Flea

Chapter Fifteen

Maeve remembered word for word. She'd been 8 years old and had already given 5 different therapists breakdowns as they struggled to untangle her complex mental defences. At that time the little girl was needing to sit a high school paper a week in order to graduate at the end of the year, on top of quirk training. There was also physical therapy to worry about. She didn't see the point of counselling and thought it was a waste of time, clogging up her already busy schedule. Maeve had already memorised a fair number of psychological texts, at 8 she probably knew more about advanced psychoanalytical technique than most professional therapists.

So when a relatively young psychiatrist with bags under his eyes even darker than his hair welcomed her into his office, Maeve's tiny self felt a twinge of frustration. She hadn't been told anything about him. He wasn't middle aged and balding, hadn't written any books, which set him apart from the others. The small girl adjusted her wire rimmed glasses and wondered what he'd come up with looking at her file. Perhaps freudian repression, or modern trauma theory. It didn't matter, she knew the model answers for anything he could throw at her.

They proceeded to have a bout of awkward small talk. Maeve's mouth came up with answers automatically, telling him how her day was in simple language and asking him a few polite questions of her own. She even managed a few snappy comments. The seeds of an illustrious career in humour. Her mind meanwhile ran through memorised questions for an upcoming test and came up with answers, considered how to best deal with a difficult tumour in a mock patient she was seeing tomorrow, and stretched itself considering how to help a second year girl at UA who didn't know she was pregnant. Maeve didn't know how to perform an abortion, but would they be willing to go to a clinic? What if the student wanted to keep it?

The man listened to her talking with an absent minded expression on his face, rubbing his temples in circles as if he had a headache. It didn't seem that he was paying attention to what she was saying at all, instead remaining deep in thought himself. This guy isn't going to last long, Maeve thought in amusement. Most psychologist furiously scribbled notes as she talked, taking in her every word. There wasn't a notebook in sight, which was actually quite a relief. It was frustrating needing to wait for people to catch up before she continued talking. Maybe she'd keep him around a bit and use the time to mentally study for upcoming tests. At least he was quiet.

"It must be lonely to have never met someone as smart as you are, Maeve." He said this quietly, interrupting the girl mid flow in her spiel about how nice her teachers were. Taken aback, her focus flicked back to the psychiatrist.

"Why do you say that? I know a great deal of people who are more intelligent than me."

He cocked his head, staring at her with piercing indigo eyes.

"Then why do you need to dumb yourself down every time you talk to anyone? Even with your teachers, compared to yours their thoughts must feel like they're going at half speed."

Maeve blinked owlishly at him behind her glasses.

"There are lots of different facets of intelligence. They have greater emotional maturity and life experience. All the students at UA have greater physical intelligence than me. I'm pretty clumsy, given my injuries" She added, giving a small smile and indicating her right side. Psychiatrists were told there was an incident with a patient's quirk, so she could mention the burns. Just not who gave them to her.

"Mmm. But in terms of sheer intellect, nobody holds a candle to you. Did your mother ever punish you for acting like a prodigy?"

The question came out of nowhere and hit her like a ton of bricks. Maeve had been prepared for a lot of different psychological babble, but not that. Her cordial manner dropped and bright blue eyes darkened, becoming instantly guarded.