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The Denali Institute for Rebellious and Troubled Teenagers
Chapter Four
Emmett POV - Monday 8th August 2011
"Emmett, get up."
Felix's voice was far too close for this hour of the morning. Before I could even think about ignoring him properly, the bastard yanked the blankets off me and let the cold air punch me in the spine.
"You live in your school now. There's no avoiding it. English calls."
"I feel sick," I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. "Still have alcohol poisoning. I have a fever."
"Should I call the doctor?" Felix didn't sound remotely concerned. He sounded like a man who'd heard this ten thousand times before.
"Whatever."
"Okay."
His footsteps retreated, and I exhaled, victorious. Pillow reclaimed, eyes closed, drifting back toward sleep like it was the only place that made sense.
...Until his voice returned.
"Emmett, meet Doctor Cullen. He's here to make you feel all better."
A new voice, upbeat and far too alert for the hour, chirped close to my head. "Good morning, Emmett. I hear you have a fever. If you don't mind turning over, I'd like to check for any other symptoms of something potentially worse."
I cracked one eye open and found a lanky guy looming above me, all clean-shaven optimism and concern. I sighed dramatically and flopped onto my back like I was preparing to be autopsied.
He did the whole routine. Light in the eyes. Fingers at my throat. Torch in the mouth. Then the stethoscope came out, cold and smug, as he listened to my chest front and back. I groaned for effect.
"I don't think it's a fever," Dr. Cullen said thoughtfully. "But best to be sure…"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thermometer—one look told me everything I needed to know.
"Bend over," he said, still cheerful.
"Don't you have an oral one?" My eyes practically bugged out of my head.
He chuckled. "Haven't used one of those in years. Too easy to fool it with hot drinks or strategic mouth placement. There's no lying with one of these babies."
My feet hit the floor so fast I didn't even feel it.
"Fine. I'm up. I'll go. It's not worth it."
"Another miracle recovery, Carlisle," Felix muttered dryly. "We should start calling you Jesus."
"I think this was a case of positive thinking," Carlisle said with a pat to my shoulder. "Let's leave him to it."
"I don't see why we need English when we already live in an English-speaking country," I grumbled loud enough for them to hear as they left.
Carlisle paused at the door and turned back to me. "I'll excuse you from English for today if you can spell 'malaise' correctly and provide the definition. It should be a word you're familiar with."
"Do I look like someone who reads dictionaries for fun?"
"Then you'll benefit from today's lesson. Since you falsely claimed illness, your task is to bring me the spelling and meaning of 'malaise' by the end of the day."
He closed the door on my eye-roll.
I threw on clean sweats, grabbed a hoodie, and brushed my teeth with the travel kit I'd unearthed last night. My reflection looked half alive. Good enough.
When I stepped out into the hallway, Felix was leaning casually against the wall across from my door like a man who'd been waiting too long.
"Mr. McCarty," he said in that familiar half-amused tone. "Is the tardiness due to your late-night adventures? Or are we going to be frequent brunch buddies?"
I shrugged. "Bit of both."
He turned and started walking, and I followed without needing more instruction.
"I'm gonna level with you," Felix said as we made our way through the hall. "The more combative you are, the more combative we'll be. But if you stay within the rules, we mostly leave you alone. Do your schoolwork, respect the space, don't destroy shit—that's the baseline. The rest of your time here is yours. We even let you have drugs and alcohol. Just don't be a dick about it."
We hit the cafeteria. At the far end, a brown-haired woman was finishing up packing away the last of the breakfast spread.
"Grab something quick. Esme's already waited long enough."
I picked up a grilled ham and cheese and a bottle of frappuccino, then followed him out as I devoured the sandwich in three bites.
"Anything we can do to help with your mornings?" Felix asked.
"Probably not. Hopefully I'll just get used to it."
He laughed. "Figured. But I had to ask."
"Because there's so few of you," Felix said as we rounded another corner of identical-looking walls, "we've got one classroom for each subject. Labels are on the doors—can't miss 'em. You each get a locker too, but it's meant for school stuff only. Your room's not exactly a hike if you need anything personal."
We reached the end of the hallway where the lockers were—fifteen of them lined up like factory-issue storage units—flanked on either side by the bathrooms.
Felix nodded to the double doors a few steps beyond. "These open up after the last class each day. That's your rec wing—library, pool table, some consoles, general teenagery shit. If you're not the type to vanish to your room and re-emerge at dinner, you'll probably end up in there. All years can use it, so you'll see the second and third years around more often outside class."
I gave a short nod. Made sense.
"So which class am I meant to be in?" I asked, getting straight to the inevitable hand-off.
"Everyone else is in History. They'll be done soon, so I figured we'd skip the awkward entrance and you can start fresh with second period." He stepped up to locker number twelve and popped it open. "Laptop's already loaded. Schedule's stuck to the top. We gave up on paper cards a while ago—kids lose them. At least with a laptop, you've got less excuse."
I looked at it without moving. "Not like I'll need either. I avoid taking notes like it's a competitive sport."
Felix smirked. "Yeah, well. Doesn't matter how much you hate it. You'll still have to get the work done. Type or write—dealer's choice."
From reception, footsteps echoed. A man approached—tall, gaunt, and visibly done with everything.
"Felix," he said, monotone and unimpressed.
"Morning, Marcus."
Marcus looked at me like I was the fly that had landed in his soup.
"Late to class, or already kicked out?"
"...Late."
"But you won't be tomorrow."
"Right." I nodded like a scared intern and followed as he opened a classroom door with a tired flourish.
"Let's not make this a pattern."
I grabbed my laptop and notebook, still juggling my drink as I slid into the nearest open seat.
Within seconds, the rest of the class filed in.
Marcus waited. Silent. Patient. Like a statue fueled by disappointment.
Then he began.
"My name is Marcus. Not Mark. Not Marky Mark. I've heard them all. I am your English teacher, and by far the least friendly member of the staff here. I will not be lightening up, chilling out, or pulling the stick out of my ass."
He paused just long enough for the silence to grow oppressive.
"We will see each other five days a week, nine months a year, for the next three years. Six hundred classes. I hope it's no more than that."
A few heads turned. A few eyes widened. A few of us exchanged looks—mutual awe at the sheer gall of this guy.
"I've read your files. I don't need introductions. I won't be offering anything personal in return. Open your English folder. Lesson one is waiting."
The room fell into hushed rustling and keyboard clacks.
And just like that, my first proper day at Denali had begun.
Only 599 more classes to go.
Jasper POV
"I think we've all had enough." Irina said seemingly out of nowhere. "Go to lunch. Tyler, stay for a minute."
"Is this about the D?" He grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.
She openly rolled her dark brown eyes and spoke in a heavily sarcastic tone. "What else would I want from you?"
The other nine of us packed up our stuff quickly and exited the room in a sheep-like herd that made its way to the lockers.
After putting everything away we followed the flow of the older students that were heading back down the hall toward the smell of food that was wafting through the building.
We entered the cafeteria and joined on the line that had formed at the counter. While we slowly shuffled along I looked around at the unfamiliar faces and tried to take note of the general social structure and dynamics of the groups.
There seemed to mostly be groups of three, and a couple of groups of two and four. But what became very apparent almost instantly was the obnoxiously loud group of six that were moving as one and effortlessly out-competing the rest of the room for noise volume. The group was comprised of three girls–a tiny blonde, a model-like brunette, and a hipster-looking redhead–, and three guys–a tall blonde with a man-bun, a short black haired one, and a tall black guy with long dreads.
They seemed totally oblivious to the world outside their own group bubble as they settled themselves at one of the tables against the rear wall. The redhead and the blonde guy seemed to be a couple. The little blonde girl and the black haired guy sat on the same bench seat, but didn't seem as touchy and adoring of each other. The brunette girl turned to take her seat then and it was the first time she'd been facing my direction for me to see her giant stomach poking out the front of her jacket.
They had to be second or third years.
She must have gotten pregnant while here…
"Bro, if you're not gonna eat then move," Emmett said from my left in an annoyed tone. "Some of us are still recovering from mid-level alcohol poisoning."
I took an immediate step out of the line and let Emmett pass behind me. Turned out that in the time I'd spent contemplating the others I had subconsciously walked about twenty feet and was now at the stack of trays that marked the start of the lunch buffet.
As the others started loading up their chosen items I returned to my scan of the room. At the table furthest from both the door and the food line I spotted Alice sitting alone.
From what I could tell she was still refusing to speak to anyone. It was plain to see how shutdown and miserable she was though, even without words, and I felt bad for her.
"Come on." Lauren nudged me with her arm as she came up beside me holding her lunch tray. "The zoning out thing is gonna be a problem, huh?"
"Probably," I mumbled, following where she was leading to a table that Emmett, Bella, Rosalie and Edward were already settling into.
Jake and Leah were at the next table up, and I knew immediately that Jake would have gone there to avoid Edward, and Leah would have followed to be a pest. The only person Jake seemed to have any kind of interest in talking to was Bella, and Bella spent half her time staring at Edward. Since Edward apparently couldn't tolerate the fact Jake was allowed to breathe, Jake had to keep a distance from Edward, and therefore Bella.
Leah didn't really get along with anyone, particularly the girls, and seemed to be trying to get Emmett or Jake to notice her. Presumably so she then at least fit in as their girlfriend. One of the down sides of such a small student body was definitely the fact that if you didn't make friends with the very limited number of options you had available to you, you simply had no friends. So I couldn't blame her for trying a bit embarrassingly hard in some regards.
I sat on the long white bench seat beside Lauren and tried to listen to the conversation that was going on at the table, but when it was clearly nothing more than their opinions on the three teachers we had met so far I found it impossible not to tune it out.
Instead my focus moved across the room to where Alice was still sitting, staring at her food, seeming to be eating some.
I hadn't eaten since I'd left home, and only this morning had the hunger pangs started to kick in when the adrenalin of the situation had started to wear off.
Alice had been picked up just a few hours before me as she'd been in Mississippi. None of us had heard her speak, and the others had been quick to gloss over her entire existence as a result. She wasn't particularly remarkable in any way, so I could see why they were able to forget her, but out of the nine others I couldn't help but feel like she was the one who I could likely relate to the most. She had a vibe about her that, at least to me, seemed quite similar to my own. Even if she expressed herself differently.
A few times I'd noticed Edward going out of his way to interact with her, and they almost seemed to have a strange understanding, for which I was strangely grateful as I hadn't been able to figure out an approach of my own the past few days. I'd just been creepily watching her.
… as you're doing yet again.
Tyler roughly sat down at the table on the one bench that was still empty to my left. His tray clattered as the food moved around on it, but he didn't seem to notice given he had already launched into an extremely animated regaling of the few minutes he'd stayed back with Irina.
"I dunno whether to be insulted, or to get down on my knees and call her mama." He crowed, addressing the whole table.
"So did you give her the D?" Emmett asked in a teasing tone.
"Dude, I would give her the whole damn alphabet if she'd let me!" Tyler exclaimed. "Have you ever had a woman talk down to you and rather than making you feel like trash it makes you more turned on?"
Edward snorted, and I heard Rosalie mutter "Oh my god." under her breath.
Emmett was the most invested though and laughed out loud before speaking again. "Not personally, but go on. What did she say?"
"The usual lecture about having more potential than I realize, and to stop hiding behind jokes and being the class clown. I tried to tell her that's about all I've got going for me. She said a bunch of shit, but it was how she said it that got me. I kinda wanna do the wrong thing just so she'll get mad at me again!"
While I was trying my best to stay present, and Tyler was doing a good job of being attention-grabbing, I inevitably did find myself zoning out again. When my eyes floated over Edward's shoulder again though… no Alice. The table was completely empty and when I looked around the cafeteria–perhaps a little too purposefully–I couldn't find her.
Edward POV
Music was one of the few classes I usually looked forward to. Usually. But here, in the land of enforced equality and leveling down, it was a lesson in patience more than anything musical.
Athena, our wide-eyed, eternally enthusiastic teacher, had clearly decided that skill disparity was no reason not to herd us all through the same door at the same pace. Which meant that while I could already sight-read, compose, and had been playing piano since I had baby teeth, I was now watching the rest of my classmates struggle to comprehend that musical notation was not, in fact, abstract modern art.
The only exception was Jasper, who could play guitar and seemed capable of reading sheet music without his brain melting. Everyone else... not so much.
"I think I could really nail a triangle," Lauren announced with a smug little smile.
Athena's left eyelid twitched—barely, but tellingly. "We can absolutely look at percussion options for you, Lauren," she said with forced brightness. "Once you understand when to hit it, that is."
Lauren deflated momentarily, only to bounce back with, "Then I'll sing. I was in choir when I was, like, twelve."
"Still going to need to be able to follow along with the group," Athena replied, her tone bordering on threadbare. "We'll pick instruments once everyone can actually read a score."
Lauren sighed, as though the class was clearly failing to recognize her obvious star power, and fell quiet.
I resumed my ritual of mental detachment, zoning out while Athena went over time signatures like she was unveiling the mysteries of the universe. My hands tapped quietly against my thigh in practiced rhythms, playing ghost notes to pass the time. A little Chopin. A little Radiohead. Anything to keep my brain from sliding into catatonia.
From my seat, I scanned the room. Bella and Leah looked genuinely interested, heads tilted, brows furrowed as they tried to work out how the lines and dots translated to sound. Rosalie looked like she was resisting the urge to throw her sheet music across the room. Emmett kept poking at the keyboard on the electric piano like it might fight back. Jake was staring off into the distance. Alice, as usual, had positioned herself several feet behind everyone else and was sitting at an angle that made her expression unreadable. She was either deeply focused or dissociating spectacularly.
And Tyler—well, Tyler seemed to be replaying whatever chaotic flirtation he'd had with Irina in his head on loop. The smirking, the low chuckles, the occasional whisper to no one in particular. He was a one-man show. As usual.
I looked over at Jasper, hoping for a shared 'are-you-seeing-this' glance. He'd donned sunglasses at some point—indoors—and his posture screamed checked out. I was about ninety percent sure he was asleep behind those lenses. Possibly dreaming of stabbing himself in the eye with a conductor's baton just to escape.
Not a bad idea, honestly.
I was mid-thought about whether they sold sunglasses in the school store when my name echoed across the room.
"Edward," Athena repeated, louder this time.
I blinked and turned to her. "Yes?"
She pointed toward the upright piano on the far side of the room. "Would you mind playing the examples I put on the board for the class? I think it'll help them hear what we're working on."
"Of course." I stood, grateful for something to do that didn't involve pretending I was still in middle school band.
The rest of the class passed with me parked at the piano, playing scales and sight-reading snippets of exercises while Athena walked the others through notating rhythm and pitch. I kept my touch light—barely brushing the keys—but the muscle memory was enough. Enough to keep me occupied. Enough to not go completely insane.
"My name is Caius, and I am your math teacher."
The man at the front of the room had the kind of face that belonged in black-and-white surveillance photos. Pale, severe, and drawn tight around high cheekbones, with eyes like steel ball bearings. His hair was nearly white-blond and slicked back with unsettling precision. The overall effect reminded me of a particularly condescending vulture.
There was no warm-up, no icebreaker. Just that introduction, and then—
"Open the math folders on your devices. We're beginning with an assessment."
That was it. No friendly anecdotes about teaching philosophy, no 'fun facts.' Just a pointed look that told us we'd be graded on our breathing if he thought it was inefficient.
"We're going to establish your competency level," he continued. "I suggest you do your best. Anyone pretending to know less than they do in hopes of an easier time—don't. I do not slow my pace for those at the back of the class. I whip the ones at the back harder. If you are lucky, you'll go unnoticed. That is the best you can hope for."
Tyler, sitting two rows in front of me, let out a low whistle. "Only person round here who's gonna get away with whipping me is that fine science teacher across the hall," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Caius fixed him with a look that could've frozen boiling water. "I look forward to seeing your results, Mr…?"
"Tyler," he replied, flashing an unbothered grin.
Caius' mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like the ghost of one that had died under suspicious circumstances.
"If you have something you'd like to prove," he said, voice low and poisonous, "I'm always available for consultation. Otherwise, begin. I look forward to grading your test. It should shed some light on the source of your attitude."
Tyler muttered something about shedding blood instead of light, and I resisted the urge to bang my head against my desk.
Caius returned to the edge of his desk, crossing his arms as he watched us start the assessment like he was grading us based on how much our breathing annoyed him.
I pulled up the test and skimmed it.
Easy.
Not basic, necessarily—but logic puzzles, probability, some calculus toward the end. The kind of problems that required actual thinking, not just memorization.
I breezed through the first page in under two minutes.
I could feel Caius watching me.
Not hovering, not breathing down my neck. Just… aware.
And part of me itched to do something. To say something clever. To push, just to see how he'd react.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
For now, I focused on the numbers.
And did what I always did.
Played the long game.
Tyler POV
"Man, fuck that guy," I muttered, not really yelling, but not exactly whispering either. "Does he think he's hard or somethin'? Like, bro, congratulations—you teach gym at a school full of deadbeats. Real gangster shit."
Lauren glanced over, barely holding it together as she gasped through a set of squats like she was auditioning for a Nike ad. "Don't let him get in your head. That's what he wants."
"Yeah, well," I said, jogging in place half-heartedly, "he already built the condo and put down a deposit. He lives in my head now."
I could hear Emmett grunt as he pushed off the floor, wiping his face on the shoulder of his shirt. "Look, man. I don't think these teachers follow any normal rules. They're giving out free narcotics and nobody's calling CPS. Just accept the chaos."
He wasn't wrong. I hated how much he wasn't wrong.
We moved to the next marker on the gym track. The others dropped for sit-ups like a bunch of boot camp extras, but I just kept jogging on the spot, pretending like I was saving my core for a more heroic moment.
"My math grades have been tragic since second grade," I muttered to no one in particular. "There's no way I'm not gonna get bottom score and have that greasy-ass, child-snatcher-lookin' prick ridin' me for the next three years."
"I don't even think I passed math in second grade," Leah called out, breathless but still managing a smirk as she flopped back for another sit-up. "I'll be failing with you. Solidarity."
"You got an advantage though," I said, shooting her a look. "You could just wave your tiddies in his face and get a pass. Some of us were not blessed in the chesticle department."
I yanked my shirt up and smacked my right nipple with a flourish. "These bad boys don't get me shit except funny looks."
Edward groaned like his soul was dying. "Jesus, Tyler."
"I'm just sayin'," I shrugged. "Caius ain't into me. Probably just jerks it to videos of people cryin' in the rain or whatever gets him off."
"They call that sadism," Rosalie deadpanned from somewhere off to the side.
Then suddenly, Garrett was right there, walking beside me like he'd been waiting for the perfect moment to jump-scare me back to discipline.
"Tyler," he said, all calm and chipper like a dad in a cereal commercial. "Did I miss the part in your file where it said you were disabled? Because all I've seen you do is jog in place like a cartoon duck."
I blinked at him. "Bro, I'm already exhausted. I haven't seen eight a.m. since I was, like, twelve. We can't all look like we hunt elk with our bare hands."
I flicked his bicep for emphasis. It was like slapping a rock.
Garrett chuckled like I'd just told a joke he hadn't decided if he liked yet. "That's why we do this. I'm trying to build you into someone so unbreakable I'm the only one who can still kick your ass. But right now…"
He gave me a once-over, then reached out and pinched the loose skin on my upper arm like I was a melon in a grocery store. "...Right now I think most of the girls could take you."
I didn't want to admit it, but I did run through the mental list.
Alice? Nah, too tiny.
Lauren? Dirty fighter, guaranteed.
Leah? I've seen pit bulls with less attitude.
Rosalie? Jesus Christ, definitely not.
I exhaled, eyes flicking to the next station where the others were already halfway through their squats.
Garrett clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder like I was his little brother. "Come on, champ. You've got some catching up to do."
He gave me a light shove and walked off like that settled it.
I jogged after the group, muttering under my breath.
I didn't mind a little work. I wasn't lazy, just… allergic to structure. All these adults, thinking they're gonna mold us into honor roll saints with morning push-ups and institutional cheer.
Let them try.
As long as they didn't mess with my stash or my snack drawer, I could survive it.
But Caius? That smug skeleton of a man?
He was gonna be a problem.
Jacob POV
After PE, all I could think about was getting back to my room before the second-year guy I shared the bathroom with decided to occupy it again for the next two hours. He had done that this morning—locking the door and vanishing into the steam for half the morning like it was a goddamn spa retreat.
Lucky me.
The hallway was mercifully quiet as I reached the room, the faint scent of bleach and pine-scented floor cleaner already making my head ache. The bathroom door was unlocked. No sounds from the other side.
Small victories.
I locked both doors to my room and his, turned the shower to somewhere just above freezing, and stepped in without waiting for the temperature to settle. The jolt of cold made me shudder, but it helped cool my hot and sweaty body off. A little. I needed something that pulled me out of the fog. Something that made me feel present in my body again, even if it sucked.
The PE class had been the usual mess of chaotic drills and barely controlled chaos. It had started off as just another strain on my muscles, but my brain—because it's a dick—decided that now was the perfect time to revisit the greatest hits of my trauma reel. Again.
By the end of the class, I wasn't even really in the gym anymore. Not in my head, at least. I was back in the wreck. Back in the dark. Back in the kind of pain that doesn't fade with time, just deepens like grooves worn into old vinyl.
The water started to sting against my chest. I looked down and realized I'd been scrubbing the same spot with the loofah for too long—raw, pink skin under the mesh. Great. Self-harm by absentminded exfoliation. Add that to the list.
The sting was a useful distraction in a way, as it had pulled me out of my thoughts.
I rinsed the suds off myself and turned my back to the shower to let the water run through my hair for a few minutes in an attempt to calm the anxiety that was constantly simmering inside me.
When that didn't work, as it usually didn't, I decided to default to my most tried and true method of resetting myself.
I turned back to face the stream of the shower and took a deep breath subconsciously to prepare myself, and then reached out to the cold tap and turned it off completely so only the hot water remained.
The temperature increased noticeably, but not as much as it should have. Not enough to hurt.
I turned the hot water on as far as it would go, and the water pressure increased, but still the temperature remained the same.
They must have the water heater set too low for us to scald ourselves… I realized after a few more seconds.
For some reason that frustrated me to the point I could feel myself getting close to crying again. The list of things that had ever made me feel less miserable, even temporarily, was a short one. And now… even shorter it seemed.
I finished rinsing off, turned off the water, and wrapped myself in a towel. Got back to my room. Didn't bother getting dressed. Didn't bother thinking. Just collapsed onto the bed and let gravity win for a while.
"Come on, kid."
The voice yanked me out of a half-conscious haze. I blinked at the ceiling. Then rolled over just enough to see Felix standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at me like I was a pile of laundry that had grown a mouth.
"It's a little after 6:30," he said. "Normally I'd let you sleep through dinner, but you're first on my list tonight. Time to earn your keep."
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. "Why me?"
Felix raised an eyebrow. "You jumped off a fucking bridge last week. You win the 'most concerning file' award. Congrats."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"They wanted me to drag you into a session last night," he continued, "or first thing this morning. I bought you a day. But now it's time."
I groaned again, flipping onto my back, arms sprawled. "I've been in therapy since I was ten, man. I'm a veteran. Nothing you say is gonna crack open some magical healing epiphany."
He shrugged. "Probably not. But I've got 156 sessions booked with your name on them, so unless you plan to go full Houdini, we're stuck together. Might as well get into the routine. This is kind of my job, and I need the money. You can nap in my office if you like."
I snorted. "Sounds like a trap."
"Definitely a trap. Get dressed. We'll grab dinner on the way. You can eat while you tell me how much you hate me."
I sighed through my nose. "Five minutes."
He nodded. "Cool. I'll be out here. Not hovering at all."
True to his word, he wasn't standing right outside the door when I opened it—he was ten feet away, leaning against the opposite wall like we were just going for a walk and not heading into a deep-dive into the absolute garbage fire that was my psyche.
"I'm so glad I'm not the girls' therapist," he said, grinning. "I'd be out here until breakfast."
I gave a half-smile. "Yeah, you'd probably lose a limb if you tried to rush Rose."
"Kate seems to have a good rapport with them. I'll leave her to it."
We walked downstairs in relative silence. The air smelled like spices and roasted meat—dinner must've actually been decent tonight. A win.
The double doors to the rec room were open now, laughter and game noises leaking out into the hallway. It all sounded... far away.
Like a life that didn't include me.
We veered into the cafeteria instead. Esme was standing at the end of the line holding a tray of little white cups.
I grabbed a bowl of Moroccan beef stew, a couple of pieces of corn, and a Mountain Dew. She handed me a cup and then a second one with a glass of water. When I peered inside I saw the familiar concoction of antipsychotics and SSRI's that made up my med combo and I downed them in one go.
Felix waited at the door, and I rejoined him he led me down the hallway behind the reception desk—a quieter part of the school I hadn't been to yet. The walls were closer together. Less air. Less noise. Less light.
His office was warm. Bookshelves, desk, chair. Couch.
He gestured to the furniture. "Armchair or the dramatic chaise lounge of emotional breakdowns?"
I flopped into the chair without answering and balanced the bowl of stew on my knee. "Let's go back to my childhood trauma. That'll be a hoot."
Felix smirked. "That's a chaise-worthy statement if I've ever heard one."
I took a bite. Surprisingly good. Spiced, tender.
"I think I'll eat first, and then we can unpack my deeply rooted passive aggression toward CBT," I said, stabbing another forkful of stew and shoveling it into my mouth.
Felix blinked. "CBT… as in Cock and Ball Torture?"
I choked mid-chew, nearly launching half-masticated beef across his desk. I managed to swallow, somehow, through a half-sputter. "What the fuck?"
He looked slightly concerned now. "Wait—isn't that what you meant?"
I wiped my mouth and grabbed my drink, gulping a mouthful to clear the obstruction in my throat. "Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, man."
Felix's eyes widened as he covered his face with one hand, exhaling slowly like someone trying not to laugh at a funeral. "Oh my god. Okay. Yeah. No, that makes way more sense."
There was a beat of stunned silence as we both sat with the absurdity of it. Then he cleared his throat, attempting professionalism like a man climbing back into a boat he'd just fallen out of.
"So," he said, shifting in his seat, "you went base jumping without a parachute."
I blinked at him. "Wow. Beautiful segue. Real smooth."
"I'm just… incredibly desperate to change the subject," he admitted, the corners of his mouth still twitching.
"Gee, I can't imagine why," I muttered dryly. "But yeah. I went full send off a bridge. If I'd moved a little quicker we wouldn't be having this delightful conversation, so… my bad, I guess."
"Hey. Don't apologize." He paused, still half smiling to himself. "I read your file. All of it. The interventions, the hospitalizations, the meds, the years of trying. I'll be honest—I didn't know what version of you was gonna walk through the door. Especially after the bridge. But, uh… this might sound weird—"
"You're pleasantly surprised?" I offered flatly.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Honestly, yeah."
I didn't reply.
Mostly because I wasn't sure whether to feel validated or insulted.
Or maybe both.
He continued. "So now I'm just… wondering what led to that moment."
I stared into my bowl.
"Everything," I said finally. "But mostly nothing."
He didn't write anything down. Just waited.
I sighed. "It's not new. It's not sudden. It just… is."
He nodded slowly. "And today? What's today?"
I looked up at him. "Effort. Every second."
His expression sobered. "Thanks for being honest."
I gave him a weak smirk. "Wasn't for you."
He nodded again, accepting that.
We didn't solve anything. No lightbulb moments. But for once, I didn't feel like I had to be anyone other than this—just a tired, broken kid with too many ghosts and not enough hope.