Before the Rain

Fifteen: Mutally Assured Self-Destruction

Although I comply just to auspiciously shorten the time spent between us, "I guess."

She writes this down along with a few other notes in which in I was not at all interested in paying attention to, "On a lighter note, are you getting those grades up?"

The Macintosh desktop monitor sat directly in front of herself, behind her monogrammed copper name tag and adjacent from the only window in her room, which just so happened to be covered by an obviously artificial fern.

The point was, it is evidently possible for Dessa Nuygen to just access the school's database through said computer. What a stupid cunt.

"Yes."

In a way I was getting my grades higher; but of course the "higher" aspect only means that they're higher than the previous zeros due to my one week vacation. It's a shame I cannot vacation from my life without an interruption.

She flashes me a small and clearly insincere facade of approval before moving on to the next oh-so-concerning matter, "How's your home life?"

I roll my eyes and exhale irritably, "Fine."

She raises an eyebrow which only antagonizes myself further, "That's a little vague."

I want to comply:
Why must I share my entire goddamn existence with you? Is it suddenly your right to know? And actually, fuck you, my parents are loving and great but of course just like my first therapist you're going to falsely diagnose myself!

However, I instead bare all of my amnesty inside, as per usual, avoiding meaningless disregard, "I'm missing my communications class."

Nuygen almost contorts out of her "concerned councilor" disposition, "Oh yeah, wouldn't want to ruin what you're trying so hard to keep up."

"Definitely would not."

She flashes me another wonderfully artificial smile before allowing one of the secretaries to guide me or whatever out of her office.

I find myself not particularly enticed enough to return to my com class, as opposed to what I had mentioned to Nuygen, instead lingering near the second foyer.

A few yards away from myself sat a small student, her hair a red color, sweeping over her face as if attempting to abscond away. She sits perpendicular to the councilors' offices in a clearly synthetic, velvet plum chair.
The odd thing was, I had never so much as glanced at this student, and now here I was, probably scaring the shit out of her by taking everything in.

Her eyes eventually met mine, and as soon as they did, she flushed and hide her face within her hair even more.

I contemplate whether I should attempt to approach, but my mind decides otherwise. What was I even going to say? The best advice I could offer would probably have something to do with self deprecation or suicide.

Despite my odds, the student is now standing in front of myself, "You're him. You're seeing Adam too, aren't you?"

My eyes grow wide at this, "What?"

She brushes some of her hair off of her face and and projects, as if I couldn't hear her, "You're seeing Adam, right?"

I bite my lower lip in befuddlement, "I am."

She continues, "...for therapy, I mean. I am too. Because we're all fucked up, right?"

Her necessity for my reassurance made me very uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, the odd student does not wait for my answer, "Anyways, you're the boy that Adam talks about; the one with the dark curly hair and the blue eyes. You're him."

"I-uhm..."

What the fuck does she want from myself?

"You're the him that tried to jump off of an overpass. And the one who took a lot of acetaminophen. You're the one Adam likes."

Why did she keep bringing that up? What the fuck is going on?

She makes an awful mock-weeping sound, "I tried to off myself too, but I missed, and the gun jammed after that. Whatever, that's not important. The point is, you're the one Adam likes?"

This time she scoffs, laughing at me, "I can't believe it. He turned down me for you?"

I interjected before another odd and hurried statement, "So you are one of his patients as well?"

She ignores this, "Why do you talk like that? Like you're from the nineteen twenties or something."

This catches myself off guard a bit, suddenly a horrible guilt ridden insecurity consumes, "Uhm, I don't, know..?"

"Well it's weird. But yeah I'm one of his patients, victims of their own demise, whatever. My name is Danielle, " she flips her hair behind her back revealing a small yet thick pink line across the outside of her neck.

"Stop looking at it!" she practically screams, I comply, "That's the part where I missed my head. I guess I was shaking, I don't remember."

I hmm in acknowledgement, honestly terrified of Danielle. Before she could harass myself any further, I begin to slowly shift away from her company towards the A Hall.

She huffs, "He can't love you if you don't love yourself, it will never work out, trust me."

I do not turn around to face her, continuing down the white and gray tiled flooring.

She was right, as aggressive and insane that she may appear.