The Choking Kind

1 - Sadie

I stopped as I entered the expansive room, like a deer in headlights, as my gaze settled on Mr. Thomas. His blue eyes narrowed as he ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He almost looked human in his jeans and T-shirt. Almost. I glanced back at the doorway behind me, fully intent on making my escape, knowing full well I could only go so far. I couldn't outrun Monday and would have to face him regardless. My heart began to jackhammer against my sternum, and my tongue became thick and stuck to the roof of my mouth. Guilt? Is that what I was feeling? When I looked back in his direction, his troubled stare locked onto mine, and the rapid thudding in my chest ceased, replaced by a twisting knot in my gut. Just run, you idiot. But he had already stood from his seat and was making his way toward me from across the room before I could convince my feet to move. I clenched my fists at my sides and dug my nails into the palms of my hands, taking away the panic in my chest momentarily.

"Sadie?" He said my name as if he wasn't sure I was standing before him, and I wished I wasn't. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcome relief, but the burst of pain against the delicate skin of my hands let me know this was not a dream. It was a nightmare. I cleared my throat and pointed to the name tag on my chest.

"It's Becky here," I mumbled with a grimace as my eyes darted around the room, hoping no one had heard my real name. It was stupid, really. I didn't know any of these people personally, and I made sure to attend this grief group in the next town over from where I lived for that reason. This was the only place I could show my vulnerable side, and now it was tainted. His eyes narrowed, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, causing my brows to bunch together in confusion. Why was he smiling? Didn't he know what kind of person I really was? Isn't that why he was here? My pulse vibrated through me like a low rumble of thunder.

My gaze dropped to the ground between us as he sighed. "I'm new to all of this," he waved his hand around, and I followed the motion as I took in all of the sad souls surrounding us, oblivious to our pain because they were too wrapped up in their own. In truth, if you would have asked me before this day, I would have said that Mr. Thomas was incapable of feelings of any kind. He seemed indifferent to anything occurring around him. There was a coldness in his eyes that people appeared to ignore because of his looks, but I saw it, and as much as I hated to admit it, he intrigued me. Misery loves company, and I was perpetually despondent.

He took a few steps to our left, grabbed a name tag sticker off the table, and picked up the Sharpie. His eyes had met mine before he scribbled out a name, peeled off the backing, and stuck it to his shirt.

"James? Your name is James? I would have thought it was Lucifer or something." I rolled my eyes before mentally slapping myself. Making fun of him was a shitty thing to do at a place like this, but I was accustomed to wearing my sarcasm as a shield to deflect from my own pain.

"In here it is, Becky," he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. I got the feeling it never really did with him. "If this is weird, I can just go. I didn't want to come to this thing anyway." He ran his hand over the back of his neck as I chewed the inside of my cheek. Was he... nervous?

"I don't own this place." I shrugged and walked around him, sitting in a tan metal folding chair across the circle. I was bluffing, pretending to be under control. He called. A few seconds later, Mr. Thomas was settling into the chair next to me, stretching his long legs out toward the center, his knee bumping against mine. I eyed his jeans, and my gaze traveled up his dark gray shirt that was stretched tight against his hard chest. It was odd seeing a teacher out of school, like a weird zoo animal that had escaped its enclosure. Looking at him now, you wouldn't guess he was an educator or did anything that forced him to interact with others, especially children. He seemed too young to be molding others' lives when he hadn't even experienced his own.