Foreigner

Chapter 5

"How has your stay at Whittiker been so far?"

Dr. Coraline Matthews' voice is calm, almost too calm, as if it could soothe a lion about to pounce. She sits across from me in her worn brown leather armchair, notebook balanced on her lap, the pen in her hand scratching faintly against the paper. The room, dimly lit and tucked in the basement of the schoolhouse, feels more like a dungeon than a psychologist's office.

The overhead light flickers every few minutes, casting erratic shadows on the walls. I wonder how she can even see what she's writing. I can barely see her face beneath the curtain of long, dark bangs that almost completely obscure her eyes.

"It's been... eventful," I reply, keeping my tone light but deliberately vague.

That's an understatement. Five days in, and I've already been humiliated, threatened, and cornered by people who have too much time on their hands and a taste for torment. Julian—yeah, I finally caught his name—will probably catch me off guard one day, beat me within an inch of my life, and toss me into a dumpster. Then Christian will finish me off in my sleep, maybe string my body up at the school gates as some kind of morbid warning.

My family will find out eventually. My sister and mom will cry at my funeral, while Dad—always the realist—will just shake his head in disappointment as my coffin is lowered into the earth.

I've already written the ending to my story, and it's bleak.

"I've heard the other boys have been bullying you," Dr. Matthews says, her voice heavy with sympathy.

And they'll still be bullying me the second I step out that door.

"Is that why you don't like to speak in front of large groups?"

I shrug, noncommittal. It's not like I've got a straightforward answer for that.

Her pen pauses, and she sighs softly, as if she expected this. She picks up a folder from the small coffee table between us and opens it, glancing at its contents.

"Well, I've read your file, and..."

"Wait," I interrupt, frowning as I sit up straighter. "I have a file?"

She looks at me briefly, noting my sudden tension. "Everyone here has a file, Lukas. Don't worry—it's not about punishment. You've already taken responsibility for the actions that brought you here by attending this school. What I'm interested in is... your perspective."

She flips to a specific page, her gaze steady. "Particularly about the incident in your home country."

The blood drains from my face. I was seven years old. That was nearly a decade ago. I crossed borders and oceans to get away from that—and yet, here it is again.

"You might even say," she continues, oblivious to my rising panic, "it was the breaking point in your life. The moment that changed everything."

"What's your point?" I snap, the words flying out before I can stop them.

Dr. Matthews narrows her eyes slightly, studying me as though I'm a particularly interesting puzzle. "I'm not asking this to make you uncomfortable. I'm asking so that you can understand why you did it."

"I was young and stupid—"

"No, Lukas," she interrupts, leaning forward slightly, her voice firm but not unkind. "Children are the purest form of humanity. They're honest, both in their words and actions. What you did wasn't random. It was the result of a young mind acting on what it believed was right."

Her words hit harder than I want to admit. There's a saying in my native language: Lapse suu ei valeta. A child's mouth doesn't lie. Her phrasing is so close to it that I'm momentarily stunned into silence.