CHAPTER 8: Sense of Smell and Sound
Lorraine holds up a checkered skirt from an antique shop only half an hour I the opposite direction of home and the academy. It was Friday evening, another week of the Academy, filled with more work, but it was work that I had anticipated.
I give her a shrug of nonchalance, "It looks the same as the one you already have." I comment, toning in a petal of yet another one of my fascinations with orchids, on black paper this time, with a white pencil. I glide it along the sepal of the orchid, using that particular angle.
Lorraine groans, "But I've had that one for a year now, it's time for a change, and this one is a different colour." She points out, emphasizing the one she is holding is blue, whereas the one she already had, was red. I nod in acceptance, but still in my world as I drag the pencil along the paper, still working on my toning. I assume Lorraine has purchased the skirt as she waves that we're leaving.
I sit up, placing my ornaments aside as I check my laptop is in there, along with my phone. Standing, I move around the table and towards the exit; glancing over, I see a brunette who strangely looked to be staring at me, but she smiled and nodded before passing, so I didn't think much of it as I stepped out and towards the cafe, Lorraine finds her seat.
I tilt my head when she asks the staff member at the cashier, "Could I please order a hot chocolate and a lava cake?" She orders professionally as she swipes her card and is given a table number.
I raise an eyebrow, "In the mood for chocolate?"
"The hot chocolate is yours." She says over her shoulder, turning towards one of the couch seating tables. I move to sit opposite her as she smiles happily at her three large bags of shopping. I thank her, glancing around the mildly busy shopping mall. I was over two hours late to Professor Forthright's session, and I didn't care.
I'll claim I was just too exhausted; the thought had slipped my mind...just because it was a compulsory subject did not mean I had to train my thoughts to remember when each session was carried out.
When Lorraine had finished, I took the hot chocolate to go, and we were back on the road to the academy. The rain flew across the windshield as I only had one hand on the wheel, the other holding my forehead; I was thankfully wide awake but annoyed when Professor Forthright rescheduled the session to be in half an hour because, for some strange reason, he'd thought I was just in class, working.
The week had consisted of bad weather, headaches, and ignorance from Edmund. He had a point of always walking past me in the hallways but never once making eye contact or even a sheer nod, whereas Lorraine was having legitimate conversations with Erik in their group.
Iris was always silent, but when I caught her looking my way, along with her brother, there was always that one menacing, magnanimous smile she'd send my way as if to say, 'you'll never be our equal'. I almost couldn't understand the look; Erik explained to them who and what I was...did they merely think it was just my family that held any sort of status or findings to our company?
I helped in engineering after training and discussing ideas with Mom over the years, setting what to publish and invent for the business. Something I found I preferred doing than the continuous routine that turned my world upside down.
It turned my world into a living guessing game that I struggled to keep up with when consuming hours of research into gossip, investigations of dreadfully horrific cases that I found heightened my sleepless nights in the silent darkness, to be a rearranging form of being drowned, or laid dead in a forest, or strapped to a metal mattress in an asylum with no way of getting out.
I used more make-up and more foundation around my eyes. I drank more tea in the last three weeks to keep up with it all, and I could. I hated anticipating if I'd be stuck in another dark room with another message.
The piece-what was written on that card was something I wanted to forget. I wish I'd never read it when I had turned it around, that same message, 'Have I caught your attention now?'
I reverse into the park next to Lorraine's Sedan and cut the engine. She squeals behind me when thunder cracks the atmosphere before the familiar flicking of light blue lightning bolts tampered with the thunder to claim who was louder, who was prettier, and who was scarier.
I was quiet. Lorraine didn't seem to notice as she threw herself into her room and played dress-up, wondering which item of clothing she'd wear for the lake party tomorrow evening. I was never going, so I hadn't worried about it, but she was going with Erik and his group. I knew she would be safe with him once I did background checks on them.
I tell Lorraine I'm heading out, but she's too busy in her butterfly-filled world; I lock the door behind me, only to pause when I feel familiar eyes on my back. I stiffen but hold a calm exterior, "Professor Forthright, I was just on my way to your office." I murmur without turning around.
He chuckles behind me, "That's quite alright, Melanie. I had decided I wanted to move the session to the flower gardens to level three. Will that be alright?" He asks me, a delicacy in his voice, but I turn to him to see he's staring deeply into my eyes.
I raise an eyebrow, "I didn't know there were any flower gardens here?"
He smirks. I tense more when he places a hand on the small of my back and pats me to move forward, I do, but he matches my step. Still, with his hand on my back, I clench my jaw so tightly that I almost feel it break, but I make myself appear unobservant as the inside of his arm holds my back, "Edmund didn't show you and Lorraine during your tour...how disappointing?" He murmurs. I roll my eyes, turning away.
"He probably wanted to get it over and done with. You already know we did start on the wrong foot." I mutter; he tends to speak more, show more if I speak, and make myself appear fooled when he has become a little too close at times.
He lets go of me as we move towards the stairs. He chuckles again, "Yes, he did appear that way, didn't he? How are you faring, Melanie?" He asks from behind me. I hold the railing in an attempt to move faster as I round the bend of the stairs and slow down, so instead of him being behind me, he is beside me.
I sigh, "Just fine. The workload is still not a problem."
"What about friendships? I've heard Lorraine has gotten quite close with the Elite?" He wonders next to me. I glance over to him, but his eyes are on the steps, the next one he takes, and the next, and the next.
"Are you sure you're even allowed to speak about her sessions?" I ask cautiously but make it seem nonchalant. We walked up the last flight of stairs; as he smiled over at me, his eyes quickly darted down but snapped back up when he saw I was watching, which is why he covered himself with a smile. I narrowed my eyes at the back of his neck, which was noticeably red.
"This was a mere observance over the week, not part of her discussions with me." He says to me, stepping down the corridor and down three more steps where a terrace outside is placed.
He opens the doors, the rain still thundered against the ceiling of the garden placing I move into; he closes the door behind me, I step aside, raising an eyebrow at him, and he places both hands in his pockets, "It's soundproof, and to maintain confidentiality purposes between you and me, Melanie...you already understand that?" He says, a languid movement in his voice that I huff internally away from.
I nod before he moves in next to me, "Do you have a favourite flower?" He asks me, gesturing to the range of flowers. I glance at them, ensuring my eyes don't linger on the orchid. I look to the blossoms and step up to the pale rose-gold ones.
"These are rather beautiful," I mutter against the rain. I hold in the urge to cringe when his suit-covered arm brushes mine as he leans down and fondles one particular flower that had yet to blossom.
"These plants have been chemically altered, not to grow by season, but by human choice. Isn't that fascinating?" He murmurs before gesturing to the individual red rose.
I furrow my eyebrows, "They were chemically designed to grow here because normally these flowers would be seasonal." I say in consideration. He nods, gripping the railing as he looks out into the rain.
I lean my back on the railing, "How long have you worked as a mental health doctor, Professor Forthright?" I wonder if he'd lie, but my question wasn't how long he worked at this academy specifically, but how long he was a legitimate doctor if he was now.
He turns his head to my profile, "Straight out of high school. I trained for seven years here before applying to different clinical hospitals. I increased my knowledge of mental disorders and different natural and medicinal treatments. Then, I moved around before getting a job here, just eight years ago." And he lies.
I raise an eyebrow, "Have any students or patients ever been so bad that they needed something far more severe than just mental aid in their stresses?" I ask, glad my phone was recording closely.
He scratches his chin, a sign of discomfort, "I won't lie to you, Melanie. Yes, there have been cases such as that. Of the highest severity."
I furrow my eyebrows, looking up at him, "Would you say that's the competitive struggles of class work and ranks or other sufferings that could be included in the heightened severities of such...cases?"
"What makes you so interested in the natures of such horror stories, Melanie? By observation, I wouldn't say your a perfect pink princess, but I wouldn't think you'd go digging in the dirt to find it?" He wonders. Stepping in closer. I act indifferent.
I shrug, "I've never been one for the colour pink."
I glance over to him, meeting his eyes with a wariness he cannot see, "So, would you?"
He raises an eyebrow, "Would I what?" He murmurs, patting a petal of the rose, which just so happens to be close behind me.
"Do you believe it's the struggles of class work that can force a student into a darker place in their mind or something else...that could be both external or internal?" I ask again, not so nice, but rather blankly.
He grieved, " It depends on the student's circumstances, Melanie. I brought you up here to try something?" He offers. I blink, furrowing my eyebrows.
"Try what?" I ask, caution in my words, which he picks up on and smiles softly down at me, but I don't see a speck of softness in one small bit. He wets his lips before turning towards the flowers.
"How well do you know your flowers?" He asks me, gesturing to all of them.
I shrug, saying I knew them fairly well; the feeling was balanced. He exhales a long breath, "Good, this is a relaxing technique, in regards to smell, but I'm going to have to ask you to close your eyes, when I tell you to, only for five seconds, as I get you to smell the flower." He instructs. I widen my eyes only slightly as he surrenders his hands.
"It's only smelling flowers, I promise." I didn't trust his word but knew how to sense movements when my eyes were closed. I knew how to fight if I was blinded by smell and sound. Mom taught me this, along with Grandpa Stevens.
I tamed my fear.
He gestures to close my eyes. I do so, but with my hands on my sides, I stiffen when one petal taps my nose, and I inhale a small breath, "Dahlia." I opened my eyes to confirm, and it was correct. I gave him a flat look.
He raises another eyebrow, tilting his head, "You don't like the smell?" He asks, sniffing the same petal, I hold back the cringe of disgust in my features, and he drops the flower back in its cluster.
"I'll only try a few more?" He says, gesturing for me to close my eyes once again.
I begrudgingly do when the smell of the purple orchid wafts in my nostrils, "Orchid." I murmur, giving him another flat look of nonchalance.
He smiles brightly, "This is your favourite flower."
"No, it's the blossom." I gesture to the small pink ones, and he chuckles.
"It's much harder to fool me, Melanie. Your favourite flower is the orchid." He hands me the flower. I grab the very end of the stalk because he'd cupped the rest of it, only once my hand pinches the stalk, he slides his down and places his hand on the inside of my wrist.
"What are you doing?" I ask lowly.
"Your pulse has jumped. That's how I knew you liked that particular flower; your breathing pattern didn't change, nor did your expression or stance. You keep yourself very closed up, don't you?" He whispers, leaning one step closer. I take one back.
"Let go of my wrist, Professor Forthright," I tell him with a much harsher tone. He moves his hand back to tap my fingers and looks down, dazed.
"You have the softest of skin." He whispers. I snap my hand back and stumble away, only for two large, far more heated hands to grab my waist and pull me into a burly chest, much larger than that of Professor Forthright's, whose head snaps up with a curled lip in annoyance, only to stop at who he sees. Who had caught me and pulled me in close, against the cold, the rain, and the perverted man in front of me?
"Professor Forthright." Deep and dark.
Forthright stands up straighter, "Edmund, I didn't hear you come out."
"You seemed rather preoccupied. Why, may I ask, would you bring Melanie out into the cold rain at eleven in the evening and have her smell flowers when your sessions always remain in your office?" He asks him coldly. Edmund keeps his hands over mine, my arms tucked under his as my head meets his abdomen. I hold in a sigh of relief as Professor Forthright swallows.
I curl in under Edmund's coat, folding it around my bare arms against the wind, he intertwines his hands with mine, and Professor Forthright blinks five times, "I hadn't known which flowers would show the better outcome in relaxation, Edmund. You're interrupting our session." He says.
I raise an eyebrow, faking a yawn, and Edmund clutches me closer, "It seems the lady needs her bed. Lemon?" He asks me. I nod.
"Thank you for the session. Night, Professor Forthright." I mutter as Edmund turns the both of us to the door. He opens it and slips me inside before closing it behind him with a resonating snap. He wraps his arm around my waist and hurriedly moves me down the hall.
"How long had you been inside watching?" I demand of him.
He raises an eyebrow, murmuring to be quiet as he quickly moves us down all three flights of stairs before stepping towards a room whose door holds a wooden wall next to it, obscuring us from the hallway.
"He didn't hurt you, did he?" He whispers dark concern in his features, checking my wrist against the side wall light where he could see my face.
I shake my head, "You came at the correct bloody moment. Do you believe me now?" I mutter in annoyance, removing my hand from his. He leans with one hand out and above me on the wall.
"He's never taken sessions outside his office, and not one of his sessions is supposed to go past ten. It's probably why he brought you up there. I'm sorry I didn't pick up on this before. The tour should have shown me as much. I just couldn't see it." He whispers, tapping the wall once. An alert on my phone has me throwing my hand over his mouth as I stare into his eyes to tell him to be quiet.
When he hears the light resonating steps from upstairs, he moves me into the corner. He shadows the both of us with his long coat, one arm around my shoulder and the other around my waist as he pulls me into his chest when we hear Professor Forthright's annoyed stomping down the corridor.
I move my hand slowly from Edmund's mouth; we don't speak for a few moments as I open the screen on my phone, using the 'Radar. Co' app to check the area. Before, it was only Edmund and me, I sleepily slump against him.
He lets out a small laugh, "All week, you've been ignoring me, and now you're using me as a pillow?" He whispers above me.
"You did just get me out of a situation that was this close to me punching a professor on the jaw," I murmur, thumping my forehead on his stiff abdomen; he keeps me cloaked in his arms.
"Do you record your sessions with him?" He whispers a stoic tone, but his fingers entangle in my golden locks.
I nod, "Yes."
"When will you begin trusting me, lemon?" He asks me slowly.
I huff, "When I know for sure you can't be hypnotized because I know I sure won't fall for that, but Lorraine already has. When you ditched me after the tour, he showed us his office; freaking Lorraine wasn't seeing my hints when I gestured she forgot about it? Honestly, you yelled at me and dominated me, or at least attempted to, but when I stepped closer to you, you would think you'd have gotten that hint that something was off about him, Edmund." I huff in annoyance, looking up at him with a glare. He surprises me when he leans down and skims the tip of his nose along my forehead.
"I didn't know you well enough then...and I did pick up on it. I just didn't understand your meaning." He whispers apologetically against the space between my brow.
"You've known me for only two weeks?" I mutter, leaning back in confusion.
He moves to cup one hand on the back of my head, where he lightly massages. In my fear and his adrenaline to get me away from Professor Forthright. He's become overly affectionate in such a short time.
"I've also been observing you while observing him. Always assume I'm close by." He whispers.
I roll my eyes, and he sees it, "Could've told me that before I had to go with him on the terrace." I mutter. He moves his hand to my lower back and spreads his fingers out.
"I didn't like that he touched you." He whispers, almost hesitantly, with a hint of something else, far more raw and deep, an emotion slightly too heightened for my liking, but I find safety in his arms compared to Professor Forthright's. Edmund rubs my back, removing the touch. I welcome it, and it causes him to continue.
"You're not the only one."