Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 10 - Lucilia

"I have an errand to run in town," I say vaguely. I need to ditch Ethan. Again.

"Uh huh. Mind if I come?" It appears Ethan knew I was being secretive.

Calmly and kindly, I speak, "Actually, I do. It's kind of a private errand."

"Do you want a ride there?" My inquisitive friend is determined to figure out where I'm going, it seems.

"Nope, I'll walk." His eyes narrow distrustfully. "Thanks anyway!"

I pick up my pace, slowly starting to jog away from the school. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as Ethan heads to his truck, back taut as a bowstring.

A small ball of guilt forms in my chest when I realize how much Ace's and my secretiveness might have offended him, but I tamp the feeling down.

I'm late. I'm late. I'm late.

The thoughts perform a nerve-racking chant in my head, pushing my heart to beat faster and my legs to sprint.

I remind myself of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, constantly checking his watch and muttering to himself. Imagining myself with a waistcoat and pocket watch, I huff out a laugh amidst my frantic dash through town.

They really would have a reason to send me away if I became a fictional time-obsessed rabbit.

Entering the busiest part of town, Main Street, or as the locals call it Trader Hub, I weave between the people interspersed on the sidewalk. Mumbling apologies when the accidental occasional shoulder bump occurs, I dash through Trader Hub.

This area of town is always busy, or at least as busy as a rural town like this can get. On one Friday of every month, people of all ages set up trading booths along the street. It's one of the most popular events this town hosts. Ace doesn't like it, though. I would even go to the extent to say he despises it. However, he never told me the reasons why.

Breaking from the crowd, I slip down a side alley, a shortcut to my destination. The alley is empty, but I'm not in it long enough to dwell on past horrors.

Taking a left out of the alleyway, I pick up my pace again, adrenaline rushing through my veins, urging me to greater speeds. The small building nears me, and I barely stop myself from slamming into the glass door. Swinging it open, I enter.

The lobbyist, with her short brown hair and dark brown eyes, greets me with a glare. Instead of a friendly salutation, all I receive is a finger point to the back office. I follow obediently, mumbling an apology as I pass the cranky employee.

Going down the hallway to the right of the front desk, I trace my fingers over the atrocious floral pattern wallpaper. Yellow and fading with age, it is missing in some areas, showing the previous sky blue paint. Stopping in front of the wooden door, I read the name plaque hanging precariously on it, threatening to fall: James Riddenton, Psychiatrist. As I open the door and step in, I sigh.

"You're late," the voice gripes.

I turn my back to the voice and use the opportunity to roll my eyes unnoticed.

"Sorry. I got stuck at school for a bit."

"Hmm. And how are you doing today, Lucilia? The nightmares any better?"

I spin on my heel with jaw clenched to reign in my frustration. Mr. Riddenton, my psychologist, sits on his red leather chair, looking as prideful and smug as he did the first day we met. His plump gut strains against his pricey clothing, and his greying scruffy beard reminiscent of a wizard's brushes the collar of his suit when he smiles. The smile, stained yellow from tobacco use, is nothing to be proud of. I match his blue-grey eyed stare with my own.