Sociopath
Chess
We’re early for my angel’s appointment this morning.
Not by much, but enough that it feels like I’m dragging a wrongly convicted woman to her execution.
The hallways in the admin building are often crowded even at this time, but this stretch is blessedly empty.
Not even a stray student to stare at the scuffed toe of my shoe and ask for directions to some clearly marked place—Rockland’s corner of the world must have a ‘stay the fuck away’ vibe that conquers even the dumbest of newbies to campus.
It’s a minor miracle, considering our luck lately.
Dolly is still running on ballet adrenaline, which means she’s lighter on her feet, has her shoulders set, and her hair up in a style that’s ninety percent pins.
She’s zipped into her hoodie, but her leotard is visible at the neck, a fact I keep to myself even though it gives me the urge to drag her back to the annex and never let her near Rockland’s orbit ever again.
Her leg warmers have slid down to her ankles, bunching at the top of her sneakers, and the only reason she’s not bitching about it is that her mind’s already two steps ahead, prepping for the shitshow waiting at the end of this corridor.
I’m carrying her dance bag over my left shoulder.
The strap was digging into her skin, and I enjoy having a tangible reason to pamper her.
Also, she threatened to use it as a projectile as we left the Shird, and I have a healthy respect for blunt instruments wielded by angry rabbits.
Even if she’s not aiming it at me, the thought of her losing her temper with pushy students and getting in trouble isn’t optimal.
When we finally reach the office door, Dolly’s vibe shifts from low-level anxiety to red alert.
You can hear it, like the faint static before a summer storm.
Underneath the nameplate on it, someone has added a sticker that says ‘Student Advocate’, which makes both of us snort.
Maybe in Bizarro World, but definitely not here or now.
Rockland is on zero committees, attends no meetings, and stays away from everyone except during her office hours.
She’s not helping anyone but herself, and the only person who believes otherwise is her.
Dolly plants one palm flat on the door, pushes it open, and walks in like she owns the fucking place.
Despite the internal conflict, her ability to project confidence and faith in herself is unmatched, I swear.
As the door swings open, I note that the outer office looks like a triage tent for paperwork casualties.
Every surface is buried in open files, loose forms, and off-brand Post-its curling at the edges.
There’s a coffee mug tipped over near my desk, a ring of brown slowly eating into the surface, and the rolling chair is shoved so far back it’s wedged against the filing cabinet.
The smell in here is two parts burnt coffee, one part copy machine, and a lingering note of delivery food.
What the hell has she been doing in here since Friday? I didn’t leave it like this.
Rockland is pacing the five-foot stretch between the copier and the window, like a zoo animal that’s spent too long staring at glass.
Her hair is an absolute rat’s nest in what is trying to be a messy bun, and her blouse is half-untucked, exposing the waistband of pants that were not designed for someone of her body type.
There’s a broad smear of something blue across the back of her hand, and when she swipes at a stack of papers, she leaves an ink tattoo on the top sheet.
She sees us and, instead of a greeting, launches into a rant immediately.
Her voice is just short of a shriek but loaded with enough venom to melt a dozen weaker preds.
“Mr. Khan, you have no business being here this early. There are at least two office policies about arriving early for shifts without being asked. You should know; you’re the reason they exist after your nonsense last year.
My waiting area is only for people with actual appointments. ”
Dolly blinks, her mouth half-open, and then catches herself.
The disbelief as she takes in the disaster in the outer office, the frazzled state of the woman herself, and the undeniable reek of panic is obvious.
But then her chin lifts, and she fires back as her hands land on her hips.
“It’s precisely seven-fifty- nine a.m. and my appointment is at eight.
If your clock is off, you’re welcome to file a facilities request, but I’m going to assume the displayed time is correct. ”
Rockland glares. “You truly feel you’re above the rules, don’t you?
” She looks pointedly at me, then at the dance bag, and back to Dolly.
“This is not a team session. You don’t need your—” She pauses, searching for a word that won’t get her written up, fails to find it, and settles on, “your personal escort in here.”
“You know I do, and the approved list includes Chess.” My bunny crosses her arms over her chest, her posture getting more stubborn as the vulture pushes her. “It’s legally required and has been approved since last week. You haven’t objected since… until today. Why is that?”
For a second, I contemplate saying something.
I have a hundred rehearsed comebacks for moments like this, but it’s not worth the detour.
Instead, I slide a hand into the inside pocket of my jacket, thumb already brushing over the screen of my phone.
Rockland is more unhinged beyond her usual flavor of evil today.
I notice her shoes are different—one sneaker, one flat—and her eyes are rimmed with a shade of fatigue that can’t be covered without makeup.
I’d lay odds that something big detonated in her world this weekend and she’s barely keeping the pieces together.
Dolly sets her backpack on an empty chair with the same deliberation as someone placing an expensive chess piece, and continues in an icy tone, “If it’s such a problem, we can call my attorney and confirm the arrangement again. Otherwise, get the hell out of the way so we can get this over with.”
I text the group thread as soon as Rockland turns her back.
CSpot: Rockland is fully unhinged today. Worse than usual. Heads up.
TigerWoody: Want me to swap her face powder for capsaicin powder?
LustyLibrarian: Have not needed to incinerate anyone yet. Would greatly enjoy it.
TigerKing: Noted. Update if need be.
EmoBatman: I can get there quickly, Chester. Keep us in the loop.
Rockland snags a handful of papers and flings open her office door with a motion that would impress a king. She barks, “Let’s go, then. We should not waste the precious moments of your appointment when you have so many issues to cover.”
My mate rises, shooting me a half-smile, and I fall in behind her, the bag slung over my shoulder.
Rockland herds us into her personal space, and the door clicks behind us with a lock that’s louder than it needs to be.
The sound reverberates in my ribs, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
For a second, I wonder if there’s a way out if this goes truly south.
Probably not, but I’ve been in worse rooms on Bloodstone.
Dolly takes her seat with a calm that is so practiced it’s definitely genetic. I settle into the chair next to her, my hands visible, and phone tucked within reach. The vulture doesn’t bother sitting; she stands behind her desk, palms flat against the cheap veneer, and stares us down.
“You’re stuck here because you’re a problem, Drew,” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice that makes it clear this session is going to be terrible.
“According to your mother, you’ve always been a problem.
The way things are going since you started seeing me, I’m beginning to suspect you’re enjoying it rather than trying to become a better person. Is that accurate?”
“I’m just here to check off this appointment, Carina.
I don’t have to respond to questions like that because they’re counterproductive to any kind of therapeutic program.
” The bunny tilts her head as she crosses her legs and swings the top one in annoyance.
“It feels as if whatever you have going on in your life is being transposed onto mine. There’s a term for that, I believe, isn’t there? ”
I glance at the motivational poster on the wall.
It says, “Challenges make life interesting; overcoming them is what makes life meaningful.” The glass on the frame is cracked, running a jagged fault line straight through the middle of the word ‘overcoming’.
I hope it’s foreshadowing and not a warning.
At Dolly’s retort, Rockland drops into her chair with an impact that registers in the soles of my feet.
She makes direct eye contact with Dolly, and her left hand taps on the desk as if she’s typing out a Morse code.
The dying succulent on the sill is at the stage where the leaves are more translucent than green, a perfect stand-in for the way this office sucks the life out of things.
The woman is clearly angry that my mate isn’t responding the way she expected, especially after mentioning Lucille.
“Fine, we’ll go back to baseline,” Rockland says, lips curled as if the phrase tastes sour. “You’re aware of the rumors about you. Your little… entourage disrupts every functional system on campus through fear and intimidation. I suppose that’s the plan?” She pauses, expecting an answer.
“I’m just trying to get an education. If my existence is a problem for you, feel free to escalate it to the Dean.
However, if you do, you should be prepared for a fight that isn’t simply about my mates or this school.
You’ve pushed me way too far for too long, Rockland.
I’m not backing down and I’m not hiding behind anyone. Got it?”