Chapter 24
And so, Genius of Love was born, and your old friend Mary-Elizabeth is going to become a podcast girlie.
By untethering myself from the fantasy of Felix, I’m taking control of my own shit.
But there’s some of my own shit that doesn’t really have anything to do with him, and I need to get on top of that too.
I steel myself and open my laptop, type an email to lovely Jessica.
To: Jessica.Bailey@
Hi Jessica,
I feel like everything’s got to be a bit of a mess and I would really appreciate your help in trying to un-mess it. I know that’s not your job as my personal tutor, but . . .
With hope,
M-E
p.s. Sorry for blanking you in the quad, very rude of me. Should have told you how gorgeous that green scarf was with the iconic blue coat.
She replies almost instantly:
From: Jessica.Bailey@
To: MBax2464@
Hi Mary-Elizabeth,
Really glad to hear from you. Would you be on campus tomorrow afternoon? I have a good amount of time then and will be in my office from 3 p.m. I would really love to help, and I know we can work something out.
Best wishes,
Jessica
I’m unquestionably nervous as I make my way to Jessica’s office. I’ve never been bad at school or university before. I’ve always had good attendance, always turned my work in on time, always been trying even if I found some subjects hard. Tentatively, I knock on her office door.
‘Come in? Ah! There you are!’ she says, as if she’s genuinely happy to see me.
‘Are you still all right to . . . you know, talk now?’
‘I am indeed! Take a seat,’ she says, gesturing to an elegantly beaten-up sofa with a big check blanket draped over the back. ‘So, how are you doing now?’ She casts a searching look over my face and waits for my response.
‘I’m doing better, I think,’ I say, nodding.
‘Do you want to talk about what’s been going on with you?’ she asks gently.
‘Um,’ I say, furrowing my brow. ‘I suppose it all started when my drink got spiked while I was DJing. Nothing happened, a friend looked after me and everything was OK, but it threw me off a bit and I didn’t, like, want to come onto campus.
Didn’t want to leave my flat really, so that didn’t help.
And then I was seeing . . .’ I swallow, wondering how much detail you’re allowed to go into with your personal tutor.
‘I was seeing this guy, and I thought I could handle not being exclusive with him, but it turned out I couldn’t and then he was kind of a dick to me about getting my drink spiked and then this thing happened where .
. . I didn’t really know how to tell him I didn’t want to have sex with him and did it anyway.
So I felt shit for a while and couldn’t bring myself to do anything, stopped writing my advice column because I didn’t know what to say to anyone, stopped coming to lectures because I knew I wouldn’t be concentrating. Just stopped really.’
Jessica nods. Something has come over her. It’s like she’s trying to remain cool and professional, but the barely contained anger on my behalf is radiating off her. ‘That’s completely understandable.’
‘I guess I just feel . . . a bit silly, you know? I should be able to deal with all this stuff and write essays and show up to classes . . . but I just couldn’t.’
She shakes her head quickly. ‘No. It’s not silly.
It’s really easy for these things to snowball and get on top of you.
You’re not the first person whose life got a bit out of control and their studies took a backseat, and you won’t be the last. But I was really encouraged by your email, and if you’re ready to get things back on track then I want to support you in that. ’
‘I just feel so far behind, even a few weeks is like . . . an avalanche of work,’ I say, burying my head in my hands, letting my pink curls fall over my face so she can’t see me.
It’s not just uni either, I’ve agreed to do another ThrowBax in a couple of weeks and I just want to feel like myself for that again, too. ‘I don’t know if I can bring it back.’
‘I’m here to help,’ Jessica says, the perfect mix of businesslike and warm.
‘As far as my classes are concerned, don’t worry about attendance.
That’s not something I think is particularly important.
I just think you would enjoy the material, so if you feel like catching up, I can send you some notes, and if you feel inspired, you can turn in an essay any time, just so you feel like you’re on top of stuff but with no time pressure. Does that sound OK?’
I nod. ‘But it’s not just your classes .
. . it’s the others too.’ I nibble my lip, which is something I never do because I’m always wearing lipstick and I don’t want to leave a gross little blank patch where I’ve gnawed away the colour.
‘Should I make an appointment to talk to John Schaffer about the essay I didn’t turn in?
It counts towards my final grade. The stupid thing is that I started it and it’s just sitting on my computer half-done. ’
Jessica shakes her head. ‘I can talk to him; it won’t be a problem.
I think maybe it would be better for you to just start over when you leave this room.
Consider the matter closed and the only thing left to do is finish that essay, send it to him when you’re ready and then take next term as a new beginning. ’
‘That would be really helpful . . . thank you.’
She pauses. ‘I know it’s hard. And things have happened to you recently that shouldn’t have happened. So I’m not surprised you reacted the way you did. I would probably have done the same.’
‘Would you?’ I ask, and I realise I’m crying. I didn’t mean to cry, but it feels OK to do it here. Not like she’ll think I’m weak and silly.
She reaches behind her and hands me a box of tissues from her desk, which I assume are there for this specific reason. Tearful undergraduates. ‘Of course,’ she says gently.
‘I just . . . got it into my head that nothing that bad happened and I was overreacting.’
‘No. Absolutely not. These things are less ambiguous than you think they are. What happened to you was wrong, on both counts, with the drugging and what happened with your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I say, gently dabbing under my eyes so I don’t disrupt my mascara.
‘Was it that blond boy I saw you with in the storm? I sensed there was something between you two.’
I nod. ‘Felix. He didn’t look like he’d hurt me, did he?’
‘They never do, that’s how they get away with it.’ She reaches across and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Do you feel a bit better now? I always find doing something is useful, once I’ve got into a pattern of not doing things. It was brave of you to contact me. I appreciate it.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, my eyes finally dry. ‘I do feel better. Thank you. I feel . . . I feel like I have things to be getting on with now. Not even, you know, just to distract me, but proper things to do. And that’s what I needed, you know?
I’m a doer. I like doing things.’ The temptation to tell Mark at the Union that I want to cancel ThrowBax has been strong, but maybe I’m a bit stronger.
‘I can see that in you,’ she says, smiling. ‘I think the world needs more doers. Please try not to let this steal your joy.’
I take a deep breath and get to my feet. ‘I won’t. I’ve got essays to write.’
Not to mention a new podcast to record . . .