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No One Is to Blame: Howard Jones
"Hey." Clark says as I open my dorm room with my electric guitar around my neck.
"Hey." I reply. "What's up?"
"I had to pick up some tractor parts for my dad, and I was thinking of you, so I brought you some brain food. I remembered Thai is is your favorite." He holds up a takeout bag.
"Thanks." I turn and set my guitar down on my bed.
"Anytime." He sets the food on my desk.
"You're playing again?"
"Have to for class."
"What class?"
"M204. Musical instruments, sound, perception and creativity."
"All of those which you're good at."
"Not good enough just yet." I grab my drumsticks and push my drum set back against the wall.
"You got a drum set?" Clark questions.
"Jim got it for me last week. Speaking of Jim, did you see him when he was not-so-subtlety stalking me on the first day?"
"Yeah, um, we ran into each other. Asked how me and my parents were doing. Helped me find my way around campus when I got lost." He nods and I nod back before setting my drumsticks on my desk. "Hey, where's Margo?"
"In her three hour Psych class. Hence the reason I'm doing all of this now. Her misophonia is crazy."
"Misophonia?"
"It's a hate to certain sounds. They trigger you, give you a panicked or irritated reaction. And there's even a knowable cause of it. But it appears more commonly in people who also have OCD anxiety disorders."
"Wow. I didn't know that."
"Glad I could be of service." I close my books and put them in my backpack.
"So how are you doing?"
"I'm fine, why?" I close my laptop before a piece of paper is slipped under my door. I walk over and I pick it up. I unfold it and it's another picture of Jerome with the word KILLER written across on it. I crumble it up and throw it into the garbage. "Thanks for the food, but I gotta leave in ten for an appointment."
"Are you sick?"
"No. Getting another tattoo."
"You are?"
"That's what I said." I check the time on my phone before slipping it in my jean pocket.
