus' bein' dumb. S'nothin'."

"There's nothing dumb with the way you feel," Dr. Bek comforted. "Do you wanna talk about them?"

"I. . ." Tyron sighed, covering his face, "'Ere's this guy, right? He's. . . he's adorable, but. . . I don' jus' wanna jump on 'im, not after. . . ya know. It's been so soon. I loved Pietro, but I don'. . . I don' wanna replace 'im."

Dr. Bek nodded, understandingly. "May I give an analogy?" He asked and Tyron nodded, a bit confused. "After we lost my daughter, Abygale in the Incident, my wife and I were devastated. She was our only child and we loved her and we always will. A year later, my wife gave birth to my son, Andrew, he's three now. We still think about my daughter all the time, and we still love her, but we have to move on. Maybe, you can do the same? You still love Pietro will all of your being, but life will keep going, and if you wallow in the past, you'll never have the chance to see the future."

Tyron nodded solemnly, "But, it doesn't matter anyway," Tyron said with a shrug. "'E's not gay."

"Have you asked him?"

"I know," Tyron said, thinking of the many, many times he mentioned Liz and what she was wearing or what she was doing or how she had her hair that day. It was a borderline creepy, but Tyron knew his intentions were good.

"You should try anyway," Dr. Bek said. "Some people are subject to change, especially teenage boys." Tyron let out a scoff and leaned forward to take a sip of water. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Tyron rose an eyebrow, "Ya say tha' like we're almost done."

"Well, we do have five more minutes," Tyron frowned, looking up at the clock, they had a half hour! "Oh!" Dr. Bek laughed, turning around, "Sorry, that's not a clock. That's a clock," He pointed to the opposite wall, behind Tyron where a analog clock hung silently. He was right ― they did only have five more minutes.

"Then, wha' s'tha'?" Tyron asked, pointing to the not-clock.

"That is the temperature ― it's in celsius. I'm from Europe." He chuckled, turning back around. "My clients usually think it's a timer or a clock or something. That's why I sit over here, so they don't worry over time."

Tyron shook his head, "Funny," He said and stood up.

"We haven't finished, Johnny," Dr. Bek said, raising an eyebrow. Tyron sat back down, and Dr. Bek looked back down at his notepad. "This was supposed to be a diagnostic session. Just to, like we said, scratch the surface. I know there's a lot you aren't telling me, and I know that from what you did tell me, there is much more to the story. I want to get to know you, Johnny. I want to help you. But, next time, we need to be able to be more transparent with each other. I know, there are some things you just aren't comfortable telling me, and that's fine, that's perfectly okay. But, I just want you to know that you can trust me. I'm here for you. I am not able to legally tell anybody about this exchange between us and what you say, so the only thing holding you back is you. Alright?"

Tyron nodded, feeling a bit guilty. "Yeah, sorry, I–I understand."

"No reason to apologize. I just want this to be as comfortable as possible. You can talk to me here, that is my job after all." Tyron laughed and then Dr. Bek stood up. Tyron followed and Dr. Bek held out his hand so Tyron shook it. It was a little awkward, but he made do. "It was nice meeting you. I look forward to seeing you again." Tyron picked his phone up off the coffee table. He had shut it down before he came so he wouldn't get distracted. He powered it back up so he could call Tony.

"Thanks, ya too," Tyron replied and made his way toward the door. He walked out of his office and to the sidewalk. They were in northern Manhattan with all of the hipsters and gentrification. Tyron unlocked his phone and called Tony.

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, you done?"

"Yeah, m'waitin' outside," Tyron replied.

"Okay, Happy will be there to pick you up. How'd it go?"

Tyron thought for a moment. There were only a few people in this world who knew that much about him ― and none of those people had been complete strangers. Tyron smiled and nodded a bit. He was proud of himself, a little, at least.

"Good. It went good," he said confidently.