Begin Again (Formerly known as Reese)

Chapter 10 - Old Friends

Chapter 10

Nixon walked me to Mark's office, kissing my cheek quickly before walking away. I was surprised, considering no one has ever innocently kissed my cheek like that since Blaine. I feel bad comparing everyone and everything to Blaine, but I honestly cannot help it. He was everything. When your everything leaves, how are you supposed to just keep moving? That's something my mother never understood. 

What surprised me most about Nixon kissing my cheek was how nervous he had seemed. It was as if him doing this innocent, comforting act was somehow taking his pride away or as if him doing so made him worry that I wouldn't respond very well to it. I watched him go. He didn't turn around; he just kept walking. I sat in the chair that sat on the student side of Mark's desk, awaiting his arrival rather impatiently. When the sound of the door opening and closing hit my ears finally, I jumped, feeling my heartbeat increase with anticipation. 

Before he could even have a seat behind his desk, I blurted out, "Mark, please don't send me out of school. I didn't mean to freak out, I just--" I paused, seemingly at a loss for an explanation worthy of my actions. "I just slipped up. I promise it won't happen again. Just, please don't call my mom."

He watched me as he slowly sat down, hearing me ramble. "Reese," he said slowly. "You're not in trouble."

"I'm not?" I asked, confused.

He shook his head, looking at his hands clasped on his desk. "You had no control of that situation. I don't believe you should be punished for it."

"Oh my god, thank you--" I started, but he cut me off.

"However," he held his hand up. "I do think you deserve some help. You seemed very," he pauses trying to find the right words. "Out of control."

I gave him a look, feeling a bit offended. Out of control? Sure. But in need of help? No.

He continued. "Your mother tells me that you've tried therapy before?" He said the word 'therapy' as if it wasn't sufficient.

I nodded. "It was a waste of time."

He nodded. "I agree."

I gave him a confused look. "What?"

"Therapy, in a general sense, isn't usually very beneficial to people. You have to have someone who understands you. That's why I want you to do something else for me. I won't contact your mother and you won't get any kind of punishment as you do this one thing for me."

I sat up straighter in the chair. "Sure."

"I want you to take this journal." He handed me a small journal about the size of my palm. It was small enough to fit in my back pocket even. "And everytime something significant happens that sets you off, makes you happy, makes you sad, or whatever, I want you to write it down."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "What am I supposed to write exactly?"

"Anything," he shrugged. "You decide what is worthy to be said about it. I want at least one entry a day for the next, say, two months."

I nodded, thinking it through. "That's do-able." I took the small journal in my hands. "What if I fail?"

"Don't," he said in a tone telling me it's important.

"Okay," I said.

"Why don't you take the rest of the day off with Nixon? I think he's a good influence on you. He seemed to really calm you down."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I think so. Don't you? I think you're a good pair."

I thought about it for a minute. "I suppose so." Then, I got up out of the chair and walked to the door. I opened it, and swung it closed behind me. I slid the small journal into my back pocket as I walked over to where Nixon sat at that round table we had had our first real conversation together. I got over there and smacked my hands hard on the top of the table. He jumped, looking up at me from his phone. "Let's go."