CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #2
The remainder of the lecture went as it usually did.
Nathaniel answered all the questions and received praise that lit up his face when he turned to his friend beside him, probably to brag.
I knew all the answers too, but my fear of drawing attention to myself yet again kept me from raising my hand.
I had already debated in front of the class and that alone had made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Toward the end of the lecture, Professor Haywood began discussing the requirements for our second assessment: a literature review on the theories regarding the types of people more at risk of being psychologically manipulated.
A stress headache pounded against my skull.
I had other assessments due around the same time, and between work, classes, and Auden, I was struggling to manage my time effectively.
But literature reviews were quite simple—all I had to do was compare theories from other academics and determine common themes or common variances.
And yet, the pressure remained. This was my chance to overthrow Nathaniel and take his crown. I didn’t want to waste it.
Why bother? He’ll just win like Alexander did.
The second Professor Haywood ended the lecture, I fled the hall.
A warm breeze caressed my curls, brushing them off my forehead as I made the short trek to the library.
I was looking forward to an hour of solitude before my next class.
Unfortunately, however, fate wrapped its cold hands around me and tugged me back.
“Saint!”
I came to an abrupt halt. No one called out to me. Ever. For a full minute, I thought that maybe it was just the Devil in my ear playing a trick on me, but then I heard quiet panting, and I turned, slowly, gaze resting on Nathaniel, his cheeks red from running to catch up with me.
“Hey! I’m Nathaniel.” A flash of white teeth blinded me when he smiled, his hand outstretched towards mine. Black ink decorated the inside of his wrist, the number eleven etched in small roman numerals above his bulging blue veins.
“I know,” I said, leaving his hand untouched between us.
The smile never left his face as he lowered his hand and slipped it into the pocket of his grey trousers, brown eyes radiating warmth like honey being poured into tea.
“I look forward to working with you again this semester,” he said, tilting his head slightly to avoid the sunlight kissing his warm, golden skin. “You are doing well in this module. Second place, right?”
A sharp exhale erupted from me. He knew I was second to him. He knew and yet he phrased it like a question. My hand twitched with the need to slap the smile right off his stupid face and bury it where no one would ever find it.
Why does he make you so angry?
“Far below your level, I expect,” I drawled sarcastically, ignoring the Devil's question, “you wouldn’t want to work with someone like me.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “On the contrary, you are quite literally the only one I would even dare to work with. This class is…quite difficult compared to my others. I think if we work together, pick each other’s brains a bit, we can both walk away with High Distinctions.”
I do not praise myself often, and certainly not over trivial things, but a round of applause would suffice to compensate for the laughter I swallowed down as I listened to Nathaniel speak.
Did he really believe I would work with my competition just so that he could maintain his perfect grades?
I was many things, but an idiot was not one of them.
“If you’re finding this module difficult,” I said, perfectly calm, “I suggest you take advantage of the affordable tutoring sessions the university offers.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. A brush of wind flattened the mess of black hair over his forehead in a way that made him look almost boyish. I did my best to hide my amusement. This was how I liked to see him. Confidence knocked out of him like a bat to a pinata.
He watched me for a moment before a wide smile returned to his face. “If you change your mind,” he pulled out his phone and held up a screenshot of his social media notifications, “you clearly know how to contact me.”
Words abandoned me amid my horror. A week prior, I had been scrolling social media when Nathaniel’s account was recommended on my feed.
Curious, I clicked on his profile, scrolling through the many photos of award ceremonies and voluntary competitions, lingering on one photo of a pride parade in London.
I must have accidentally liked the post whilst I was stalking his account.
And he had known all this time. Humiliation was too light of a word for what I experienced in that moment.
Without uttering another word, Nathaniel returned to his friends who had been waiting by a bench beneath a large oak tree, fallen leaves decorating the pale green grass.
He disappeared into the endless crowd of students while I hurried to the library, itching to disappear and drown myself in a pool of my own embarrassment.
Now, more than ever, it became an absolute necessity that I outranked him in the next assignment.
***
A requirement for all students enrolled in the Bachelor of Psychological Studies was to undergo six sessions with one of Dawnridge’s experienced psychologists within the first academic year.
It was ridiculous, really. But I could hold off on it no longer, so I booked my first session with Dr. Valerie Rosewood.
The expectation was that by undergoing a session for ourselves, we would be able to empathise with our future patients.
I personally believe it was a way to snap off all the unstable students and throw them to the wind.
I knocked on the door to Dr. Rosewood’s office and was met with a woman in her early thirties, short black hair that brushed her shoulders and piercing blue eyes that you only read about in books. She smiled in greeting and extended her hand before inviting me inside.
It was a small office, with four white walls decorated with motel art, the right one home to a window overlooking campus while the left contained two tall bookshelves.
“It’s nice to meet you, Augustus,” she said as the door fell shut behind me. “How are you finding your second semester at Dawnridge?”
She settled into a mustard-coloured armchair by the window and gestured for me to take the small, identical armchair across from her. With a notepad and pen in hand, one leg crossed over the other, she waited for my answer with an expectant smile.
“Yeah, uh, it’s been good,” I answered, shifting nervously in my seat as my gaze drifted toward the several objects on her desk, eyes gliding over the mountain of paperwork and a framed photo of three women throwing their graduation caps into the air.
“Well, thank you for coming to see me. I’m looking forward to our six sessions together,” she said, drawing my attention back to the pen she fiddled with as she watched me. “Have you ever had a session with a psychologist before?”
I had, once. A month after my mother disappeared, Uncle Brady drove me to a children’s clinic in the city while my father stayed home with Auden.
I suppose it was an attempt to get me to open up about what I experienced in North Lane, or to unpack my feelings about my mother leaving, but I didn’t say a word the entire hour.
Uncle Brady didn’t make me go again after that.
“No,” I lied.
Dr. Rosewood nodded. “We’re just going to have a conversation. Is that okay?”
She’s acting like you have a choice, the Devil complained.
“That’s fine,” I forced out.
“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, let me know and we can discuss something else,” she said, “but, you should know, discomfort is a sign of progress.”
I nodded without a word, my eyes drifting toward the clock hanging above the window. Barely any time had passed since I sat down.
“Why have you chosen to study psychology, Augustus?”
My palms grew slippery with sweat as I shifted in my seat, leg bouncing up and down with little control.
It felt like a job interview. And I did not do well under pressure.
The only reason Browning Books hired me was because they hadn’t received many applicants, and my living nearby worked in my favour.
“I…uh…I…” I cleared my throat and made a second attempt. “I guess I want to understand how the mind works.”
“Ah,” Dr. Rosewood hummed, “I think a lot of us are driven to psychology due to a desire to understand what makes people think and act the way they do.”
I nodded my assent.
“And what are you hoping to do with this degree?”
“I want to be an accredited psychiatrist,” I answered, though it was a practiced response. Despite my interest in psychology, I wasn’t yet convinced that I wanted to spend nearly eight years studying to be a psychiatrist. It was a big commitment, and what if I changed my mind four years into it?
“A clear goal. That’s good.” Silence hung between us after my wordless nod. And then, “Tell me more about yourself.”
I loathed this question. On the surface, it was simple, but at its core, you were required to pick yourself apart and choose what you thought the other person wanted to hear.
In this situation, I wasn’t quite sure what Dr. Rosewood expected, so I went with a universal sample response I had lined up.
I told her I was from the small town of Rose Chapel but now lived alone with my younger brother, I worked part-time at Browing Books and spent my free time painting.
“Oh, what do you like to paint?” she asked, resting an elbow on her thigh as she leaned forward, seemingly interested.
I knew she was feigning curiosity, so I answered in a bored tone, “Random things.”
“Random things like what?” she pushed.
“Does it really matter?” I challenged.
She sighed. “Augustus, one day you are going to be in my position, trying to get to know someone you’ll be working with. Wouldn’t you want them to answer your questions?”
“Of course,” I said, slowly drawing my gaze toward the window. “But that’s different. They will need help. I don’t. This is just to pass.”
“You will be evaluated, Augustus. And in order for me to evaluate you, you must be compliant and willing to engage in conversation. If I cannot evaluate you, you cannot pass.”
And there it was. My crushing defeat. I could not simply get through these sessions with a stubborn attitude and dishonest answers.
“Okay,” I sighed, “I’m sorry.”
Dr. Rosewood’s gaze softened. “There’s no need to apologise, Augustus. Let’s talk about your art then, shall we?”
***
“Augustus?”
I was at my desk, the pale glow of my computer screen the only light in a room swallowed by darkness. Auden stood in the doorway, still in his school uniform, headphones secured around his neck.
“What is it?” I asked gently, gesturing for Auden to switch on my light.
The room erupted in colour, my bedroom walls decorated with art I had accumulated over the years, some of my own, some purchased.
Although my new room was much smaller than the one at Aunt Vera’s, there was enough space for a single bed, a wooden wardrobe, a single bookcase and a desk.
I hadn’t purchased a set of drawers yet, so the clothes that weren’t in my wardrobe were still in boxes, scattered across the carpeted floor.
“Can we watch a movie?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that I was too busy, that my university work was piling up and I didn’t have time, but when I saw the hopeful look in his bright blue eyes and the nervous chewing of his lip, guilt barrelled through me.
It had been quite some time since I’d dedicated time for Auden.
We hardly saw each other outside of mealtimes.
I missed him. And it was clear he missed me too.
“Yeah, of course we can,” I breathed out. “Go pick a movie and I’ll meet you in a few minutes, okay?”
His face lit up and he sprinted toward the living room, my heart aching at the thought of him spending these past few months alone, in a new city, without any ounce of attention.
I was a bad brother. It was because of me we had to move, and yet I was selfish, failing to dedicate time to ensuring he was comfortable.
Slamming my laptop shut, I rose to my feet and met Auden in the living room, lips pulled upward at the bowl of snacks he’d gathered on the coffee table. Two sodas, a shared bowl of popcorn, and two chocolate bars.
“Where’d you get these from?” I asked.
“I bought them after school,” Auden said.
“You planned to have a movie night?”
“Yes, I bought snacks as an incentive. But you agreed before I had to beg.”
My breath hitched as if physically wounded. “I would never make you beg, Audie.”
Auden shrugged and reached for the remote, avoiding my gaze as he flicked through available movies on our watch list.
I watched him, the way he chewed on the inside of his mouth and drummed his fingers against his thigh.
“Auden. Look at me for a second.” He slowly turned his head. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“I just…feel like you don’t need me anymore.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
Auden shrugged, but I knew he had an answer, he was just too hesitant to say it.
I sighed and leaned forward, desperate to catch his gaze as I said, “I will always need you, okay? I know I’ve been busy with work and my studies, but I will never not need you. We’re in this together, always.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
With a satisfied smile, Auden selected a movie while I reached for the popcorn. It broke my heart to know that Auden thought I didn’t need him. I needed him more than he realised. He was the light anchoring me to my humanity, the salvation to my sin. Without him, I had no idea who I would be.