rage • l.h

6. you look like him

Apparently, a lot of things 'trigger' me.

At least that's what Dr. Philips, my current therapist, says. When I asked her, 'like what?', she gave me a list. I printed it out and put it in my backpack, because apparently identifying these things could prevent a meltdown.

When the list is thirty-five items deep, it's hard to 'prevent a meltdown'. For example, how am I supposed to avoid middle aged men? How am I supposed to avoid abnormally long drive-through lines? Is there any way to escape sudden noises?

No, but thank god I have a list in my backpack, reminding me of all the things a normal person should be able to handle but I just can't seem to figure it out.

My alarm blared, signaling my first day of work, and because it was a loud, sudden noise, I became angry.

After ten minutes, or maybe it was two hours, of waiting in the stairwell last night, I decided to return to the safety of my dorm. Evie was passed out in her bed, Calum laid across the floor with a purple decorative pillow, and Luke nowhere to be seen. Good.

I wasn't dumb, I knew there would forever be tension after what I'd done last night. Luke would pass me in the hallway and we'd avoid each other and pretend like nothing ever happened. I would pretend that he wasn't both the most annoying and the hottest person on this campus, and he would pretend he never tried to have sex with me. Twice.

I sighed, rolling over and taking in the state of my bedroom. At least three empty bottles of wine and six fireball shooters scattered across the floor, Calum snoring while Evie slept without so much as a hair out of place. Of course she's perfect when she sleeps, why wouldn't she be?

I rubbed my eyes and ran a hand through my ratty curls, trying to decide if a shower would even tame my hair. I had forty-two minutes to be across campus with two coffees, a manageable thing if I could avoid any 'triggers'.

Soon enough, I was looking presentable enough in the Starbucks line. An extraordinary long line, for that matter.

I hated long lines.

I felt the recognizable anger flare, cursing myself, cursing Ashton, and especially cursing everyone in this line.

I could stick it out, I really could, but then I would be late for my first day. Ashton expected coffee, and the one thing getting me through this day would be a vanilla latte.

My therapist says in moments like these I need to 'ground myself'. Feel the ground underneath my feet, take deep breaths, and all that hippie bullshit. I had tried it countless times, it didn't fucking work. What worked was solving the problem.

Twelve minutes until I had to be at Holmes Hall, where Ashton was sure to talk my ear off while I did whatever it is an office assistant does.

"Excuse me," I put on my fakest polite voice as I approached the stressed barista at the register, disregarding whoever was behind me about to order. They could wait, I had places to be.

So does everyone else in this line.

I ignored the pang of guilt.

"I ordered thirty minutes ago and still haven't gotten my drinks." I lied, knowing well enough that the barista wouldn't care nor have the time to verify my claim.

"What was in that order?" the poor, young barista sighed.

"Black coffee with one pump of vanilla and a nonfat vanilla latte." I felt guilt as I spoke the words, but not enough to stop.

"Sorry for your wait, ma'am. We'll make sure to get those right out." he spoke as he turned around to make my drinks. Free drinks that I lied to get, but those details aren't important.