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oneshotbrightideas · 8 years ago

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Running out of time:

I wish I could be normal. There’s something so isolating about certain places: bus stations, sitting on a bench, alone, at 2am, and waiting rooms. There’s some theory about it being because those places have no purpose itself they just exist between other experiences. But for me it’s because they serve to show me just how alone I am. Because there’s 2 kinds of people at those places: those with someone else, and those alone. I was in loads of waiting rooms, when I was trying to figure out what was wrong with me, loads of park benches when they first told me, and then loads of bus stations when I left and I did all of them alone. The stupid thing is, I could’ve had someone there, many someones probably, but there was always this voice telling me they wouldn’t have wanted to be there, reminding me I was nothing more than a freak and a burden. Now that voice mocks me that i’m alone, and that I have no one to blame for that but myself. Which yeah is true. But c’mon me, stop being a dick to me.

This waiting room isn’t a bad one though. Not by any stretch: it’s even got biscuits...had biscuits. The receptionist sits behind a high desk at the other side of the room. We haven’t spoken since i sat down 10 minutes ago. 10 minutes of silence, it seems like a lot longer. Can’t blame her for that though. I’m sat on a row of chairs, organised perpendicular to the desk. The seats are too soft for me, and slightly itchy where my shirt has rode up. Or I’m just complaining too much. I sigh, and run my hand through my hair. I’m pretty sure pacing would weird out the receptionist, I should not have turned up half an hour early. The room is too quiet. There’s nothing coming from the large oak door positioned in the wall, just to the left of the desk. A muted tapping from the receptionist, an ipad or tablet i think. There wasn’t a computer there when I signed in but she has to keep appointments on something.

My foot starts tapping, and I can manage nothing more than a disdainful look. I stare at it for a few seconds longer before shifting my weight so that it stops. The receptionist is still tapping away, i’m not sure she noticed. Which is good. My skin starts to feel prickly, I need to move, ideally i’d spend my time walking but ‘that’s disruptive.’ The tapping foot was relieving some of my restlessness but the receptionist seemed nice. No reason for me to wind her up. I grab my bag from the seat next to me. For a second I contemplate putting it back but decide against it. I have some food left, and I feel slightly nauseated. Am I nervous? Am I hungry? Am I bored? Who knows. I grab a protein bar from the bottom of my bag taking it from between the old wrappers, scraps of paper, and empty bottles that once held more caffeine than someone should drink. Who cares, I don’t sleep anyway.

A few mouthful laters, I start to feel slightly better. It could be due to a minor case of hypoglycemia, or the familiarity of the mint and chocolate flavoured bar has taken my mind off what comes next. And fuck you brain. The nausea returns in force and I guess it was just taking my mind off things. I sigh, run my hand through my hair, twice. I let my foot start tapping again.

“She’s ready for you.” The receptionist calls out 15 minutes later making me jump. I sling my bag over my shoulder, and take a deep breath in but it does nothing to ease the pit in my stomach. What could only be a 7m walk from my seat to the solid oak door seems to take hours the time stretching out to to infinity, my steps becoming slower and smaller. If I cover half the distance with each new step i’ll never get there I think to myself. Before i realise i’m at the door, I check the receptionist, to see if she noticed anything weird about how i’d moved. She’s undisturbed so either weird is normal, or I’m controlling it, at least a little bit. My arm slowly reaches for the door and the pit in my stomach tugs back at me. My hand turns the knob too quickly, and it snaps off. Even quicker I thrust the knob into my hoodie pocket. Much slower, I gently push open the door.

“Hi,” I say as I push open the door. The Doctor sits at the other end of the room, in a chair slightly too big for her but made out of the same dark wood as the door. “Good afternoon.” She replies politely. “I must admit I was intrigued when you booked an appointment without giving a name.” I drop my bag by the door and take a few tentative steps inside. “However,” she continues, “I do need to know what to call you.”

“Jay Garrick.” I reply quickly, too quickly. “What’s your name?” I ask, hoping to distract her with another question. “Michelle will do, why bother with formalities, like real names.” She responds. She caught on very quickly, good I need someone with their bullshit detector turned on. “Also, my brother used to read comic books.” She adds. I blush.

“I found your name online, along with a few keywords, ‘atypical,’ ‘bright,’ ‘AM.’” I tell her and she stares back at me blankly for a few seconds, and I feel myself tense. The seconds begin to stretch out into eternity…. And then her mouth twitches into a smile, “I had been trying to distance myself from that particular organisation. But I suppose once it’s on the internet it’s never really gone.” I feel smug for a few seconds. We both know more about the other than we let on. Although I can’t help think that this was intentional on her part. She’s a therapist and a good one. She wouldn’t want to have power over her patients. It wouldn’t be good for business.

“I have… anxiety. I know, who doesn’t right?” I tell her, and she gestures for me to sit down in a smaller chair opposite hers. I expected her to say something but she doesn’t reply, just waits patiently, her eyes boring into mine. I look away, scanning the room for anything useful. There’s a small table next to her chair with a dictaphone, two bookshelves against the wall to my left, out of the window behind her a bird picks a bug out of the air, and slowly swallows…

“Lots of my patients have anxiety disorders and it is a serious issue.” She begins, interrupting my train of thought. “What makes yours so atypical, it must be for you to search me out?” She asks, leaning back into her chair, the meaning is clear. It’s my turn to talk. “I have super speed. I think. I mean. It’s hard to know but i’m pretty sure i’m not teleporting.” I blurt out. “And like super processing, and super healing, but not accelerated aging. I don’t age quicklybutlikewhoknowsreallyitwouldbehardtotellitwouldn’tbeobviousforayearortwo....” The doctor is staring at me blankly. “Sorry, I didn’t quite get that. You have speed?” She asks, her voice coming out slowly at first, but then returning to normal. “Yeah. Speed.” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I know it sounds mad, I thought I was the first time it happened but then it kept happening and it's getting worse. I don’t want to get stuck.” Great, word vomit out of the way already. “Speed,” she says again, “well, I have heard of other people with your ability but I must admit, you’re the first one i’ve met. There was a man who used to race cars in Portland.” The knot in my stomach that had been loosening when she began talking tightens again. Racing cars? She doesn’t understand. I think she notices because she stops talking, her mouth frozen in an O shape. I take a breath, flex and relax the muscles in my hands. All those tricks people use to try and relax. They don’t help. When i look up again the Doctor is still stuck in the same face. Her eyes are maybe a fraction more closed than they were a few moments ago.

Shit.

I shut my eyes. Trying to breathe. I hadn’t noticed. Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. I push myself up and away from the chair. Shit. I turn and look for the chair, tiny fractures now run over the arm rests where i’d pushed myself up. The feet puncture the burgundy carpet, hit the wooden floor beneath and then begin to force the chair up and into the air. The chair begins floating towards the wall, no, not floating. Rocketing towards the wall. It’s going stupidly fast. I check the holes left in the ground. The wooden floorboards are also splintered. Shit. The chair edges ever closer to the wall. I turn back to the Doctor. Her ever so slightly different, having changed from an O to more of a oh fuck. I don’t think enough time has passed for her to have processed anything properly, but her body is trying to move her out of the way. Maybe I should move her? NO. I stop moving. Every step in here is a risk. I close my eyes to the world that is refusing to move properly, and start counting to 10. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7. And the room explodes. The chair behind me splinters into pieces against the wall, and in front of me the doctor dives out of her chair. Books fly off the shelves, and the floor trembles for a second. Then it settles, I walk forward intentionally slowly and help the doctor up. “Thank you.” She settles back into her chair. “I think I understand why you came to me.” She muses whilst straightening her tan jacket. “When did it start?”

“You’re not screaming?” I half ask, half state as I look the doctor in the eye. She settles back into her chair, checks the dictaphone is still recording. “It would hardly be professional, and it wouldn’t help either of us. I must admit, your case is far more interesting than any of the super speed cases i had previously heard of.” She gestures to me to continue and holds her gaze. She must either be mad, accustomed to weekly insanity, or both and in either case my best shot.

“About a year ago. My mum was sick. I was in the library doing work and I got a text that she was in the hospital. Nothing else, just that she was there. I tried to text back but i got no reply. I thought she was dying. I was too far away to get there in time if she was… I’ve always been anxious. Ever since i was a kid. I was always the sensitive one. But this was different. It was like i couldn’t get the air in fast enough, the room was spinning, and I could hear everyone around me talking, laughing, typing. The noise was unbearable… and it was echoing around my head and warping. Then it all stopped. Everything stopped. When i opened my eyes no one was doing anything. Everyone was just frozen, I was crying for help. I tried to tell them i couldn’t breathe, that my mum was in hospital, just for someone to help me. No one moved. I couldn’t deal with being inside and suddenly i wasn’t. I was in the car park. No one was moving there either. Someone was trying to light a cigarette and i could see the different sparks burning for what seemed like an age. You know when you see something and it just looks wrong?” I finally look back up to the doctor who nods. “Probably not in the same way, but yes. I believe that most people can relate to that feeling.” I realise that she’s probably humouring me slightly. But as the one standing in her semi destroyed office, because i had a tiny freak out, i can’t really blame her. “After watching fire just not working right, i noticed the birds. They were frozen too. Literally just hung in the air. The next thing i know i’m in bed, and i’ve no idea for how long. It felt like days. I think I passed out, because the next thing i knew my housemate is knocking on what’s left of my door and i’m left explaining why our house looks like a hurricane came through.”

Her face is passive as her eyes scrutinise me, you can almost hear her brain working overtime. She didn’t know anyone like me that much was clear. She knew about telepaths and empaths, maybe the odd pyrokinetic. “You must have been terrified.” She says, while attempting to get me to maintain eye contact. “No it was fine... Yes. Obviously. I thought time had broken.” I reply and instantly regret the attempt at a joke. The Doctor smiles kindly. “I would have been scared. I assume by the state of my chair, and office, that you’re still having issues?”I look guiltily at the splinters of wood behind me, “I can clean that up if you want.” I say with a shrug. She waves the offer away without a word. I slump to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them to keep them there. “It’s every time now, when I get anxious I get fast. But it’s like a positive feedback loop? Y’know like when you get cold. Really cold. The reactions in your body slow down, because it’s no longer the correct temperature, but that just makes you colder, so the reactions slow, so you get colder.” I realise i’m waffling but can’t quite manage to stop. “When i get scared, i get scared that everything will stop, because it doesn’t matter if i’m surrounded by people. When the world stops i’m alone. They can’t talk to me, they can’t even see me. I’m just a blur to them if they notice me at all. I don’t want to get stuck like that. Which just makes it more terrifying.”

“I think everyone can relate to not wanting to be alone.” The Doctor cajoles. “Surely you have friends though, maybe a partner; boyfriend, girlfriend?” I shake my head. “Noone?” she prompts. “No, I don’t exactly get laid much.” I say and force a laugh, “fastest man alive, isn’t exactly what people look for.” She chuckles but I’m pretty sure it’s fake.

“Not every relationships needs to be sexual.” She replies calmly, and maintains her smile for a few more seconds than necessary. “I know, but I’ve never been great with people and now it’s like what if they start talking about something that sets me off. To them i’ll have been standing there one second, and they blink and then i’m miles away.” I reply, only just realising that i’ve sunk to the ground. It doesn’t sound like me talking, i’m not lying but I don’t think i’d ever consciously thought about half of this before. “Can you take it away?” I ask, the words out of my mouth before i can stop them.

“No.” “Oh…”

I feel almost guilty for asking. “I’d wanted powers when I was a kid. I was always bullied and so was Peter Parker, that’s who I wanted to be: Spiderman. He was completely normal before he got powers, nothing mad had happened. Yeah his parents had died and that was awful but he had a family who loved him. He was normal, just a nerd, and then he got powers and then he got friends.” I blink a few times and swallow hard on the, not quite sadness, but intense emotion threatening me. I teeter on the edge for a few seconds but then it withdraws slightly, and I look back towards the Doctor. All i see is pity etched into her face. I know i’m going faster than normal, it’s a microexpression, her human reaction before she can force her face into a practiced ‘caring’ face. There’s no huge surge of speed this time though. It’s a slow burn, everything’s taking just that little bit too long. “It is normal to want friends.” She tells me. “I have dealt with many people who suffered abuse at the hands of their classmates. But they’re rarely atypicals. In my experience people gain these abilities as as their body tries to cope with certain difficulties. With your speed it would seem like you’re trying to give yourself more time to deal with situations you find challenging, or just leave those situations. That could be very useful.” She smiles. That makes sense i have to admit. I spent a lot of time wishing I wasn’t in certain rooms. It’s true, I think that now, and i’m gone. Do you feel betrayed by your powers?” The Doctor asks. “Spiderman got his powers, and he got friends, got the girl.”

“I didn’t know powers existed. I never expected this. Can you feel betrayed by something you never thought you’d have?” I ask, waving my hands like I’m reaching for the answer. Yeah I wanted powers when i was kid, who didn’t want to be Superman, or Storm, or Wolverine. But you never thought you’d actually get them. No gamma ray exposure, or lightning bolt, or terrigen mist. There was just boring old reality, and anxiety, and pills. “Yeah, I admit it. I’d always hoped for this. But, not like this.” The doctor leans in, a measured, practiced lean, and smiles. “Luckily, hoping doesn’t give you powers. You were born like this, and it took something horrible to bring it out but that doesn’t mean that your powers are the problem.” She explains thoughtfully. “They are a part of you, and your body isn’t trying to hurt you by using them. It’s scared, you’re scared and it's doing it’s best to try and protect you. It thinks you’re in danger.” She tells me, and i nod. She’s entirely logical, but for some reason it makes me feel worse about it. Why couldn’t i control this from the start, if it’s just ‘a part of me?’ Before I can start spiralling the Doctor starts talking again offering help with anxiety management techniques. A breathing exercise that can work, ‘even at super speed.’

#the bright sessions #one shots #speed powers

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