I said to him again, with nostalgia, “I am a superhero!” He gave me the same look that he had been giving me the entire time I’ve been locked in here, like I’m some insane vagrant. “I have no choice but to trust you Dr. Brown, you and I both know that. You already know all of my secrets including my secret identity, but why can’t you trust me too?”
The black, unsweetened coffee gagged him, a reflection of his own awkward nature. He finished the last of the cup in one gulp. Dr. Brown was a short brawny man of European descent with a nicotine addiction, even now in session he was dragging on a cigarette. “Edith,” His raspy asthmatic voice took a less malleable tone, “Ever since you were found unconscious in an alleyway downtown, little of what you have said has had any merit except for your name. You have even lied to me about your family. Believe me I have tried to dig, but you are delusional.” There was a pause “Edith Catalina, you are from New Detroit, you used to work as a 4th grade teacher, there are no Superheroes protecting citizens from villains, you are not the heroine Logi, and your family is very much alive.”
I said with a clenched jaw, “You’re wrong. I really am a superhero, I’ve been fighting criminals in New Detroit for the last 4 years.” There was not much conviction left in me. The staff had strapped my strait jacket on too tightly, it felt like if I really tried and not that hard too, I could pop my shoulder out of its socket. I swear I saw them smile when they “assisted” me.
Dr. Brown put his hand to his face and picked the cigarette out from between his lips. It was essentially a butt with a sad inkling of glow left on it. If it weren't for his demonstration it would be put in the ashtray with the rest of the pack. “You know what I am about to ask you, yes?” he pointed to the filter side of the butt to me.
“Do you not listen to any of our sessions?”, does he enjoy this? I know I’m a good person, why is this happening to me? Assurance couldn’t have done this alone, they simply aren’t that powerful of a reality warper. Who could have done this?
“How so?” Confusion washed over his face. “Do you not say you have ?”
“Only if I touch the lit object.” Has he not been listening to me for the last 7 months?
“Is that why you have so many burns on your body?” His eyes looked at the marks around my neck, and the specks on the side of my face.
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“I thought I was delusional, Dr. Brown.” The burns were mostly on my hands and arms. "I didn't fully have my powers under control when I got them.", the fire more than licked.
He continued talking nonetheless, “Do you smoke Ms. Catalina?”
“Yes, I do.” He gestured, I let him. Dr. Brown placed the butt in between my lips and sunk back into the plastic school chair across from me and watched. I deeply drew the nicotine into my mouth and then let it into my lungs. As the buzz set in, something was different this time. The fire felt… alive. I smiled.
“Is something funny?”
I smiled ear to ear, “Yes, very. Would you like to hear the joke I just remembered?”
Dr. Brown also smiled. He smiled victoriously— “Shoot.”
I exhaled and then breathed in a breath of air. “What does a nicotine get at the end of the day?” I drew in on the tobacco. “A lung full of smoke!”
“What’s funny about that?” I blew the smoke into his face. It was like watching water escape into a shower drain. He coughed, but it wouldn’t let up. He looked at me. I smiled. I got my vengeance. I dropped the butt onto my lap and commanded the growing embers to spread to my restraints and burn through them.
While I had been commanding my fire to avoid burns, he was already up and banging on the door. It was locked and windowless, so there was little respite. Dr.Brown believed that privacy is the most important part of psychotherapy and the doors were locked by an orderly from the outside so I couldn’t escape. “Oh how the tables have turned,” I purred.
Dr. Brown turned to me with tears in his irritated eyes. He got on his knees and would be begging for his life if he could speak right now. After he turned blue and stopped struggling, I let the white smoke disperse from him. My jacket was black remains of what they used to be. I sat there frozen thinking about the consequences of my actions, someone would come to take me to my room in an hour.
A hollow ache replaced the adrenaline and vigor that had surged through me. Dr. Brown, staring at the ceiling's fluorescent lights, weakly rasped to me, "You're not a superhero, are you?" A dread settled in my stomach. "No," I whispered, my reality far more terrifying than any delusion. “But I know I am a good person.”