The Other Girl: Black Mountain Academy

by Trisha Wolfe

  She takes a seat across from me before I offer. She has to be more than ten years older than me, somewhere in her mid- to late-thirties, and she’s wearing an outdated, worn blazer. Her hair is pulled in a high bun with loose, wiry strands of white poking out against the undyed dark-brown.

  “So?” she prods, then takes a sip of her coffee. The mug is one of the communal cups from the coffee area of the lounge.

  My nose wrinkles in disgust, and I instantly brighten my smile. “It was good. I mean, a lot to take in, but I think it went well. Thanks for asking…”

  “Susan Canterbury.” She extends her hand across the table. “Call me Sue. Advance calculus. Yikes. I know. But I love math.”

  I nod slowly. “Great. How long have you been at the academy?” I ask, then peek around her head, trying to find the exit, my escape.

  It’s not that I don’t like people, or aren’t friendly. I just have a low tolerance for small talk. Having the same boring interaction with strangers over and over… Frankly, it’s tedious, tiring, and makes my head hurt.

  Sue doesn’t feel the same way, obviously. Her dull brown eyes widen with excitement. “Well, technically, I started part time as a sub over a decade ago.”

  I nod as she drones on, relaying the adventures of how she came to be the head of the calculus department. I’m tuning her out, sipping my coffee and nodding along, until my ears pick up on a familiar name.

  “What about Carter Hensley?” I ask.

  Sue’s head notches back, as if my speaking for the first time to interrupt her spiel is rude. “I was saying, I saw him go into your office last week. That must have been a challenge for your first day, am I right? I have Carter in my fifth period—”

  I hold up a hand. “Sue, with all due respect, I can’t discuss a student’s private session.” The adult, professional part of me is shining through brightly. Underneath, the dragon is screaming: say his name say his name say his name.

  The hit to my craving. Soothing ointment to the burn. I want her to tell me everything she knows about Carter.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. No. I didn’t mean anything like that.” She shakes her head, clearly rattled. “I was just saying, he’s troubled, is all. He was expelled from the public high school after that incident. You know… When he nearly beat that poor boy to death. Assault charges filed.” She whispers this last part with a solemn head shake. “I heard there were also quite a few altercations with his teachers. Typically, the academy would never accept such a disturbed youth, so they must have great faith in you as his counselor.”

  A compliment to stroke my ego and lower my defenses. She’s a practiced gossip whore. This school is her life. I wonder what little tidbit about me was passed around before I started. Still, it’s never a bad idea to befriend a gossip. They keep you informed.

  “I’m just honored to be given the chance to help.” My smile is vibrant. Then, so I know she sees the label on front, I grab my Prada bag and pull out my phone. I pretend to check a message. “I should get to my office to start prepping for the day.”

  “Of course,” Sue says. “It was so good to meet you, Ellis.”

  We’re on a first-name basis, and I didn’t tell her mine. “You too, Sue. Have a great day.”

  Have a great fucking day, you whore. This woman doesn’t have any clue about how special Carter is. I tap out a note on my phone to follow up with him about his calculus class; find out if he’s having issues.

  With my help, Carter’s life will turn around.

  As I head down the hallway, I can’t help my roving gaze, wanting a glimpse of him, wondering where his locker is located. I don’t have a session with him again until tomorrow. Maybe I can meet up with Sue at lunch—I can’t imagine she leaves the academy—and tease more out of her.

  Before I enter the reception area, I stop a few feet from the glass door to catch my breath. Take a moment to center myself. Then I roll my shoulders back and push through with a smile.

  The first meeting of the day is with a sophomore girl who is struggling with her feelings for her boyfriend. She wants to focus on her studies and be accepted to Berkeley, just like all the women in her family, but she fears her love is a distraction.

  As I listen to her, I nod along compassionately. I am empathetic.

  All the while, there’s an incessant itch at the back of my mind. A niggling little irritation building. My thoughts keep jumping to the boy who walked into my office day and tested all my boundaries.

  “He’s just…changed everything,” Mia says, exasperated.

  He has changed everything.

  “What am I supposed to do?” she asks.

  I pick up a pencil and use it to distract myself. I press my thumbnail into the wood to ground my thoughts. “Does he feel the same about you?”

  This question seems to perplex her. “I think so. Yes, I mean. He does. But that’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t want to lose focus. I’m struggling with whether or not I should break it off.”

  I look up from toying with the pencil. “Why would you break off the relationship, Mia? That seems especially cruel to me, seeing as Tyler appears to have done nothing more than love you.”

  She blinks a few times. “That’s true, I guess. I really don’t want to hurt him.”

  I inflect a calm tone to my voice. “What I see in front of me is a smart, strong young woman who is capable of managing school and relationships.” I smile, lace my fingers together. “That is what life is about, right? Learning to manage all aspects of our lives in a healthy way?”

  Mia’s facial expression relaxes, her forehead losing the hard crease. “That’s what I’ve tried to explain to my mom, but she refuses to hear it.”

  I nod, but a white-hot flame lashes at the memory of my mother. I shove the thought away. “Your mom just wants what she feels is best for you. But you’re the only one who can know what that is. Trust your instincts.”

  As I wrap up the session, I feel Mia isn’t in need of a follow up appointment, but let her know my door is always open if she needs to talk. Afterword, I start on the rest of my employee paperwork I’ve been slow to hand in to the office.

  I write my name on the top line. The scratching of the pen against the page is too loud in the stillness of the small room. I fill in another line with my social security number—the number I recently memorized. Then I look up and stare at the closed door. Agitation is a pulsing tension headache at the base of my skull.

  I rub the back of my neck and flip the page. I can’t concentrate on the words when I’m trying so deliberately not to think about Carter. With a resigned sigh, I glance at my phone, and of course the time displays nine-eleven.

  Unease pricks my spine.

  The throbbing headache demands that one peek—just one—won’t hurt. Just look long enough to sate the relenting need so I can finish the paperwork without making a mistake.

  I tap the app and go to his page. Immediate relief rushes my starved veins.

  I know the warning signs. I know the danger.

  Neurotic behavior.

  Obsessive thoughts.

  Delusional beliefs.

  How quickly it can escalate…

  Once diagnosed, I studied everything about Obsessive Love Disorder—the label slapped on me in high school. OLD is not recognized as a disorder in its own right. Rather, it’s associated with other mental disorders, like borderline personality. Which I am not borderline.

  Simply put, I get too involved with love interests. Infatuated is the word my mentor used often during our private discussions. Though technically, there was only ever one person that brought on these intense feelings, and so recently, I started to believe I was misdiagnosed. That it was only a case of being an infatuated teenage girl.

  Because after Jeremy, I never fell that hard again.

  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.

  I pick up the phone handset to make the call, to do just that—then set the phone in the cradle.

  Carter already displays marks of abandonment issues. I can’t let him believe I’m doing the same. I need to tell him in person that I can no longer counsel him.

  That’s exactly what you want.

  I slap my hands on the desk to quiet the voice. I’m the one in control. I will end this before it goes too far.

  Devotion

  Ellis

  Some people can be isolated and remain mentally healthy, stable. Others…completely lose touch with reality.

  There’s a study into the effects of social isolation that touts the health risks are comparable to smoking cigarettes and obesity. Individuals that suffer long periods of isolation and perceived loneliness are at higher risk for illness and death.

  I find it fascinating that simply being alone can drive a person mad. How much do you have to despise yourself to hate your own company? For it to manifest in morbidity or death to end your suffering?

  I fall on the other end of the spectrum. Saying crowds make me nervous is an understatement. All the voices and watching eyes and awareness to maintain social etiquette… It’s exhausting.

  Today is pride day at the academy, and students and faculty members alike gather in the auditorium to partake in the assembly led by Mr. D. The whole school. In one room.

  After Mr. D’s announcement that the football team is to defeat our enemies over the mountain, cheerleaders sporting red-and-black uniforms rush the stage, followed by our fearless cougar mascot.

  Applause and shouts rise up, and the echoey acoustics of the large room start to aggravate my head. It’s the same effect as standing under a florescent light. I feel discombobulated, disconnected. And that sets off a burst of panic that I might say the wrong thing, do something strange.

  I excuse myself from the row of office staff I’m seated with to make my way toward the back of the auditorium, where I can slip into the hallway and escape the noise if necessary.

  I find a private nook between the back of the stands. The room dims for the show on stage, and I begin to relax. I just need to know there’s an escape nearby. In all situations. It’s the fear of being trapped that makes my head spin and my heart pound too loudly.

  I’m actually enjoying the presentation the cheerleaders and dance team are putting on, lamely clapping along with the others, when I sense that wary touch against the back of my neck like I’m being watched.

  Then: “I had a dream about you last night.”

  The voice whispered so near my ear should startle me—but I recognize the distinctive cadence. A fiery current floods my body.

  My hands halt mid-clap. “You should probably save that for your session, Mr. Hensley.” I peek over at him. “In private.” The warning is clear in my voice.

  He doesn’t back away, however. He inches closer, shaded by the stands. “You were wearing this little black dress suit…and nothing else. Just a blazer and a serious skirt. Sexy as hell.”

  I don’t look at him this time; I stare ahead, watch a girl in uniform get tossed into the air. I feel the brush of his hot breath against my neck, and my nipples harden against the cool, silky material of my thin bra.

  “You sat right on your desk,” he continues. “Right in front of me, then you spread your legs…”

  A shiver races across my skin, the chill in direct contrast to the heat blooming between my thighs.

  Everything I’ve worked for will be ruined if I don’t put an end to this.

  “Carter,” I snap. “This is inappropriate. Remember that word?”

  The crowd cheers, the noise rising to a deafening level, as a stunt is pulled off by the mascot. Carter uses the distraction to move even closer and run the backside of his hand down my arm. The touch so simple, yet every nerve in my body lights up.

  His smile is cocky and lude. He got under my skin, and he knows it. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

  Oh, if he only knew the truth…how bad this could get. “I haven’t been avoiding you. We’re scheduled to meet tomorrow.”

  “I looked for you online. You don’t have a profile. No pictures. Nothing. I really need a picture of you that I can stare at—”

  I whirl around to face him. “You can’t do that.” I bite my lip. Dammit. The simplest Google search could rouse unwanted attention. I lower my voice. “You can’t do things like that, Carter. It’s not healthy. You have to stop this behavior.”

  He closes the tiny span of distance between us. “I need to see you.”

  I close my eyes slowly. I stay quiet for a long beat. The atm
osphere is thick with his words and cologne. The alluring heat from his body too near mine. I allow every one of my molecules to absorb him before I push away.

  “That’s the thing, Carter,” I say, bracing myself for the pain. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, but I’ve decided that I can’t counsel you anymore. I think it’s best for us both if I refer you to another—”

  He steps in front of me, blocking my view of the assembly. “You’re not quitting me.”

  I inhale a shaky breath. “I don’t want to. But I don’t have a choice. You have to understand.” I try to move around him, but he latches on to my wrist.

  “Understand what?” he demands. His grip tightens to the point of pain. “After only one meeting, what could possibly be so alarming about me, Ms. Montgomery?” He dips closer, whispers against my ear: “Do I scare you? Or is it that I turn you on?”

  Violent tendencies. The words in his file crash to the surface. My heart rockets to my throat. I blink rapidly, searching my arsenal of psychiatry to find a way to defuse him.

  “Carter, you’re causing a scene. Please, stop.” I meet his eyes, imploring him. “You’re hurting me.”

  That seems to break through, and he blinks. His grasp on my wrist loosens. “Just see me tomorrow,” he says. “I can’t get you out of my mind. I need to see you.”

  With more strength than I feel in the moment, I snatch my arm free and slip away.

  I keep walking and push through the doors, hitting the hallway at a brisk pace. The almost fresh air—the air not laced with his scent—clears my head. But I can still hear his words: I need to see you.

  Words are powerful. If you give people a chance to speak, their words will tell you who they are.

  Carter needs me.

  There’s no use fighting this attraction to him, to deny what is happening between us. That’s why I’m here, why I chose this field. To help those who need me.

  No matter the risk, I have to take it.

  I wrap my hand around the wrist he held captive. It’s hot and pulsing, and I can still feel his fingers pressed to my skin.