Chum

The entrance to Elysium Behavioral Health & Wellness Center is much as one might expect for a place that promises serenity and rest. When the taxi pulls up, the stone façade seems imposing, almost monolithic, if not for the soft-tinged windows that promise a warmth within. I pay the driver, get out, and take a second to let my surroundings sink in.

The clinical whiteness inside, though, is almost blinding. There's a harsh sterility to the surroundings; from the untouched white walls that seem to stretch on endlessly to the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights that seem to echo just a bit too loudly. If I close my eyes, I can almost believe the distant, muffled sounds that echo through the halls are whispers, voices from another world, or maybe just the reverberations of some nearby machinery. The check-in process is quick and painless. The destination is the end of the halls. Back of the building.

I've been in hospitals before, but this is different. Less cold, I guess, but also not exactly warm either. It's somewhere in between - it has a weird sort of muted energy to it.

As Lily and I walk side by side, I can't help but notice the others in the corridor. There are families – some visibly upset, others wearing tight-lipped smiles of determination, and a few who seem just… numb. And then there are the medical personnel, weaving between the visitors with their crisp uniforms and business-like expressions. They carry folders, tablets, and sometimes just a warm beverage to keep them going.

I catch snippets of their conversations, always too quick to grasp the entirety of what's being said but just enough to pique my interest. Words like "progress", "medication", "therapist", and "family session" seem to stand out more than others.

Every so often, we pass by a closed door. From behind some, there are muffled sobs, or soft, comforting voices. From others, the soothing melody of calming music. And from a few, utter, unsettling nothingness, behind frosted glass. I wonder about the stories those doors hide. What brings these people here? What stories lay behind them? The white noise spits out at an even pace from weird little disks situated about a meter apart on the floor, coating everything in a fine layer of fuzz like a padded cell.

It's weird - you never really think about what goes on inside places like these until you're here. Are they getting the help they need? Not just Puppeteer, but everyone here?

The thought makes me shiver despite the ambient warmth.

Lily must catch the uneasy look on my face. “First time inside a place like this?” she asks, her voice gentle.

I nod.

Lily's gaze flits around, darting from corner to corner as if she's trying to take in everything all at once. The place has this cold, sterile feel about it that would make anyone uneasy, let alone someone like Lily, who usually thrives in the bustling city outside or the fast-paced world of superhumans. But here, in this suffocating white corridor, there's no room for moving quickly. Everything is measured and dispensed in precise quantities.

“I, uh, never liked places like these, you know?” she admits, her fingers nervously twining together, nails leaving red marks on her skin.

I notice she avoids the eyes of any nurse or therapist that we pass. She keeps adjusting her posture, like she's trying to fit in, but the tension in her shoulders and the constant shifting of her weight betray her unease. I wonder idly to myself if she has history in this place. Or maybe just places like it.

I don't blame her, either way. It feels like these places have a way of making you feel like you're on display - my few trips to the hospital have given me the same sort of impression.

I take a breath, searching for the right words. “It's different here. It's very different from the rest of the world."

She mulls it over. "The people here, the way they look at you… it's just strange," she concludes, satisfied with her own course of thoughtwork.

"They're trying to help, in their own way," I reassure her. I can see how out of place she feels, how she's shrinking within herself. And I feel a pang of guilt, but the other part of me is glad she's not doing this visit alone.

“You're brave, you know?” I suddenly say.

She chuckles. "Coming from the superhero."

I give her a look. "We're literally both on the-- you know what, we shouldn't say this in public."

Her smile widens, cheeks reddening.

It's so cold in here, it's making me regret not bringing a hoodie. I try to fill the echoing corridors with my own thoughts, but the sterile environment, the hushed whispers, and the soft hum of overhead lights just amplifies the tension. That tension is a living, breathing thing, pressing in on me and Lily as we walk side by side. I'm so tired of tension. Tension tension tension. It stops feeling like a word inside my head.

After an agonizing minute of trying not to think about what's coming, I hear Lily clearing her throat beside me. It's hesitant, almost unsure, and I know she's trying to find the right words to fill the empty space. "Hey, Sam," she begins, a wobbly smile in her voice, "remember that… snake graffiti I found a while back? Like, when you first joined?"

Okay, that's not what I expected, but I nod, dredging up the old memory. "The weird snake we were concerned might've been a gang sign. I recall," I reply.

I can hear her giggle before I see the rosy tint of embarrassment lighting up her cheeks. "So, um, I got around to showing it to Playback. And, uh…" She struggles, another chuckle breaking through. "Turns out, it's not a snake."

Okay, this should be good. I raise my eyebrows, my curiosity piqued. "Not a snake? What is--"

She's practically laughing now, her cheeks flushed. "Nope!" The words tumble out of her in a rush, almost as if she's trying to distance herself from her blunder as quickly as possible. "Not a snake. Snakes don't… have balls." I can almost see the little cartoonish light bulb appearing above her head when Playback had told her, that comical 'oh' moment.

A bubble of laughter forms in my throat. Seriously? A smirk finds its way onto my lips, a soft chuckle escaping me, my teeth locking together. It's such a typically Lily thing to miss. I imagine Playback's amused face when he informed her, and the thought makes me laugh a little harder. "Well, that was sure a mystery that we were all hoping would get solved one day."

"And now it's solved!" Lily finishes, and the air falls back into alkaline silence.

The dimly lit hallway seems to stretch longer as Lily and I walk toward Puppeteer's room. It's been more than a month, but the gravity of that confrontation still hangs between us. As we get closer, my heart beats a bit faster, my anxiety manifesting in tiny beads of sweat on my forehead. Before the door stands a little whiteboard with "Akilah Washington" written neatly in marker. So that’s her name, I think. I've always known her as Puppeteer, the leader, the one with orders to give.

It's a little unnerving to have that distance suddenly slashed. Cut down to size with a marker's blade. Now she's Akilah.

With a deep breath, I gently push open the door. Soft, ambient light greets us, casting the room in a warm glow. It feels almost peaceful in contrast to the clinical nature of the rest of the facility. The atmosphere is soothing, but something about it feels just a little bit off, like a tune slightly out of key. It's the blend of personal touches and the stark, sterile hospital ambiance.

And then there’s Akilah.

She sits by the window, the golden hues of the setting sun illuminating her profile. Gone is the tense, commanding posture I remember from our time together on the team. Instead, she looks relaxed, I suppose. But it’s not just her posture that’s changed. A month of inpatient care has altered her physique, softening her muscular frame. The cuts and curves of a gymnast are less defined now. Even her hair is different, cropped short in a boyish style that frames her face, a marked contrast from the large, almost bountiful coils I remembered. It's as if the weight of leadership, the weight of always having to be in control, has lifted off her, if only for a moment. Her feet tap rhythmically on the floor.

Her bedroom is spartan. Some personal affects. No phone. I can't tell if Akilah or an orderly has been keeping it clean, but even the bed is made.

Lily is the first to speak, cutting down the space in the air. "Hey, Akilah. The light looks good on you."

Akilah turns to face us, and her eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now appear soft. She's gone from an eagle to a pigeon… no, that's mean. Maybe a stork? I don't know, I'm not good at animal analogies. She gives a small smile, and I catch a hint of weariness. "Thanks, Lily. You always know how to brighten a room."

Lily grins, missing the wordplay entirely. "It's the windows here! They're big. Let a lot of light in."

I chime in, "It's good to see you, um… Akilah. You look… different, but in a good way. Rested, maybe?"

She chuckles lightly, "Rested? That's a new one. But yeah, I guess you could say that. Therapy, medication, and a whole lot of self-reflection can do that to a person."

There's an awkward pause, a million unsaid words hovering between us. I know I need to address the elephant in the room, but where to begin? It's a dance of words, a balancing act of emotions. But for now, just seeing her, knowing she's okay, eases a weight off my shoulders.

Akilah seems at peace as I glance at her, but it's not the kind of peace you wear when everything's right with the world. It's the kind of peace you wear like armor, when you're trying to convince everyone - including yourself - that you're okay. I notice the tiniest movements, like the way she tightly balls up her hands into fists, as if she's trying to grab onto something that keeps slipping away, and how her eyes rapidly scan the room, darting from one corner to another before finally settling on me. It's a look I've seen before on other people, but never expected to see on her. Like a prey animal.

Is this from her time here? Or is this just from seeing me? I can't tell.

And then my eyes drift down to the nightstand. The two pill bottles catch my attention immediately. I can't help it. The bottles with their stark white labels and clinical font grab my eyes before I can look away, and I absorb the words as I typically do. The words "Quetiapine" and "Fluoxetine" are written prominently on them. A knot forms in my stomach, even though I have no idea what either of them do.

As I try to process all this, my wandering thoughts are interrupted by a small sound. Lily, in her usual straightforward manner, has pulled up a chair and is talking, breaking the ice. "I like your socks," she says, pointing at Akilah's feet. Those grippy socks they give you in places like this, with the little rubber dots on the bottom. Akilah's are a bright blue, standing out against the sterile white of the sheets.

Akilah chuckles, looking down at her feet. "Thanks. They're not exactly high fashion, but they do the job." She pauses, a thoughtful look on her face. "They keep me grounded, in more ways than one."

Lily nods, though I'm not sure she catches the deeper meaning behind Akilah's words, the defiance of her typical high-flying acrobatics. "Why do they have the grippy parts anyway?"

"It's so I don't fall and injure myself. Not that it's usually much of a problem for me," Akilah explains, keeping her gaze notably off of me.

The room goes quiet again for a moment. Somewhere between discomfort and settling snow turning into compressed ice.

Akilah finally speaks, to me, sort of, her voice soft but steady. "I appreciate you both coming. It means a lot." There's sincerity in her rounded gaze. She glances at me, and we make eye contact, and then the moment ends.

Lily, in her typical fashion, doesn't miss a beat. "Of course! We're a team, right? And teams stick together."

Akilah laughs. I think it was supposed to be bitter, but it comes out too genuine for that. "That we do."

The room feels too still, too quiet. But then, Akilah, or rather, Puppeteer, breaks the silence. Her voice starts out shaky, like she's walking on a wire she's not sure can support her. There's a strain in it I've never really heard before.

"I—" She stops herself, clears her throat, and tries again. "Sam… I've been meaning to talk to you. Obviously."

Lily, sitting next to me, tilts her head, a clear look of confusion spreading across her face. I can tell she’s trying to keep up with what's happening, gears turning. I turn my full attention to Puppeteer, my heart rate picking up a bit. I've been waiting for this conversation, even if I hadn’t known it until this very moment.

"You okay, Pup?" I ask, deliberately using her hero name, trying to find some connection between the confident leader I remember and the vulnerable woman in front of me.

She gives a small smile. "It's Akilah," she says softly, emphasizing her real name, like she’s reclaiming a part of herself.

Lily squints, her brows furrowing. "Uh, yeah? That's your name, isn't it?" she asks, drawing a laugh out of Akilah.

Then, she takes a deep breath, and turns to me. "I'm sorry, Sam," she says, her voice clear and even, something she's clearly been practicing. Each word lands heavily between us, like a weight slowly lifting off her shoulders. There's no evasion in her tone, no attempt to skirt the issue, just a raw and genuine regret. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. "I took out my own problems on you and I hurt you. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

I was expecting this, a little. But words still don't form in my throat. She cuts through the quiet.

"You know, the therapy room was kinda sterile. White walls, plain carpeting, a single potted plant in the corner. And Dr. Williams, she’s this kind, older lady with glasses that look a little too big for her face. But she's good. Picked me right apart. Saw through everything," she shares, offering a picture of a setting I've only seen on TV shows. I imagine her in that room, pouring her heart out to a stranger.

I see Lily, who’s sitting quietly beside me, shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Then, Akilah takes a deep, shaky breath, her fingers playing nervously with the hem of her clothes. She looks on the verge of tears. She swallows and looks up at the ceiling. "Narcissistic Personality Disorder. That's what the shrink said."

I try to swallow too, but my mouth is dry.

"I thought, you know, I wasn’t that kind of jawn. It hit me like a truck. All the worst people in my life are Cluster B. But I swallowed my pride, because I can either get better or I stop being a hero," She says, no longer able to look at either of us. "That's all I had left. All I have left. Either I fix myself or I don't."

Lily rolls the word over in her mouth. "Cluster… bee…" She says, and I can almost tell she's thinking about insects. Or maybe about my abbreviation. She doesn't say anything else.

"That's a lot," I reply. "You don't seem like a narcissist to me."

"It's more complicated than that. It's not about… loving myself, not like the myth. It's about hating myself. Being afraid of myself," Akilah replies, folding her feet up underneath her. "It's kind of a bad name for the disorder. I just… can't not make everything about me, somehow. And I'm always so afraid, so afraid that I'm going to stop being useful. So I lashed out at you, because I was afraid of Belle ditching me. Replacing me. And I'm sorry."

"That's a lot," Lily says, mirroring me.

"Hey, it's okay. I forgive you," I say, speaking the magic words. A hush rolls through the three of us.

"Do y'all know how I got my powers?" Akilah asks. Lily shakes her head. I shake my head too, a little too stunned for speech. "Do you want to know?"

"I think you want to tell us," Lily says, before I have an opportunity to say the same thing.

Akilah smiles. "I used to be a gymnast, obviously. I used to be a lot of things, my parents threw me at extracurriculars instead of parenting me. I was almost ready to join the Olympics. Yeah, seriously! Then I failed a trick and broke my ankles."

I raise an eyebrow, leaning on the wall. "That's… mundane," I say, trying to pick my words carefully, walking on eggshells.

Akilah grins knowingly. "Well, the sport I did was one of the ones where you have a spotter. And all this time, for three years, I'd convinced myself that they sabotaged me. Failed to grab me when I fucked up the flip, because they were envious of me. I broke both ankles, and then before I could keep falling and snap my neck, my strings had tied me to the equipment like a cradle."

"Heavy," Lily breathlessly whispers.

"So for the first year of being a hero, it was all swinging, all upper body strength. Couldn't rest on them jawns," Akilah continues, glancing at my foot for a split second. "Being a gymnast was the only thing I had. Then that switched out. Now, being a hero was the only thing I had. That's where Belle found me, bitter and alone. And…"

She sucks in air between her teeth. I can tell from her face that the story has gotten a little away from her, away from how she planned it in her head. She's been rehearsing this conversation. She changes gears. "Well, at least Crossroads is willing to accept me back. 'Cuz it's all I've got now. Can't be an RSE anymore, which means I have to actually finish college so I can get a day job. Then, I'll have something else I can be."

I rewind in my head. "Wait, go back a sec. You can't become a government cape anymore? Why not?"

Akilah sticks her tongue out playfully, then retracts it. "They don't let you become a Registered Superhuman Entity if you have personality disorders, Bee. Same as in the army or whatever. All I was getting at is that maybe this is a blessing, forces me to be more than one kind of person."

"Wait, what?" Lily interrupts. "That's not fair! You're the coolest and best hero of us! And your power is awesome! Can't they make an exception?"

While Lily is busy protesting, my heart hammers in my chest. I mean, not that becoming a hero was my full-time life-time aspiration, but what if I'm broken just like her? What if they find out there's something wrong with my brain, something that makes me go out and beat up thugs because I love the rush, and then it's over forever.

"Can you still… be a normal hero and hang out with us and stuff?" Lily asks, adjusting her position in her chair.

Akilah nods. "I can still be a regular licensed vigilante, or work for a private company. They won't deny my LUMA. I just can't suckle that sweet, sweet taxpayer milk now. Or star in any after-school programs."

"They should give you a second chance," I say, my hands tightening. "I mean, I know we haven't seen eye to eye, but I've gotten… to the core of people that I fought with way worse than you. And I think you're a good person. I don't know. Forever? That's a while."

Akilah laughs, her face lighting up. "I heard about Safeguard, too. I'm glad they're a good egg, after all that. Really, it's okay, Bee. Really. I've made my peace with it. Woman plans, God laughs, that's how it goes."

"If you say so," I mumble, looking at her socks again. Akilah glances out the window, the conversation fading into an awkward, unfinished dispersal.

A minute passes, or so. Akilah breaks the air again. "Hey, any y'all know what time it is? The nurse is supposed to swing by with my discharge papers at, like, five."

Lily raises a hand, checking on her phone. "Oh, it's like four fifty five, do we need to leave?"

"Nah," Puppeteer says, running a hand through her hair. "It's cool. Y'all just might have to drive me home then. Wanna see my shrink notes?"

Psychiatric Evaluation Report - Summary

Patient Name: Akilah Washington

Date of Birth: September 30th, 2003

Date of Evaluation: October 10th, 2023

Admitted: September 12th, 2023

Psychiatrist: Dr. Jane Harris, M.D.

Institution: Elysium Behavioral Health & Wellness Center

Presenting Problem:

Akilah Washington presented with heightened levels of stress, impaired functioning in interpersonal relationships, a compulsion for control, and low-level delusional thinking focused primarily on perceived persecution. Symptoms were exacerbated by a complex, high-stress lifestyle that included academic responsibilities at Temple University and leadership roles in a local superhero team, the Young Defenders.

Diagnosis:

Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Fragile/Covert Type

General Anxiety Disorder

Symptoms:

A compulsive need to prove worth and ability, often to the point of neglecting self-care.

A need for control in situations, with an inability to delegate control to or trust others.

Episodes of delusional thinking, particularly of being persecuted or targeted by her peers.

Proneness to overworking and overstress, leading to physical and mental exhaustion.

Reduced self-esteem and exaggerated self-criticism, leading to hypervigilance.

Treatment:

Ms. Washington has responded well to a combination of pharmacological and psychotherapeutic treatments.

Medication:

Haloperidol, 2mg twice daily: To manage delusional symptoms.

Fluoxetine, 20mg daily: To treat symptoms of generalized anxiety.

Psychotherapy:

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT): To identify and alter distorted patterns of thinking and behaving.

Supportive therapy: To provide a safe emotional environment for Ms. Washington to explore issues of self-esteem, trust, and control.

Current Status:

Since the beginning of the treatment, Ms. Washington has shown significant improvement in emotional regulation, reduction in delusional thinking, and increased willingness to engage in cooperative and trusting relationships. Her academic performance has stabilized, and she has expressed interest in returning to a functional role within the Young Defenders, as well as permanently turning over leadership to her colleague 'Crossroads'.

Recommendations:

Given the considerable improvement and stabilization of her condition, I recommend that Ms. Washington is ready for discharge and a gradual return to her regular activities, provided she continues outpatient psychotherapy and medication management.

Approved by

Dr. Jane Harris, M.D.

October 10, 2023