*him - a CA named Quinn
I FEEL HIS eyes on me as I approach the office. I'm pretty sure he said we were meeting in the office―I know he did―yet I see him in this room. "Hey," he says and I reply back in the sweetest voice ever. I don't know where it comes from, but he can't hear it anyways because I'm whispering it. I figured my voice would still be raspy because of the cold, but it isn't.
"So," he says as he settles on the couch and gestures to the couch, "you can sit there."
He seems to find it funny, which I don't get yet I sit down anyways. "Alright, so, everything that we talk about is confidential"―ironic how he's writing all this down―"except if we go to the extent of violence or self-harm in which case I do need to tell someone."
Even though I've heard that remark hundreds of times, I don't roll my eyes. I think I just don't care anymore. We talk for a while―about college, what else? Really he does all the talking: he just asks questions and I reply to them. But at one point, I do most of the talking when I ask him the point of writing all this down.
He scrunches his eyebrow. "No, I mean, I'm just curious," I try to clarify.
He nods his head. "Oh. These are just for my reference," he says, regarding his notebook.
And then I stop asking questions... because I no longer feel inquisitive. The meeting is really only fifteen minutes―I asked the roommate too how long it'll be―even though I booked an appointment online for thirty minutes. I'm not complaining, though. I'm happy about that.
I don't want to talk to anyone.
But as soon as we're about to leave, he says this bidding that he's probably paid to do. "Have a good night," or something is what he says and that's what ticks me off. I do a pretty good job of holding these tears that I felt a couple of minutes before this meeting. I'm guessing it's associated with the duration of my sore throat and how even though my parents are in India, they still don't understand how much it hurts whenever I gulp or whatever.
So no. I won't be having a good night.
He's looking at something in his notebook when I start sniffling (I'm guessing, I hear a ruffle of papers) and he pauses for a minute. "Are you okay?" he asks.
My back's towards him, so I'm hoping I can stop crying. Or at least when I lie and say, "Yeah." But I can't. I need to cry. In fact, I don't even know the last time I cried.
"Hey. Aarya." I think he's trying to make me look at him. I don't really care enough to think. I'm too busy crying myself out so that I can at least stop eventually and lie, "I'm fine." But maybe I can just leave right now. I start for the door, but he beats me to it.
"I can't let you leave. Sorry," he adds when I groan.
"I'm fine, really," I insist. "I just, yeah, I do, have all this stress right now."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm fine." I wipe a few tears away.
"I really can't let you leave if you don't tell me."
"I just have this assignment that's due today and I didn't get to it." I hate that I'm painting a bad image of myself, but my negative self is loving it. He nods his head slowly.
"Okay, well, you can always ask your professor for an extension if, you know, it's causing this much stress."
I nod my head.
✤✤✤
I'M SURPRISED TO find Quinn checking up on me. But then I realize he's a CA. I suppose that's his job. "Hey." He runs up to me. "I just wanted to know: are you fine now?"
"Uh..."
"You know compared to yesterday."
I nod my head. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Honestly, I find it weird that Quinn is checking up on me. If he was hot―actually, no, I wouldn't care anyways. But he does look "off" with those glasses and acne (I think).
"Okay." He doesn't seem convinced though, but I don't really care if he's convinced or not.
