That seems to break through, and he blinks. His grasp on my wrist loosens. “Just see me tomorrow,” he says. “I can’t get you out of my mind. I need to see you.”
With more strength than I feel in the moment, I snatch my arm free and slip away.
I keep walking and push through the doors, hitting the hallway at a brisk pace. The almost fresh air—the air not laced with his scent—clears my head. But I can still hear his words: I need to see you.
Words are powerful. If you give people a chance to speak, their words will tell you who they are.
Carter needs me.
There’s no use fighting this attraction to him, to deny what is happening between us. That’s why I’m here, why I chose this field. To help those who need me.
No matter the risk, I have to take it.
I wrap my hand around the wrist he held captive. It’s hot and pulsing, and I can still feel his fingers pressed to my skin.
On my way to the office, I pass the giant bulletin board in the main hallway, the one situated right under the stairs. It showcases highlights, and updates, and academy news features. Like new students joining Black Mountain Academy.
There’s a picture of Carter under the headline. He’s sporting that cocky smirk he wore in my office. I lift my hand to touch his face…then stop. Glance down either direction of the hallway.
My heart knocks painfully against my breast plate.
A step too far…
I pluck the picture from the board.
It’s just a token of my devotion to my patient, I tell myself. A way to think about him when he’s not around, to keep him in my thoughts, to discover ways to help him.
The words we tell ourselves are just as powerful. We can create any reality as easily as we can distort it. My devotion to Carter is sealed. Even if it means my ruin.
Influence
Ellis
“Student displays signs of Obsessive Love Disorder, responding aggressively when rejected.” I lift my thumb to pause the recording. I use a handheld digital recorder to document private thoughts. No cellphones that can be hacked, or journals that can be misplaced. I have a lock code on the device.
Right now, I’m analyzing Carter’s behavior from the day before, becoming increasingly aware of the possibility that, unless he’s purposely behaving in a way to mislead me, we may share the same disorder.
I press Record. “After his hostile display, I didn’t confirm or deny that our meetings would continue. I’m leaving it up to the student to make the next move, to see what further develops.”
I stop the recording, letting my thoughts wander. It occurred to me, with the little I know about Carter’s home life, there could be a very real link to lack of nurture in his development. Mother or father related.
My mentor speculated that I developed a late onset of OLD when my parents’ car accident took them both away very suddenly. My aunt—my mother’s sister—got custody of me, but she was young and not interested in raising a teenager. I was alone, and the loss of both parental figures caused a sort of break in my psyche, where I in turn latched on to the first boy who showed me attention.
That boy happened to be Jeremy Rivers. The bad boy with adoring admirers falling at his feet. He was already a god at school; it wasn’t a stretch that I put him on an altar.
When the world tells you you’re important, you don’t question it. When every girl willingly hands over her body, as a man, you come to expect it.
And when Jeremy told me I was special, I believed him—I believed I was the one girl he could cherish, that he could love.
That wasn’t my role, though. Jeremy had a girl—one he made believe she was special. I was the other girl. The dirty secret. The one he used and discarded.
I look down at my hands. They’re curled into tight balls, nails sinking deep crescents into my palms. I have fine white scars from healed over wounds.
I chase my thoughts until I realize it’s past nine o’clock, and Carter hasn’t arrived for his appointment. I pick up the phone and push the extension for Ms. Jansen and ask if he’s waiting in the office.
When she confirms my fear, I hang up and snatch my bag from the chair to dig out my keys. I won’t allow myself to make any assumptions. Suspicion demands validation.
I lock my office and pocket the keys before passing a curious looking Ms. Jansen as I cross to the glass door. “Can you please hold any appointments?” I ask her. “I won’t be long.”
Truthfully, I have no plan. Only a pang in my chest that needs to be eased. My heart seized the moment I realized Carter wasn’t coming, and I won’t—I will not—accept anything less than an answer from him.
I was the one who ended the sessions. I told him I could no longer see him. But beneath that stubborn attempt to do the responsible thing, I needed Carter to defy rules and convention and chase me as relentlessly as I’m chasing my feelings for him.
Right this second, I need to look into his pale-blue eyes and know the truth—that I’m not crazy. That he does want me. That I’m not just another tawdry thing to be ignored and discarded.
The clack of my heels against linoleum jacks my heart rate. As I pass each classroom, I briefly peek through the slatted window before moving on. Too late, I realize I should’ve had Ms. Jansen call him out of class. As the thought occurs, the bell rings, and the hallway floods with students.
At 5’ 2”, I’m easily mistaken for a student and find myself backed against the wall to escape the rush. Impatience is a red-hot fire poker prodding me off the wall and carving a path through the crush of bodies.
I spot Carter and instinctively move in his direction. He’s cutting a line through the hallway and knocks into a girl.
“Out of my way,” he growls, and shoves the girl against the wall.
A current of anger slams through me at witnessing his violent action, and I push my way toward him.
I grab Carter’s bicep and forcefully tow him to a classroom alcove. He’s much taller than me at nearly six feet, and I stare up at him, trying to make eye contact. “Look at me,” I demand. When he does, a heated blue flame sparks in his gaze. “What was that? How could you callously shove that girl the way you did?”
He huffs a derisive breath. “Everyone else does it. She got in my way.”
I’m still clutched to his arm, my nails digging past the uniform material. My gaze holds his, each of us daring the other to back down first.
This is his response to my abandoning him yesterday. Had it been any other teacher, Carter would be written up, possibly sentenced to detention or worse. He’s pushing me, testing me.
Willfully, I release his arm and step back. “You have my attention,” I say. “Now stop, before the consequences are out of my hands. Go to class.”
With a defiant edge to his words, he says, “Yes, ma’am.”
I release a bated breath as he storms off. The warning bell rings, and I sink against the wall, needing the support. I spot the girl heading down the hallway in a hurry to escape, her chin tucked to her chest, books held high to guard her.
Carter’s words come back to me: Everyone else does it.
“Hey. Wait,” I call out. She doesn’t acknowledge me. I suck in a fortifying breath and start after her.