Chapter 14 The Therapist (Danny POV)

Chapter 14 The Therapist (Danny POV)
"Yo, Danny! Wait up!"
Ollie jogs up behind me, backpack bouncing against his shoulders. He's wearing a shirt that says "I Want to Believe" with a UFO on it. Classic Ollie.
"Dude, where have you been?" He falls into step beside me. "You missed, like, three days of school. I thought maybe you finally had that nervous breakdown everyone's been predicting."
"Just sick. Stomach thing."
"Stomach thing." He nods sagely. "Is that what you're calling whatever the hell is happening to you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means..." He stops walking and grabs my arm, turning me to face him. "Holy shit. Have you been working out?"
I pull my arm back. "No."
"Dude, your arms are like twice the size they were last week. And your shoulders. Did you join a gym?"
"I told you. I was sick."
"Yeah, people usually lose weight when they're sick. Not gain twenty pounds of muscle." He pokes my bicep. "Seriously, what's your secret? Protein shakes? Steroids? Did you make a deal with the devil?"
"Good genes." I start walking again. "Can we drop it?"
"Good genes." He catches up. "Your mom is like five-foot-four and your dad was a string bean according to the photos in your house. Where exactly are these good genes coming from?"
I don't answer. Because the truth, that I'm turning into a werewolf and my body is reshaping itself to match my supernatural genetics isn't something I can explain. Especially not in the middle of the hallway where anyone could hear.
"Whatever, man. Keep your secrets." Ollie adjusts his backpack. "But for real, are you okay? You've been weird lately. Weirder than usual, I mean."
"I'm fine."
"You broke a guy's wrist in basketball practice."
"That was an accident."
"You got kicked off the team."
"I know."
"And now you're avoiding Scarlett Jackson like she's got the plague, even though I've seen the way you look at her when you think nobody's watching."
I stop walking. "What?"
"Come on, Danny. I'm your best friend. You think I don't notice?" He lowers his voice. "You've got it bad for her. But instead of, I know, talking to her like a normal person, you got a restraining order. Which is possibly the most Danny Walter thing you've ever done."
"She was stalking me."
"Was she though?" He tilts his head. "Or was she just trying to talk to you and you freaked out because a hot girl was paying attention to you?"
"Ollie..."
"I'm just saying, maybe you overreacted a little. And now she looks like she's dying, you look like you're dying, and everyone's miserable." He shrugs. "Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something."
The universe. The Moon Goddess. Destiny. Fated mates.
My father's letter said the binding would only break if I met my mate. And three weeks ago, I met Scarlett Jackson. Three weeks ago, everything started changing.
"I can't talk to her," I say. "There's a restraining order."
"So apologize. Tell the school you made a mistake. Get it dropped."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
Because her pack might have killed my father. Because I'm becoming something dangerous and I don't know how to control it. Because every time I'm near her, my wolf wants to claim her and I'm terrified of what that means.
"Just trust me," I say. "It's complicated."
"Everything with you is complicated." Ollie sighs. "Fine. Keep your tragic backstory to yourself."
The bell rings. Third period. I have English with Mr. Palmer.
"I gotta go," I say.
"Yeah, yeah. See you at lunch." He waves and heads toward the math wing.
I make it halfway to English when my phone buzzes.
Danny Walter, please report to Room 108. Dr. Torres is ready to see you.
Right. The mandatory therapy sessions. Part of my deal with the school after the locker incident. Six weeks of counseling to address my "anger management issues."
Room 108 is in the administrative wing, tucked between the nurse's office and the storage closet. The door has a temporary placard taped to it: Dr. Rebecca Torres, School Psychologist.
I knock.
"Come in."
The office is small. A desk, two chairs, a bookshelf filled with psychology textbooks and self-help books. There's a diffuser on the desk pumping out lavender scent. A box of tissues strategically placed within reach.
Dr. Torres sits behind the desk. She's maybe thirty-five, with dark hair pulled into a neat bun and wire-rimmed glasses. She's wearing a gray cardigan and a professional smile.
"Danny. Good to see you." She gestures to the chair across from her. "Please, sit."
I sit. The chair is deliberately comfortable, the kind that's supposed to make you relax and open up.
"How are you feeling today?" she asks.
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"Yeah."
She makes a note on her tablet. "I understand you were absent from school for three days. Were you ill?"
"Stomach bug."
"I see." Another note. "And how are you adjusting to being back? Any anxiety about seeing your peers after the incident with Marc?"
Marc. The guy whose wrist I broke. I haven't seen him since the ambulance took him away. Haven't asked how he's doing.
"I feel bad about it," I say. "I didn't mean to hurt him."
"Of course you didn't. Accidents happen." She sets down her tablet and leans forward slightly. "But I want to talk about what led to the accident. You've been experiencing some changes lately, haven't you?"
My stomach tightens. "What kind of changes?"
She pauses. "Have you been taking any supplements? Protein powders, vitamins, anything like that?"
"No."
"What about prescription medications? Anything that might enhance physical performance?"
"I'm not on steroids."
"I didn't say steroids." Her smile doesn't waver. "I'm just trying to understand what's happening with you, Danny. Because the school is concerned. Your teachers are concerned. And I'm concerned."
"There's nothing to be concerned about."
She picks up her tablet again. "Let me read you something. This is from Ms. Alvarez's report after your meeting about the restraining order. 'Student exhibited signs of paranoia. Claimed another student was using dark magic to manipulate him. Referenced supernatural phenomena including enhanced senses and prophetic dreams.'"
Heat floods my face. "I was stressed. I didn't know what I was saying."
"Stress can certainly cause confusion. But it can also reveal underlying issues." She taps her tablet. "Tell me about the dreams."
"They're just dreams."
"According to this report, you told Ms. Alvarez they felt real. That you could remember every detail when you woke up."
I don't answer. She's pushing too hard, asking too many specific questions. This doesn't feel like normal therapy. This feels like an interrogation.
"Danny, I'm here to help you. But I can only do that if you're honest with me." She reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a small orange prescription bottle. "I think you might be experiencing anxiety-induced psychosis. It's more common than you'd think, especially in high-achieving students under pressure."
"I'm not psychotic."
"The mind can play tricks on us when we're stressed. Make us believe things that aren't real. See patterns that don't exist." She sets the bottle on the desk between us. "This is a mild anti-anxiety medication. It should help calm your thoughts, help you sleep better. Reduce the nightmares."
I stare at the bottle. "I don't want medication."
"I understand. Nobody wants to admit they need help. But Danny, you broke another student's bones. You got a restraining order against a classmate. You're telling authority figures about dark magic." She pushes the bottle closer. "These are red flags. And if we don't address them now, they're going to get worse."
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I have to report to the school that you're not cooperating with treatment. Which means you'll face additional disciplinary action. Possibly suspension or expulsion." Her expression softens. "I don't want that for you. You're clearly a bright kid with a lot of potential. Let me help you."
I pick up the bottle. The label says Alprazolam. Take one tablet daily as needed for anxiety.
"How long do I have to take these?" I ask.
"We'll start with two weeks and reassess. If you're responding well, we might be able to reduce the dosage or stop altogether." She opens a water bottle from her desk and hands it to me. "Go ahead and take the first dose now. That way I can monitor for any immediate side effects."
I open the bottle. Inside are small white tablets. 
But my wolf is growling. Warning me.
"Danny?" Dr. Torres prompts. "Is there a problem?"
"No." I shake out one tablet into my palm. "Just... I've never taken medication like this before."
"That's completely normal. A lot of people feel nervous about starting new medications." She smiles encouragingly. "It's a very low dose. You'll barely notice it."
I put the tablet in my mouth and take a drink of water. Swallow.
"Good." She makes another note on her tablet. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. Normal."
"Excellent. The medication takes about thirty minutes to reach full effect, but you might start noticing a calming sensation before then." She stands up. "I want to see you again on Friday. Same time. We'll check in about how the medication is working and continue our conversation about coping strategies."
"Okay."
"And Danny?" She walks me to the door. "If you experience any unusual side effects call me immediately. My number is on the bottle."
I nod and leave.