Inamorata

Her. It was her.

The room swept with calamity. It was almost as if I had been wrapped in white sheets and tossed into a pool of white paint.

But it was just the counselor's office. Man, I hated coming here. Ever damn weekend of my life.

After having been stared at me for forty minutes, Mr. Grandwell finally cleared his throat and shuffled his position, grunting due to his finger getting stuck between the clipboard.

"Well, Mr.Wesley?"

I shifted my gaze from the deadly looking, white walls. I had to blink a few times to get the image out.

"Mmmh, yeah...What did you ask me?", I asked, rubbing my arm from numbness.

Mr. Grandwell smiled, his green eyes crinkled to it's sides. He was a guy who looked about fifty and he looked like he could be both in the military as well as a dude for the apple pie business.

"Are you ready to start a new life in 'Denerbrookes Academy' ?", he asked, hoping for a good ol' sweet straight-forward answer. Like I was going to give him one.

I never wanted to continue school. The old one was bad enough. Stupid parties, losers, clingy girls, boring subjects, the same old shit. 

Judging by the frown I gave him, he didn't look too happy.

"Mr.Wesley, remind yourself that you're much capable than you think you are. A 4.0 gpa is pretty good, considering the fact you had to go through the pain of your dad leaving your family.", he said.

I looked at him, anger bubbling inside me. I can't believe he was bringing this up again.

Don't, Jason. Don't hit him.

I banged my fist against the coffee table in anger. I could hit anything, but I chose this. Mr.Grandwell shook his head against my stupid move.

"He doesn't even deserve seconds of my attention. My grades has nothing to do with that meatloaf. Just, please, talk about something else. Please.", I shouted.

Mr. Grandwell wiped his mouth with a tissue, watching me tentatively. I managed to cool down by looking at the walls again. He better talk about some other shit.

"Okay, Jason. We'll talk about something else. Your mom talked about a family who recently moved next to you, across the street. She said, you made a friend. A female friend.", he emphasized the word 'female' like we were about to have a guy-to-guy talk with beers and stuff.

I rubbed my knuckles from the pain of hitting the table. But it was my heart that ached the most.

"Yeah, right. I haven't even seen the person. My mom wanted to see me make progress by saying stuff that wasn't true. But I'm clearly not making progress.", I lied, scratching my head.

"What do you mean by progress, Jason?", he asked, folding his hands.