Concerning Chance ✔

ONE

I only know fragments of the truth.

My counsellor keeps telling me to push through the grey fog that surrounds that night, whilst I keep telling him there's nothing more I can remember. It's all a bit of a blur, really; especially since I've been trying so hard to shut out everything that happened.

Since that night, certain parts of my life have paled into insignificance and irrelevance. Notably, my future. All my university plans have been put on hold until further notice.

"Have you ever done hypnotherapy?" My counsellor, Dr Greene, asks me as we sit in his office at my school.

His doctorate certificate that's proudly framed on the pale beige wall tells me three things: he got his doctorate in medical psychology, he's overqualified, and he's extremely underpaid as a school counsellor.

Back to our pointless conversation: no, I have never tried shock therapy and don't intend on doing so anytime soon. Hypnotherapy is pretty much shock therapy, right? I never know what to think around shrinks. They're always trying to get inside your head — almost like it's their job or something.

I don't say anything to Dr Greene but can't help myself from wondering if there are any other doctors with colours as their last names. Maybe they could form a rainbow coalition of doctors.

I have my best ideas when I'm supposed to be doing stuff.

"It could be beneficial," Greene tells me. Looking at me like I'm the most important person in the world. I'm not. He's only doing that to psych me out or something.

I narrow my eyes at him, words coming out hard and fast, "The last thing I need to do is try and remember details that don't exist. Did you know that our brains make up and imagine things in order to fill in the gaps? You probably do." He nods slowly. "Trust me, I can't remember things that didn't happen."

With that, I get to my feet and slam out of the room, quiet anger bubbling through my veins as I storm down the empty hallway. It's a good thing no one's around because I choose that moment to slam my fist into her locker.

It's just like every other locker in the hallway, red and rusty, but it's her locker, her stuff used to be in here...

I barely blink as red-hot pain floods my knuckles. But that doesn't stop me from flinching at the memory that surfaces alongside the burning pain.

"How many times must I tell you that violence is never the answer?" Chance shook her head despairingly after a hallway brawl of mine, eyes quickly flicking over me.

Pressing my thumb against my bleeding lip, I responded, "Just because you're a fucking pacifist. Besides, he wasn't leaving you alone. And we all know how Baxter treats girls."

Chance's green eyes glinted at me and she laid a hand over my wildly beating heart. "And that is how you win my heart, Rory Brewer. By being a feminist."

Her words were touching, yet insincere. Chance Harn never saw me as anything more than her best friend. We'd been best friends for all eternity, and we would be until the end of time itself.

Or that was the way it was supposed to be anyhow.

We'd share everything with each other: from packets of Skittles (where I'd eat the red and green ones and she'd eat the rest) to our very first crushes (which mostly concerned Chance fawning over Heather Towers and me silently fawning over Chance).

It's not to say that I wasn't happy to be her friend. It's just that being stuck in the friendzone can sting a little, you know?

You probably don't know.