The Other Girl

I stopped taking my meds a month ago.

Scrolling through Carter’s latest updates, I try to rationalize the feelings storming inside me. Carter’s resemblance to Jere

my piqued my interest, but it was Carter’s thoughts, his words, the inflection in his voice, that roused every other part of me.

I fear I’m falling harder and faster for Carter…and I’m terrified I won’t be able to stop. Even the realization of what his dark energy can do to my world isn’t strong enough to change the course.

Euphoria demands more.

No matter the price.

The war continues to rage internally as I swipe down the page, and I notice the same person liking Carter’s posts and comments.

Addison Young.

She’s beautiful.

Curious and with trepidation crawling up my spine, I click her name and read her profile. She attends Carter’s old school. There are a lot of pictures of them together. According to her most recent post, her and her best friend Carter recently took their bikes on a mountain trail run.

An inferno ignites in the pit of my stomach. My hands shake, making it difficult to scroll her page. Carter has a young, beautiful best friend.

I curse and close the app.

There’s always a beautiful girl. And she’s always a good girl. Smart, and witty, and stylish without trying too hard. She’s seen as perfect by everyone around her. A saint.

This particular girl will be the one Carter turns to when he needs advice, his sounding board.

That’s how it always starts, before feelings progress…

A memory of silky cinnamon hair and green eyes flicker through my mind like a strobe effect. Just as quickly, I douse the images. There’s no place for that bitch in my world now. She doesn’t get to invade my new life.

The urge to move hits, and I stand to pace the small area of my office, needing to walk off the jumpy energy. I’m too on edge. I run my hands through my hair, grip my hands into fists. The top drawer of my desk holds office supplies. I tug it open and dig out a rubber band.

The band goes around my wrist and I snap it repeatedly until the jitteriness subsides.

A knock sounds at my door, and panic flares. I roll the band up and pull my sleeve down, then fix my hair. “Yes?”

Ms. Jansen peeks her head through the cracked door. “Hi, Ellis. I have a student walk-in wanting to speak with you. Do you have time?”

Calm breath. Smile. “Yes, I have time. Can you give me five minutes?”

She nods, but I can see the curious glaze in her weathered eyes. I’m still just standing here, in the middle of my office. Like a lunatic. She closes the door.

I whisper a curse. Slowly and with deliberate movements, I seat myself behind the desk. I take a few moments to process my thoughts and compose myself.

I’m fixating.

It’s one of the beginning stages of OLD. I can see the signs so clearly, and yet every fiber of my being denies what’s happening. I want to feel this way about Carter. Isn’t that another type of sign? That we were meant to find each other?

Override emotions with logic.

If something is meant to be, it will happen without my influence.

The only danger in that is what it will cost me.

I can’t draw suspicion—and rumors about the school psychologist being intimately involved with a student would definitely draw the wrong type of attention.

The wise thing to do would be to pass Carter’s case on to another counselor. I can’t be around him. I need to end all contact.