x
"What are you feeling right now, Alex?" asked my therapist.
My glazed over eyes snapped to my therapist's face. "It's Alexandra."
"Why don't we analyze why you prefer me to call you Alexandra and not Alex?" suggested my therapist in desperation.
"Do you prefer me to call you Emilia or Dr. Jones?" I said with a straight face. "It's dependent on the relationship."
I waited for her to react but she just analyze me impassively. Dr. Jones still hasn't screamed or yelled at me like my previous therapists, which I had to admit impressed me. It almost made me inclined to be nicer to her. Almost.
"Alexandra," Dr. Jones sighed, "I think I've been taking the wrong approach."
"Really?" I couldn't help the sarcasm in my tone. "The past seven therapists I've seen al said the same thing."
"Clearly, asking questions doesn't work because you find it pointless," Dr. Jones said.
"Because it is," I faltered when I realized that I just answered her like she baited me to.
Those three words were the first truth I've ever admitted in a therapy session and Dr. Jones knew it. She almost managed to hide her triumphant smile. "You find it all pointless because you believe your emotions are pointless."
I carefully schooled my expressions to not reveal anything. She was getting through me in a way I was uncomfortable with.
Dr. Jones didn't wait for my response. "You try your best to dismiss, bottle, and hide your emotions because loving and trusting someone close to you caused you great pain."
I forced myself to stare at the space between her eyes to not lose composure.
I hated therapy.
"So now you'll do everything to push away people who care. You'll stone wall them because you're not only afraid of loving them unconditionally, but you're afraid that they will love you too."
"Why would I be afraid of that?" I said, my voice sounding strangled even to me.
"You're afraid of the fact that someone who loved you still chose something else over you." Dr. Jones met my eyes and something close to sympathy softened her gaze. "You're afraid that you're just not enough. Not enough when it comes down to a choice. You can't stand conditional love because it's so fickle."
"Stop," I whispered. "Please stop talking."
"You hate being called Alex by strangers because only people you unconditionally love call you that."
I stood. "No. That's not true."
Dr. Jones holds up a piece of notebook paper that should have never came into her hands and read it aloud to me. "I hate it when Prince Asto Al Nahyan calls me Alex. I want to tell him to call me Alexandra but whenever the request is on my tongue, I can never actually say it to him. So I let him call me Alex and I let it infuriate me every time."
"How did you get that?" I demanded, shaking angrily because that wasn't for him to read. Still, I could take a guess at who gave her that slip of paper.
Dr. Jones lifted her chin. "You let Prince Asto Al Nahyan call you Alex because he means everything to you but you're afraid you mean nothing to him."
I flinched back. I was so taken aback by her words that I took a seat. Mechanically, I folded my hands in my lap before I opened my mouth to speak.
"You're wrong. Prince is a lot of things. He's my older brother's closest friend, my rival, my closest friend, my opponent, and my family. I care about him but I also argue with him. We never agree or get along," I said, listing it all out as I tried to erase any irrational emotion. "Our relationship is complicated and it will always be complicated."
Dr. Jones smiled. "You love him."
"I hate him," I corrected.
"Do you?" Dr. Jones tilted her head. "Or do you hate that not only you have no idea what he feels about you, but you have no idea what you feel for him."
I stared at her. "How did my parents find you?"
"Your mother had trauma in her youth too. Clearly, it runs in the family," my therapist replied.
x
Hands pushed me up to the stage and through my haze, I walked up to receive my seal.
First. I placed first.
I placed higher than both Cassian and Prince. As I looked at the two of them, who stood there like fools as they processed my ranking, I wrinkled my nose.
"I never doubted you," Cassian said, quickly, as I walked passed him on stage.
"This is just embarrassing for you two," I remarked as I stood next to them. Cassian scowled while Prince neutrally moved to receive his seal.
"Congratulations, Prince," said Professor Ballard, smiling at him like a proud father as he handed over the certificate.
Prince merely offered him a polite smile in response. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Professor Ballard's blatant favoritism towards him.
An amused smile played at the corners of Prince's lips. He found humor in my reaction.
You would think that Cassian was the favorite student with his shiny "golden boy of the academy" title, but no. Prince was every professor's favorite. They liked him so much that they managed to overlook his occasional class skipping, smoking addiction, and rule-breaking.
His straight posture, full exam marks, and faultless manners always coaxed fond smiles from the teachers as if Prince didn't attend class hungover.
In my opinion, the professors loved him because Prince was a natural academic. He loved theorizing. Cassian preferred executing when he wasn't feeling lazy.
Now, looking like the academy's poster child, Prince stood next to me after receiving the highest academic honors as if he hadn't jumped off a balcony, as if he was the arrested for murder just yesterday.
"Congratulations, Alex," Prince said, quietly so that only I could hear. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it to Cadre I."
Despite his years studying here amongst Americans, the distinct British lilt to Prince's accent never truly faded. It was so distracting that I took an embarrassing moment longer to register his insult.
I forced myself to keep my tone cordial and controlled. "Well I was afraid you wouldn't place higher than me," I paused with a sharp smile. "At least one of us predicted correctly."
"I can't always be right," Prince smiled.
"You can always be humble," I said, dryly.
"If we argued over that, you know I'd win the debate," Prince let out a low laugh and I swear half the academy turned to look at him. That was the effect he had over people.
"One day, I'll push you off this stage," I said through a strained smile aimed to the crowd.
"Are you losing your touch, Alex? Winning by breaking your competition's neck seems like cheating," he mused, in his infuriating British accent.
"A little early to joke about murder, isn't it?" I snapped, my fake smile morphing into a scowl.
Whatever the assistant Dean had been saying for the past few minutes had been lost to me because I was so busy with our banter, but I snapped to attention when he called out loudly into the microphone, "Olivia Jontas."
I cursed inwardly, wishing I had paid a little more attention.
More clapping filled the auditorium as Olivia preened and walked up the stage, making sure everyone caught an eyeful of her bare back and over the top ball gown. I quietly willed her to trip over the obnoxious amount of tulle but unfortunately, Olivia didn't even stumble a little bit.
My cousin accepted the microphone that the assistant Dean handed to her and faced the crowd. She said, "Thank you so much for this honor, Queens Erlington Academy."
I expected her to drone on about some melodrama but instead, Olivia momentarily stopped talking. She shifted towards me, her eyes meeting mine, before a chilling smile split her face. My stomach dropped as she then turned back to the audience.
"I've spent the past year painting this piece in honor of my aunt, Azalea Vesper Du SangX who has fostered me under her roof for the majority of my life with her family." Olivia paused, soaking in the attention. If there was one thing she was better at than crocodile tears and victimizing herself, it was painting. "This painting is dedicated to the Du Sang Dragomirs."
The heavy curtains behind us swept open. Behind us, a large canvas covered in black cloth stood on a huge easel.
Olivia stepped forward to her painting. Her eyes locked to mine and I knew, then, in my gut, that something horrible was going to happen.
She unsheathed the painting and gasps filled the auditorium. The painting was a gorgeous imitation of Olivia's rosy cheeks and simpering smile. Unfortunately, she wasn't as ugly on the outside as she was on the inside.
What would have been a perfect painting was ruined because angry red words smeared the canvas.
JONTAS
I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes landing on me.
The rumor of my confrontation with Olivia had long spread around the academy, but those sitting in the auditorium seats wouldn't have come up with the conclusion that I was the one who wrote JONTAS if it weren't for Olivia.
With the best timing in the world, Olivia burst into tears with her microphone coincidentally placed close to her lips, echoing her sobs.
"Alexandra," Olivia let her lips wobble before another convincing wail escaped them. "H-How could you do this to me?"
I didn't miss how the auditorium's sound system had suddenly turned up in volume. Every single person could clearly hear Olivia as tears streamed down her mascara dramatically. I stared at my cousin.
Olivia continued, practically kissing the microphone. "I know we've had our differences as cousins, but h-how-how could you ruin the painting I've worked on for 365 days, dedicated to your family-"
"Of all the things you could have dedicated, you chose a self-portrait of yourself?" Prince said, pointedly.
Olivia cried extra loud to drown out Prince's remark. I continued staring at her. "Vandalizing my art by painting JONTAS all over it to prove that I'm not one of you is excessive, even for you—"
Cassian must have whispered something obviously threatening to the assistant Dean because he instantly snatched the microphone away from her.
It didn't matter though. The damage was already done.
Everyone in the academy now believed that I painted JONTAS over her self portrait.
Prince watched me, dissecting my expression. He protected me because it was his instinct, but that didn't mean he didn't have his doubts of whether or not I actually painted those words.
All the other Cadre I members stood next to me awkwardly, not knowing how to process this public drama. I watched the reactions of the students sitting in the audience varying from excitement, annoyance, horror, sympathy, and disgust.
Whatever reputation I carefully built up was changing completely because of Olivia Jontas.
The assistant Dean made the right call for once in his career and concluded the whole ceremony, making sure the curtains started reeling in to cover the ruined art.
"Thank you for attending the beginning of the year ceremony, that will be all!"
Olivia sniffled. "My painting..."
The assistant Dean cooed to her before turning to me with vehemence. "You. Go to the Dean's office immediately."