Page 34 of Dean's Delinquent

Frustration drives me to my feet as I pace about in front of the love seat. “You all but asked me if I liked the dean. Is that not invasive or aggressive?”

“No. What I asked you was, do you like obeying him? The two are nowhere near the same. However, your brain seems to think they are. Why is that do you think?”

“Is that not what you’re asking? Truly? Underneath all the fluff and misdirection?”

“If you think that’s what I’m doing, then by all means. Let’s explore that, shall we? Do you have feelings for the dean that surpass that of a student and their superior?”

Fear slithers through my veins as I slide back down onto the loveseat. “I can’t answer that!”

“Is it because you do not and detest such allegations? Or is it because you fear reprisal?”

“Again, if I answer that, then you have your answer. You have whatever ammunition you need against me.”

“This isn’t a war I’m waging, Miss Hartwell. There are no right or wrong answers. Everything you say to me is held in confidence and not shared with anyone. Though I am duty bound to report it if you reveal that you’re harming someone else, are a danger to them, or if you’re a danger to yourself. Are you a danger to yourself, Miss Hartwell? Do you somehow seek to harm yourself?”

“No,” I moan, plopping my face into my hands. “I don’t wish to harm myself. Not exactly.”

“Define not exactly.”

“I- I-.”

“Safe space, Miss Hartwell. Let it all out.”

“Safe space, my ass,” I hiss. “I haven’t felt safe the moment I stepped foot in here.”

“Why is that do you suppose? The seats are nice and inviting. I have tissues available if needed. Water is easily procured. What do you find lacking in this space?”

My gaze drifts to the various skulls and oddities. “I’d possibly suggest an interior decorator to help make it more inviting.”

He follows the spots where my eyes land and gives what I can only guess is the most genuine smile I’ve seen since meeting him. “It is rather much, isn’t it? But each of these models speaks to the skull, to the mind, to the human capacity for knowledge and thought. As a mental visionary yourself, I thought you would find them just as fascinating.”

“Some things should be left to the imagination,” I murmur as I do my best to stop looking at the Beauchene skull.

“Ahhh. I see this is the one that causes you the most discomfort.” He goes over, pulls it down, and sets it right in front of me. “What is it about this piece that rattles you so? It’s a skull. Same as what resides beneath your skin.”

“Right. But my skull is in one piece. This obviously is not.”

“But I do not believe he suffered when it was pulled apart. Such things nowadays are done after the person is deceased and their body given over to science.”

My skin crawls as I look at the skull. Even now, there’s an itch below my skin, as if I can feel someone carving away at me. It makes my gut cramp as nausea threatens to climb my throat.

Out of all the things I expected today, facing my own mortality, and worse, thinking of medical professionals hacking into my body once I’m dead, was not on the agenda. “Can- can we please change the subject?”

“Certainly. Would you prefer to talk about the dean?”

Fuck.

“If it’s between that and this horrid skull, I suppose I have no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Miss Hartwell.”

“Really? So I can just leave?”

“If you so choose to.”

Relief washes over me as I gather my pen and notebook. I’ve certainly had enough of this freak show.

“I will have to tell the dean you did not stay the entire session, however,” he continues, his lips sliding up into some smug jerk-face of a grin. “He will, no doubt, have questions.”

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