CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
If there was a God, he certainly had a sense of humour, for despite my adamant refusal to work with Nathaniel Carrington, we were paired together for our third and final assignment.
How did Nathaniel and I get paired together, you ask? Well, that asshole requested me. And because Professor Haywood absolutely adored him, his request was approved and I was left sitting there, mouth agape in horror, while Nathaniel swivelled in his chair to face me, grinning from ear-to-ear.
“Professor,” I started toward Haywood just as Nathaniel stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
“Thank you for today’s lecture, Professor,” he said, all charm, “I am looking forward to getting started on this final assignment.”
“I too am looking forward to it,” Haywood said, sliding her laptop into its leather case. “I am sure you two will produce a well-researched presentation. You are my top students, so I expect great results.”
“We will not disappoint,” Nathaniel assured her.
Haywood gave each of us a polite nod before leaving the hall, students departing one by one to attend their next class or sprint toward the campus shuttle bus before it filled up.
“Why the fuck would you do that?!” I rounded on Nathaniel.
This pairing completely derailed my plan to replace his number one ranking.
We had won an assignment each, and the third was meant to be the decider.
How could I defeat him when we’d be working together to achieve the same mark?
It would be a draw. And I was certain that Nathaniel’s request to work with me was a tactic to save his own skin from humiliation.
“Do what?” Nathaniel feigned innocence.
“You know what.”
“Why did I make the strategic decision to choose the only other person in this class that actually wants to succeed?”
“There are others,” I insisted.
He shook his head, hands sliding easily into his pockets as he advanced closer, the scent of his floral cologne infiltrating my senses. “They aren’t you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re the only one I believe will give me the best chance of attaining full marks,” he said, “and I think you know I am your best chance too.”
He has a point, you know.
“Maybe you’re right,” I relented. “But you’re an asshole for not giving me a choice.”
“Who would you have chosen, then?”
“I…” My mouth fell shut as I failed to conjure a single classmate who I would have been happy to work with.
Nathaniel smiled knowingly before moving to step past me. “I’ll be in touch, Augustus. I am looking forward to working together.”
***
I received an email notification during my study break the following day. It was from Nathaniel. I wanted to ignore it, of course, but fate would not allow it. I had been condemned to collaborate with him, my success aligned with his. I had no choice but to respond.
This is Hell, the Devil complained as I opened the email and read through his unnaturally polite message.
Dear Augustus,
I hope you are doing well on this fine morning. As discussed yesterday, I am looking forward to working together and would like to arrange a study session as soon as possible.
I prepared a research proposal and an outline of my arguments last night but since this is a group task, I would like your input and feedback before we proceed. Please let me know your availability.
Kind regards, Nate.
Of course he already had an outline. It was his way of asserting dominance. But how could he possibly have an outline when we hadn’t even discussed a topic? I would not reward his arrogance with compliance.
I responded to his email without a greeting, suggesting we share a google document and collaborate online rather than meeting up in-person.
His response entered my inbox minutes later.
Dear Augustus,
I believe it would be far more beneficial to work together in person as it is easier to brainstorm and debate ideas. Please let me know what day and time works best for you.
Kind regards, Nate.
A study session with Nathaniel Carrington—what day and time worked best for me? Perhaps the Friday after never?
You’re being dramatic, the Devil scolded me, you’re acting as though he is the Devil incarnate.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I muttered under my breath.
Irony, perhaps?
“I hate you.”
You hate everyone.
I rolled my eyes and forced myself to respond to his email with my availability. What choice did I have? I couldn’t risk failing. If I had to endure Nathaniel for a few study sessions to succeed, then so be it.
***
Nathaniel reserved a study room tucked away on the third floor of the university library, an arched oak door with ‘room 044’ inscribed on the rusted plaque dangling from the worn wood.
A curved window stained with dirt and grime offered a pale glow illuminating the dark oak desk in the centre of the room, the lantern in the right-hand corner barely adding any light.
I lowered myself onto one of four wooden chairs crowded around the table, dust coating my fingertips as I drummed them against the creaking wood.
My leg bounced up and down to the same rhythm until the door screeched open and Nathaniel entered with twelve pages of research, his laptop, and two books on criminal psychology.
Within seconds, he launched into a presentation to convince me his chosen topic was the one we should pursue.
I sat in silence, arms folded over my chest as he rattled on with statistics and research. He paced up and down the small space as though he were a professor lecturing his students. I was bored out of my mind. And I did not want to do our essay and presentation on the topic he’d chosen.
“In conclusion,” Nathaniel finished his argument with a charming smile that screamed punch me in the face, “I believe our research should focus on how serial killers manipulate their victims, detectives and members of the jury to convey innocence.”
“I disagree.”
Nathaniel frowned in a childish pout as a single strand of hair fell over his deep brown eyes. “You…disagree?”
“Everyone is going to choose psychopaths and serial killers. We did three weeks on ‘the criminal mind’ alone. And it’s clearly what everyone is most interested in,” I explained, “we should try and stand out by doing something different.”
To my surprise, Nathaniel did not argue. “Okay,” he murmured, picking at his bottom lip absentmindedly as he sat down, “what did you have in mind?”
I slid my laptop toward him so he could read the three pages of research and brainstorming I had prepared prior to our meeting. It was not as thorough as Nathaniel’s—but it had all the information he needed to make a decision.
“Why did you choose this topic?” he asked once he'd finished reading. “I mean, we could have done anything. And you chose…” He squinted as he peered down at my laptop screen, “... religious fanaticism, an investigation into how cults manipulate its members to produce religious psychosis?”
My shoulders deflated. He didn’t sound impressed. “I chose it because no one else will. Haywood is probably sick of psychopaths. Let’s at least make grading our assignment interesting for her, hm?”
“It certainly is interesting…” Nathaniel hummed.
“But?”
“But nothing.”
I gave him a look.
“I’m serious!” he insisted with a laugh as he returned my laptop. “It’s interesting. I’m all in.”
“But you’re…a med student,” I blurted out.
“And?”
“And this seems…vastly out of your…”
“Circle of interests?” Nathaniel offered.
I nodded.
A quiet chuckle escaped his throat. “You don’t even know me, Augustus. How would you know what my interests are? What do you think I do in my spare time? Stare at medicine cabinets?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
He returned the look I gave him earlier.
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes. “I just don’t want to be blamed if we do poorly.”
“Are you worried about doing poorly?”
“Of course.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re paired with me.”
God, he really was infuriating. “That does not reassure me.”
“Liar,” he teased.
I scoffed. “Are we in agreement then? Or do you have another PowerPoint presentation you need to get through?”
“I told you I’m interested!”
“Fine!”
“Good!”
“So, it’s agreed then?”
“Yes!”
“Good!”
A long silence drifted between us as we glared at one another. Nathaniel’s ears were red, and my jaw was clenched so hard that when I finally opened it to take a sip of water, it ached.
“Do you have a hypothesis?” Nathaniel finally broke the silence.
“Yes,” I breathed out, “cults facilitate an environment of religious fanaticism that breeds psychosis.”
Nathaniel nodded as he opened up a new page in his notebook. “Okay, then, we need a minimum of ten scholarly articles. You’ve already found some, right?”
“I have four,” I shrugged.
“Alright. I’ll find the other six,” he replied.
“We also need a case study.”
Nathaniel nodded and we spent the next few hours working in silence, only exchanging a few words to answer questions or resolve any concerns.
I had almost forgotten Nathaniel was there until a quiet 'holy shit' escaped his throat. I lifted my head and watched as he leaned closer to his laptop screen, lips parted and eyes wide.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Come take a look at this.”
I moved around to stand behind him, leaning down to read the news article lighting up his screen.
“There was this Doctor in the United States who wanted to see if he could withstand the psychological manipulation of some cult leader,” Nathaniel summarised, “and he joined with the intention of studying the members and providing tips on how to avoid being manipulated. It was originally only meant to be a one-month trial, but according to his family, he went missing for over a year.”
“Holy shit,” I repeated Nathaniel’s words. “So what, he joined the cult, then?”