CHAPTER 6: You're Getting Angry With Me
Being it Friday, mid-afternoon, I sat silently in computer engineering; having already completed the class exercise, I allowed myself to wallow at what I was to do within the next hour. My first session with Professor Forthright was this evening. I was not ready to sit alone in a room with him.
For the remaining week, after Tuesday, I saw nothing of the disturbing man, nor did I speak much with Edmund. Who had been secluded in his studies, making me believe he, too, was busy, which kept him away from me, I was mildly glad of that fact.
Charlize Northern's case was like the slow process of picking out teeth. A puzzle where I had to physically go out and look for the pieces, I still had yet to find out who the boyfriend was that Charlize was having problems with.
Whoever it was that had to horrify me, to get my attention, gave me four cases of four similar-looking girls. Their features remained small, blonde with lighter shades than dark. Their eye colours were different. Their ages ranged between eighteen and twenty-four. Charlize had been twenty-two, her fourth year at this Academy before she died.
Corinne Delia is still a case that requires more time, considering I would have to go to the asylum to find anything on her file, only because all files were conducted traditionally; on paper in ink pen and this was still within the last ten years...at this Academy.
I move as slowly as possible down the corridor after exiting the lecture room, not wanting to be the first one out...and not wanting to be the last. I still had that on my conscience, the words, the flashing lights but everything in between. I kept asking myself why I was the one who was given this information and why I was to solve this problem.
The answer was clear...I just didn't want to believe it.
Roaming down the halls, my heart dreads and drops in beat with each slow thump, each footstep of my heels; my phone was scheduled to record anytime I had come close to him but the mere touch of my right-hand forefinger. I had pressed it now as I turned the corner and stepped up towards his door, rolling my eyes and raising my hand to know, only for him to open the door.
I purse my lips as he smiles at me, "Melanie, thank you for joining me. Please, come in." He gestures to me inside.
I strut in, turning back towards him, "Are you certain these sessions usually run this late? It's been a long week. I need the weekend." I act casual as if conversing with him normally, but everything in me is on high alert with this man...I wouldn't even call him a man at all.
He's a barbaric snake always looking for more prey.
He tried hard to lurk in the shadows. But, it's more difficult to attempt to study a particular subject in the shadows when that subject knows how to manoeuvre her way through every shadow she's come across.
Thank you, Mom.
You taught me so very well.
He closes the door and I hear that familiar lock that clenches at my veins, but I knew that if I were required to get myself out physically...the bastard would be a piece of cake.
How I hate cake.
He chuckles, and his expression lightens. He looks far brighter than usual as he removes his jacket and moves toward the chairs where we had sat during the previous session. I eye mine before subtly moving my hand along the sides, ensuring he hadn't placed a remote control syringe or recording device. Anything that could be lethal against me. I take a seat.
"I understand completely, Melanie. For some odd reason, it has been a long week. This session can be casual talk, though I'm required to write things down if you propose any sudden stresses. Have you shown any signs of extreme exhaustion? I noticed something seemed off at that time during dinner when you were reading into the employee list of the kitchen staff?" He asks, offering me a glass of water, to which I politely decline...how much of an idiot did he think I was?
I don't lean back but remain sitting up and crossing one leg over the other, he looks deeply into my eyes, and I tilt my head, "Getting enough sleep can be quite a challenge, but that is because I will find myself staying up late to write more, research more. It's merely a habit, but I wouldn't consider it a negative one." I wonder. He looks elated in listening, his fingers twitching.
I hold the urge to glare at him.
I'm merely talking, and he looks like a hyper child wanting to know more. The poor thing, though, I wasn't feeding him bullshit, and the greedy bastard takes gulps of it without even truly looking at the context of the fact I'm taking multiple scenic routes, yet, he believes I'm indulging him with secrets.
What an idiot.
"I agree. I wouldn't consider that to be a negative trait. It can be quite admirable that most teenagers would rather do anything else. You're unique in that, Melanie." He murmurs, tilting his head slightly.
I take a girly sigh, glancing over at his desk, "I wouldn't say all teenagers would rather totter with alcohol and partying...that's not what you're assuming, is it?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He sits up with a cough. His dark brown hair showed the amount of gel he'd run through it.
It looked like a slabbed with slug slime without looking in the mirror.
"No, though many would. Would you say you drink alcohol, or find yourself partying, whether occasional or frequent? If you don't mind me asking?" He gestures to me delicately. As if every movement must be languid, he was far too forward...and bloody obvious.
"No. I don't like the smell of alcohol, and I find no use in parties. It's a useless waste of my time." I waved him off, slowly leaning back when my lower back was beginning to feel the irritation of sitting up straight for the past twenty minutes.
That's right. I'm counting every minute.
He smiles, "That's another good trait. Anyway, let's discuss your classes; how have you liked the professors so far?" He asks, not needing to draw up a grid, considering it's already been inked professionally.
I nod, "They're informative. The classes go by quickly, but catching up isn't a problem."
He raises an eyebrow, "What makes you say that?"
"I'm ahead, not behind," I mutter, glancing around the room, making sure my peripheral was still on him.
He smiles to himself, "That's good," writing it down, "Can you tell me what happened during the time of your first dinner on Tuesday night, I think it was?"
I furrow my eyebrows, folding my arms, "Could you please clarify?"
"Your fight with Edmund was rather public?" He murmurs in consideration as he gestures to me again, biting his lip. My eyes narrow into his black ones.
I purse my lips, "I didn't think so. He was merely...talking." I needed to think of better excuses when speaking about Edmund.
He narrows his eyes, but curiously, not angrily as one might have thought, "May I know as to what was discussed? He seemed rather flustered. He hasn't been aggressive towards you, has he?" Why would that matter?
His tone was darkened, mine stilted and narrowed, "No, of course not. It was a private discussion."
"That you both had in public."
"He chose to have it in public."
He blinks, "He seems greatly emotional towards someone he had only recently met...do you have a history of bringing out rather emotionally driven sides of people?" He asks me, I don't hide the scowl on my face.
"That's personal."
He sighs calmly, sitting up and holding his hands out in surrender, "It wasn't an accusation, Melanie. Merely an observation."
"Your observations are rather blunt."
"I know. It's hard to change a habit," He sighs once again, only this time in defeat, as he leans back, grabbing the glass of water on his desk and taking a sip before taking another.
I tilt my head, "You seem parched."
"As you said, it's been a long week." He answers, flipping another page on the clipboards in his lap.
"His verbal anger has shown greater than normal, Melanie. I have noticed that change in him. You do inspire a spark." He whispers, looking down at his pan-flip and placing the pen down.
I shake my head, "I don't believe so. He was merely upset about my lateness of arrival at the Academy, I wasn't given a scheduled date to arrive. Both parties were uninformed." I say professionally.
"Melanie, I am a mentalist for a living," He murmurs, sitting up and taking a long breath before he continues, "I can read anyone like an open book. All except...for you." He murmurs. Some would consider it charming in his sensuality. I'm more disgusted as he stares into me, seeming inferior, but I suppose that it's what he wants me to see, not the reality of what he truly is.
A liar...and so much more.
I give him a considerate look, "And why is that?"
He smiles, standing from his chair and turning around to move towards his bookshelf, I watch him closely while checking behind me in case something jumps out, but the only visible entry and exit is the front door. There's no vent in here or anything.
"Most would say they wish to find out why they've come across, something or someone they hadn't fathomed would step into their lives, that could challenge them in the most courageous yet, interesting of ways. I don't find I am inclined to know why I can't read you. It is what it is." My forehead creases.
He turns to me and leans on the seating set along the row in front of the books. I blink twice, "You don't want to figure me out? You've implied in the past that you do."
"Learning just one someone is simplistic. Learning many is not problematic, but it's not an easy direction to take. Learning and understanding too many are when one comes across another with greater standard and challenge...it's almost too difficult to walk that bridge if you understand my need for metaphorical theatrics." He says with a light laugh.
In a way, I did seem to understand...again, I just didn't want to.
"Is it not your job to attempt to understand me as if my closed book was that of a transparent cover, where you can see the pages yet reading the words requires a more imaginative sight?" I insult him, yet he chuckles wildly after a few moments, clapping thrice and slapping his knee lightly.
"I see you too, like metaphorical theatrics. We must play chess in one of these sessions, Melanie. I almost feel too obliged to persuade you into doing so." If only I were so gullible as not to know that chess was a way to read the opposition's mind through strategy and ploy.
I sigh in hidden annoyance, still in the seat, "I don't believe that's what I came here to discuss?"
He gives me a soft look. I hold the urge to scowl away from it, "These sessions can be used to speak about whatever you like, Melanie. Talking-again, another stress reliever can be helpful," He moves away from the bench and towards me. I remain undeterred, but my heart tightens in minimized fear as he runs his finger along the brown leather armrest of my chair before he moves behind it. At the same time, I'm stuck facing forward, "-these sessions allow you to release what keeps you bottled up. Melanie and I are here to help you with that. In any way that works for you." He whispers, leaning down slowly along the chair. I glance over to see his face is not too far from mine.
He looks at me closely, "Are you still fully against the idea that my sessions are compulsory here?" He whispers, glancing down at me.
I barely breathe, "I still think it's unethical to enforce termination of privacy amongst students who are merely here to gain a business degree." I tell him, holding the severely grating urge to lean away, but both his arms were on the inside of the armrests.
He releases a slow smile, licking his lips. I swallow along my dry throat. He is way too close to me, flipping him over the chair and slamming his half-drunk glass over the upside of his head; he sits up, hands gliding up the sides of the chair as if touching skin. It's slow...and disgusting.
His fingers tap at the back of the chair. I recklessly sit back on the chair, facing forward, "Do you know how common a student struggles mentally with the work of this school? Helpless to attempt to reach forward or call out for guidance...because they're ashamed to do so."
"I believe humans still have rights."
He sighs above me, "Melanie...I am not against your thoughts and feelings. I'm attempting to show you why I do what I do. I'm not forcing you to agree or to share every dirty little secret, every internal struggle that comes to the human mind. This school runs on success. You may see that as barbaric...I see it as improving the next generation...your generation."
My lips curl, "You want to improve the next generation by teaching us your generation's antics. That's backward, Professor Forthright."
He leans close into my ear, "In our sessions, you don't need to be formal. Forthright or Finley is fine, Melanie. I call you by your first name after all."
I lean away, in an obvious way, "You're diverting what I believe is correct. You are teaching your students what you had learned when your generation was the one who made our current and past mistakes."
"Melanie." He mutters quietly.
I give him a look of confusion. He sat at his desk beside me, looking into my profile before I turned his way, "We have learned from our mistakes, and what has been learned is what we are using to teach you not to acquire the same repetitive trait. You talk as if I am personally the one to blame." He wonders, eyes slightly narrowed.
I raise an eyebrow, "Not about blame, but knowledge. You'd have to ethically agree that these compulsory sessions have a right to be compulsory. To save a student from running into depression, you show guidance, not order."
"When have I shown order?"
"The second you showed me the schedule of these sessions," I answer him.
He turns away, "You're making these sessions a mind twister."
"Call it a reality of our own chess game," I murmur strategically.
He spins in a lightning bolt reaction, eyes alight, "You-what?"
I turn to him, "Did you just stutter?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He steps towards his desk and sits on the chair, looking at me as if I were a chess piece, but he couldn't make out which. He couldn't see that I wasn't the piece on the board but the board itself. If I wanted to win, it had to be my game...which meant I had to be in more than two places at once to beat a practiced player.
"No, I didn't. You make me want to figure you out? Why are you pushing me to do so?" He asks me, smiling with dimples...that I don't find attractive.
I roll my eyes, "That's not what I'm doing, Professor Forthright. Why are your questions consumed with a mere associate?" I ask him.
He leans back in the chair, "Do you remember what I said in our first session about anger?" He asks me, moving to stand up once again, and sit back in his original seat in front of me.
I blink twice, "Vaguely."
He raises an eyebrow, "You're getting angry with me." A slow smile on his lips, no fidgeting, no tense movements. He's calm, comfortable, and once again...pathetically elated.
I raise an eyebrow, "I don't think so." He still didn't see that I was feeding him the information he had wanted to hear. He had wanted to manipulate. I was too suspicious of him to tell him the mere truth, faking anger without verbally sounding angry...showing great disagreement to something I did not care one bit about...but it all came down to testing him.
He leans softly to place his file down before leaning on his knees, intertwining his hands, "Very well. Let's change the subject, shall we? In your classes, have you experienced heightened levels of stress?"
"Not as of yet," I answer nonchalantly.
His eyes look up at me from where he's hunched down, hands still intertwined in front of him, "What about nightmares, Melanie? Have you received any?"
I shake my head, "No."
He checks his watch and sighs in defeat, "I better let you go. We've been here long enough. Your next session is at the same time, next Friday."
I give him a tight smile and gather my things, standing, "I don't think much stress will be collated once again in just one week."
He stands after pulling his chair out slightly, "You may never know. Please, have a good night, Melanie." He says to me, eyes darting away and towards his desk, almost as if he's too tired to say or do much else. I was almost too confused as I stepped away and towards the door.
My words must have put him off...how strange.
I step towards the door, only to see him gathering his jacket, "I'm off to dinner as well. May I walk you?" He asks. I furrow my eyebrows as he waits for me to open the door. Walking towards me, I reach for the door quickly.
Opening it, I step out as he locks it from the inside and closes the door, I narrow my eyes, "I'm not that hungry. I was just heading off to bed."
"You're going to miss out. Melanie, I wouldn't deem that healthy." He says to me, fixing his coat on. He looks at me in disbelief.
I blink twice, "I'm not feeling hungry. Thank you for the session." I say, turning away from him. He stops me in my steps when he asks, almost hesitantly,
"Is this about our argument? I didn't want to appear too forward, but to be truthful, our auras changed when I accused you of blaming me for my generation's mistakes." He murmurs, stepping forward, tilting his head as he looks down at me.
"No, I told you before the session I was tired. I'm only heading to bed." I say, turning once again, but he takes another step forward.
"You don't need to lie to me, Melanie." His voice was low. It had changed drastically from before, when he was more inquisitive. I slowly turn to him, seeing him eyeing me as if he were the predator.
I narrow my eyes and purse my lips, "I'm not, and accusing me of it is unnecessary. Good night, Professor Forthright." I dismiss him, moving towards the exit.
"I do apologize if I've stepped the line, Melanie." He murmurs, turning away from me as he struts down the hall. I scoff quietly, turning away to see Edmund step out of the corner of where he stands; he wears his long coat, but one far more fashionable and not so...old.
I raise an eyebrow, "You like to lurk in the shadows as well, I see."
He blinks down at me before showing me a bag in his hand, "I had predicted you wouldn't want dinner from the cafeteria kitchens after your session, given your interesting attitude towards it on Tuesday and your absence from it every day afterward. Erik is keeping Lorraine company. I assume you have a kitchen in your newly renovated dormitory?" He asks. I squint, walking around him and down the hall. He matches my footing.
"As I told the professor, I'm not all that hungry but thank you for the offer," I say, moving towards my room and stopping at my door. He tilts his head and looks down at me, bored.
"Oh, it wasn't an offer. I'm making you dinner."