After giving Poppy the ring (she insisted upon it, saying she would do something special) he felt more relaxed around Ms. Allen. However, she was still suspicious of him.

She checked his work more often than she did the others in the class as his grades continued to slip. He was never focused on school work anymore, too busy searching for his brother's killer and occupied with the thoughts of his therapy sessions.

And due to him never having excellent grades in the first place, he was failing almost all subjects. His parents hadn't said a word of it, but they thought (or whispered?) that it was simply because his powers were making him less intelligent.

Which was one of the most moronic things he'd ever heard.

He didn't bother to tell them the actual reason, simply them allowing to believe what they wished. It wasn't his business, so he just ignored it, just like he did most of the thoughts. He did his best to somehow turn the volume down, until it was a hum in the back of his head. It didn't always work, but when it did, it felt like being able to relax after running a marathon.

Therapy didn't help. He did try, the first week, determined to stop or at least control his powers so that his parents might stop ignoring him so.

The therapist was a kindly-looking man, with a wide smile and freckles splashed over his cheeks and nose. He had light brown hair and light eyes and did seem to genuinely want to help.

"Hello, Heath," he said, his voice cheery and relaxed.

Heath just nodded in reply.

"So," the man said, flicking through a folder,"You're here because you're... ahem... a super."
Another nod.

"So, why don't you want to be a super?" Mr. Therapist asked, leaning forward,"Most people would give their right hand to be a super."

It took a moment for him to reply. He wanted to co-operate but he didn't feel comfortable talking in that way.

"Personal reasons, I guess," he mumbled.

"For example?" Mr. Therapist said.

"I dunno. Just the fact that my parents hate supers," he replied, shrugging.

"So, you don't want to be a super so you'll be accepted by your parents," the man said, scribbling into his notebook.

He nodded slowly. "What's this therapy meant to do, anyways?" he asked,"Just out of curiosity."

The therapist laughed nervously. "It's meant to help you to control or stop your powers."

"Oh, I see," Heath replied, before pausing,"How does it do that?"

"Well, the outbursts of power probably come from emotional outbursts. So control the emotions and you can control the powers. If therapy doesn't work, we give you drugs that should prevent your powers from working."

"Oh," Heath said simply.

"Anyway, what are your powers?"

"Not sure."

The therapist sighed. "So  basically, you have no idea what your own powers are?"

A nod answered his question.

"Brilliant," the man mumbled,"What do you think your powers are?"

"Um," Heath began, not wanting to revisit the kitchen scene,"I hear whispers, anyway."

The man nodded and scribbled it down. "What kind of whispers?" he asked.

"Whispers," Heath replied, shrugging.

"Brilliant," the man said and sighed,"I mean, what's it like to hear the whispers? And what do they say?"

"Well, it's like listening to normal whispers," he said, staring at the ground,"Except people's mouths don't move. And they talk about... well, opinions, ideas and secrets. Mostly secrets."

"So... like thoughts?" Mr. Therapist said, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess so," Heath said, shrugging. He didn't like to think about it that way. "Or it could just be schizophrenia."

The therapist stared at him. "I suppose so," he mumbled,"But it's probably powers. Why would you want schizophrenia?"

"Because then none of this would be real," he said simply,"It would all be a delusion. Created by this." He pointed his index finger at his temple.

"And that would be better why?" Mr. Therapist asked, raising his head to look at him,"You'd just get put into a mental hospital."

"Because at least my parents wouldn't hate me," Heath said, playing with the cuff of his shirt,"And they might visit me, instead of ignoring me."

"I see your reasoning," he replied, nodding and scribbling something down again,"So, when did and how did your parents find out?"

"Uhm... they saw the house cat fly?"

"I'm sure the sheep sprouted wings and flew along with it too," the therapist said, raising an eyebrow,"Your parents mentioned something to do with a kitchen."

"Yeah, the house cat flew through the kitchen." Heath was desperate to avoid talking about the incident in the kitchen.

"Ha-ha. They said that you got angry for no reason, made everything go everywhere and the kitchen looked like a bombsite afterwards."

He gnawed on his lip, knowing there was no way to escape it at this point. "Yeah, I guess that's how it went."

"Did anger trigger this outburst?" Mr. Therapist said, his hand going to the paper yet again.

He nodded.

"What triggered the anger?" the man said,"Most people don't get angry for no reason, even if it seems that way to other people."

"I had a fight with my parents," he said, pausing as the therapist wrote something down,"And that was it really. Just a fight."

"A fight over what?"

"A friend," he muttered,"They thought she was a bad influence on me. Or something. I can't remember." He refused to meet the man's eyes, continuing to play with the cuff of his shirt.

"Do you think she's a bad influence?" he asked after having swiftly written something down.

"What?"

"Do you think she's a bad influence?" the therapist repeated.

"I don't care. She's my friend and she's not a super," Heath replied, surprised he wasn't trying to avoid the truth.

"So, you fought over a friend who was thought to be a bad influence with your parents and you erupted in rage, causing your powers to go haywire," Mr. Therapist said, reading from his notes.

He nodded.

"So, if we can work on controlling your anger, maybe that might help," the therapist said, putting his notebook down,"That's all for today, I think. I'll send the drugs to your parents soon, just in case."

Heath nodded, but the idea of subduing his powers with drugs wasn't exactly appealing to him. Would there be side effects? Side effects had a tendency to be, well, bad.

But then again... they could always work. And then maybe his parents wouldn't hate him so much.

Whatever the result turned out to be, he didn't feel comfortable with the drugs. He didn't think he had a choice in this matter though.

Therapy resulted in him missing school from time to time (Heath did his best to persuade his parents to organise
the sessions to take place during the last class on Tuesday, which was Ms. Allen's class), which led to Poppy asking him about it.

At first he just brushed her questions off, embarrassed that he had to go to therapy. He quickly changed the subject or made something up.

She cornered him during lunch, dragged him off to the girls lockers and made him talk at the threat of getting his face messed up by her fist.

After he swore he would tell her and managed to ease her off him (and praying that no one would see him in this place), he decided it was best to cut the chase and just tell her about the therapy, without any padding.

"I go to therapy," he said simply.

Her brows knitted together. "What for? You depressed or something?"

"No. My parents think therapy will help me control and get rid of my powers," Heath replied, shrugging.

"What if it doesn't work? What'll they do then?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Drugs," he said, sighing.

"I'm guessing it's the boring medical drugs and not the fun ones like crack and weed?" Poppy said, frowning.

He nodded, despite feeling a bit disturbed by her labelling of cocaine and weed as 'fun drugs'. "Yeah, those ones."

"That f*cking sucks," she said, biting her lip,"Maybe we could throw them in the bin if you get them? And why do your parents want to get rid of your powers anyway? Isn't powers what every parent wants for their kid? I know, I'm not a super, but in fairness, that's my only flaw and nobody's perfect."

"Throwing them away? What if they ask where the packet's gone?" Heath asked, before being cut across by her.

"Just throw the drugs, not the packet! Simple," Poppy said, rolling her eyes,"Sh*t-wit."

Since it was so obvious, he flushed red, annoyed that he hadn't thought of it. "Because my parents hate supers," he said, determined to change the subject.

"Why?"

"It's private. I'll tell you some other time," he muttered.

"Tell me now. If anyone's listening, I'll kick their a*ses," she said, after taking a look around to check if anyone was nearby.

"No, I'll tell you later."

"Please? Poppy please?" she said, smiling widely and blinking repeatedly (if she was trying to flutter her eyelashes, it was a poor attempt).

"No," he said firmly.

"Is it something to do with Caleb? Mr. Pretty-face?" she said quickly, her Chesire grin spreading across her face.

"No," he repeated.

"Heath? What're you doing here?" a girlish voice said from behind them.

His breath hitched and he glanced over at the speaker.

It was Andrea, with a bag in her hands - the one he'd seen on his midnight robbery of the school.

Poppy perfectly summed up how Heath was feeling.

"Well, sh*t."