three rooms | nathan gardner

VI

Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, mentions of fascism
Word count: 1460

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I parked in front of the building where his office was located. Fuck.  

We were going to have a Halloween Ball on that day, the very one that would mark the start of the autumn break, such a decadent time.

At least for those who did not go home to their parents. 

All the students and teachers were invited, a certain formality was required, but over the years there has never been a lack of the usual bravado by reckless young lads.  

Anyways, the party was going to take place during the evening so there were still hours to go.  

It was my first private lesson with Mr. Gardner and I felt as anxious as the day of my driving test, thinking only the worst.  
At the same time I wanted to walk into his stupid office and yell at him everything he had caused me, all the parts of my unconscious he fucked up.  

But I had to restrain myself.  Until the very end.  

I entered a huge hall, probably dating back to the nineteenth century.  
I took the black elevator made of wrought iron, heading to the third floor. When I found myself in front of a thick and tall dark colored door I instinctively squeezed the vial, hiding it in an inside pocket of my purse. He knew I was hiding something, better be careful. I knocked three times, but no one answered. 

Distrustfully I turned the handle, discovering that the door was indeed open. I took a deep breath and walked in, announcing my presence.  

Dead silence.  

I took the chance to analyse my surroundings: it was quite huge. 
There was a sort of waiting room with leather armchairs and a coffee table in the middle with books on it, to my right an archway delimited the room from his office. I entered cautiously, and immediately fell in love with it.  

It was all dark, mahogany made up all the furniture and blended perfectly with the antique wallpaper.  
It looked like an antique shop.  
On the walls ran a long bookcase filled with thick thorny books, two chairs facing the imposing desk behind which was a dark green armchair. Seemed comfortable.

Behind me was a long sofa that veiled a marble fireplace decorated with statuettes. God I felt as if I was brought back to the roaring 20s . 

«Sit down.», I gasped hearing his voice all of a sudden.

He had appeared from who knows what secret door of the bookcase, the light from the window behind him hiding him from my sight. He was sitting comfortably with his legs crossed, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. Having his back turned to the light gave him a ghostly, indefinite appearance.

And this intrigued me. 

When I sat down on one of the two chairs he didn't waste a minute, getting up and taking one of the many tomes, opening it in front of me but I was already distracted.
I was mesmerized by looking at the pocket watch chain hanging from his waistcoat. What the hell was I doing?  

«If we want this to work you have to be present, Miss Theller, understood? Now, listen to me and take notes».

He began to talk about Freud again (although we had gotten to Jung in class) walking around the room, pausing from time to time to smoke.  
In that specific atmosphere, immersed in the scent of his cologne invading every corner and with no one else but the two of us, I was able to follow his monologue.  

In fact, I really liked that lesson.  

Without an audience in front of him he was much less pompous in his manner, yet remained a menacing figure. He walked with his hands in his pockets with a confident and quiet pace, avoiding looking at me.