The Counselor

Chpt 6. What comes in

The months flew by, every day since he had dreaded the first visit to The Counselor, he was ordered by him to be in his office by 4:30 pm. He never went, just holed himself up in his disgusting room until it closed for the night. Now he came, like a storm of sadness, fear, anger, and worry, and left with his problem evaporated completely. When people in the faculty asked him what they talked about, he told them, "Ask him yourself." His problems, though, still multiplied but at least he didn't have to suffer alone anymore, in fact, he was far from being alone. Now having a companion to confide in, his heart, no, his very soul, felt soothed.

"Matthew my boy, what do you need?" No matter how many times The Counselor saw him he grinned from ear to ear, maybe. He was never sure since he always found his face hidden by...well, he really couldn't describe it. He'll try—imagine the black squares that usually kept provocative objects being seen, yeah, that's what he saw, every single time.

He awkwardly rubbed his shoulder, a habit he picked up since it was cold in the spacious room, "Heh, well, it's my grades." The Counselor raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong with them?" Hearing how his voice almost sounded like his own dad (always cold, loud, and diving into weird life lessons) he quickly shook his hands, "No, I-I mean, my grades are good and all, well, I mean they could be better..." "Matthew?"

The teen gulped. "Yeah, I-I mean, yes?" 'Oh crap, I'm going to die!

"How are your grades?" Each word felt like a poorly deflected bullet. He shivered; The Counselor's fingers tapped on the armrest in waiting. "How are your grades?" He repeated.

There was a long drawl-out silence only bothered by the faint vacuum picking up crumbs in the hallway, "I got a C...in art class." The dreaded silence began. "Matthew Duin Adalhard." His voice dripping with coldness, slowly rising off his velvet chair he planted his hands on his spotless desk. "I know you well, I know your grades, and I know that you can do so much better than that. Art may not be your forte, but all you have to do is try." The Counselor's voice was so cold that he could see his breath every time he manage to cough it out of himself, and icicles hung on the corners of the roof of the wall.

"Look, God, I r-r-really don't like art class. You see-e-e, there's this wit-c-c-chi named Ms. Gossamer who hat-t-t-es my guts, no matter what I draw-a-a-w she just crumples it up and throws it in the trash!" "Lie." "What?" Matt craned his neck in question, before covering his now freezing neck with the hoodie-wrapped arms. "I know you just lied to me, the truth." He commanded.

"But—" There was a rumbling sound from outside, looking at The Counselor he saw big, dark, rainclouds coming in quickly. "Holy—"

"The truth," he commanded again, the thunder giving a warning rumble. With nothing else to lose he sighed, "I play on my phone until the last minute then, I draw, there. You happy?" The thunder softens along with the clouds returning their soft, white texture.

"Happy that you told me the truth, not so much for lying." He walked closer to Matthew who naturally backed up and slipped a bit on the icy floor, "What?" He said nothing, only he bent down a bit and got closer to his eyes. "What are you- "