I had to look, to know… Was it possible there was any relation to Jeremy Rivers?
Seven states separate the two. I knew it was unlikely—and yet, I couldn’t stop the compulsive thought. I needed to confirm it; that all Carter’s likeness to the boy from my past was an unfortunate coincidence. Then, my mind would be free of the
obsessive thought.
When I found the answer—of course, it was impossible—I wanted to stop looking…but I had opened a door into his life. The latch on Pandora’s box was broken. I had access to pictures, and posts, his thoughts. Carter enjoyed hiking the mountain trail. He started drum lessons over the summer. He’s into old-school eighties rock bands and appreciates the classics. He rides a mean dirt bike.
I had fallen down the rabbit hole. The more I learned about Carter, the more differences between he and Jeremy I could establish, further separating them. This was good. Making them distinctive in my mind. So that when Carter next entered my office, I wouldn’t be taken by surprise and I could give him the unique focus he deserves.
This study into Carter would make me a better psychologist for him.
Week two at BMA, and I’ve wandered into the faculty lounge. The room is quiet, almost stifling, actually. The atmosphere with its tranquil off-white, neutral tones is supposed to be soothing, as it attempts to camouflage the cinderblock walls. There’s a trendy little coffee area with shiplap boards and hooks converted into coffee mug holders and a black chalkboard that reads Welcome in handwritten cursive script. The few teachers here are preoccupied by their phones. Scrolling through social media, reading emails.
I seal the lid of my gray travel mug and move to the block wood table along the wall. The incessant impulse I’ve been trying to suppress all morning to pull up Carter’s social media page rises hot like a flame, but I tamp it down. I can’t give in to those old, familiar cravings.
It’s like a drug addiction. No matter how much time has passed, the hunger is always present. I’ve learned to curb the desire, but every once in a while, a strong urge to take a hit strikes like a thunderous bolt. It would be so easy to fall off the wagon and give in.
No. I’ve worked too hard, come too far, to lose control now.
“So, how was your first week?”
The interruption stirs a hot annoyance, and I almost snap at the woman. Instead, I force a sugary smile like I’ve practiced. Whenever irritation takes hold, I’ve learned to simply smile at people. This always disarms, and you can practically say anything with a smile and be excused.
She takes a seat across from me before I offer. She has to be more than ten years older than me, somewhere in her mid- to late-thirties, and she’s wearing an outdated, worn blazer. Her hair is pulled in a high bun with loose, wiry strands of white poking out against the undyed dark-brown.
“So?” she prods, then takes a sip of her coffee. The mug is one of the communal cups from the coffee area of the lounge.
My nose wrinkles in disgust, and I instantly brighten my smile. “It was good. I mean, a lot to take in, but I think it went well. Thanks for asking…”
“Susan Canterbury.” She extends her hand across the table. “Call me Sue. Advance calculus. Yikes. I know. But I love math.”
I nod slowly. “Great. How long have you been at the academy?” I ask, then peek around her head, trying to find the exit, my escape.
It’s not that I don’t like people, or aren’t friendly. I just have a low tolerance for small talk. Having the same boring interaction with strangers over and over… Frankly, it’s tedious, tiring, and makes my head hurt.
Sue doesn’t feel the same way, obviously. Her dull brown eyes widen with excitement. “Well, technically, I started part time as a sub over a decade ago.”
I nod as she drones on, relaying the adventures of how she came to be the head of the calculus department. I’m tuning her out, sipping my coffee and nodding along, until my ears pick up on a familiar name.
“What about Carter Hensley?” I ask.
Sue’s head notches back, as if my speaking for the first time to interrupt her spiel is rude. “I was saying, I saw him go into your office last week. That must have been a challenge for your first day, am I right? I have Carter in my fifth period—”
I hold up a hand. “Sue, with all due respect, I can’t discuss a student’s private session.” The adult, professional part of me is shining through brightly. Underneath, the dragon is screaming: say his name say his name say his name.
The hit to my craving. Soothing ointment to the burn. I want her to tell me everything she knows about Carter.
“Oh, I’m sorry. No. I didn’t mean anything like that.” She shakes her head, clearly rattled. “I was just saying, he’s troubled, is all. He was expelled from the public high school after that incident. You know… When he nearly beat that poor boy to death. Assault charges filed.” She whispers this last part with a solemn head shake. “I heard there were also quite a few altercations with his teachers. Typically, the academy would never accept such a disturbed youth, so they must have great faith in you as his counselor.”
A compliment to stroke my ego and lower my defenses. She’s a practiced gossip whore. This school is her life. I wonder what little tidbit about me was passed around before I started. Still, it’s never a bad idea to befriend a gossip. They keep you informed.
“I’m just honored to be given the chance to help.” My smile is vibrant. Then, so I know she sees the label on front, I grab my Prada bag and pull out my phone. I pretend to check a message. “I should get to my office to start prepping for the day.”
“Of course,” Sue says. “It was so good to meet you, Ellis.”
We’re on a first-name basis, and I didn’t tell her mine. “You too, Sue. Have a great day.”
Have a great fucking day, you whore. This woman doesn’t have any clue about how special Carter is. I tap out a note on my phone to follow up with him about his calculus class; find out if he’s having issues.