Lycanthropy and Me: The First Semester(mlm)

Day 29. Monday, Waning Gibbous

Hunter woke up at his desk, staring at what was supposed to be a  research paper outline but was actually a load of gibberish. He stared at the scribbles. What if the investigators decided he was the culprit? If that was the case, why study? Maybe it would be better to go with Garou's proposal and run. But to where? Thanks to the Hayes family, he could never return to Canis Drive. Living with his mother's family in New York City was also out of the question, as they were not privy to his affliction.

As he dragged himself across the muddy campus on crutches he thought about the other Lycanthrope freshmen. As angry as he was, he couldn't pin any blame on them either. Malcolm, flake that he was, didn't seem like the rage type. Serena probably planned her shifts down to the letter. And while he couldn't remember everything about their interactions, Tom seemed to be in his right mind when he left the Howard dorm. But if that was the case, why would he lie about binding Hunter? Maybe his memory was a mess as well?

He headed over to Rosewood. There was still crime scene tape wrapping the perimeter, but class continued on as normal.

He stepped into Lugosi's class all too quickly, sliding until he made contact with Lugosi's desk. Rather than stopping the young student, Lugosi grabbed for his stack of handouts, which were scattered as Hunter crashed to the floor.

"I wonder." Lugosi began watching him from behind the desk. "Do you ever have a day devoid of disaster?"

On a better day, Hunter would have let the jibe roll off or return a remark. But between Garou's words, a possible expulsion and arrest in his future, his unending anxiety, coupled with the inability to return home, he crawled up into a ball and began to sob loudly. At first he could hear voices, but he drowned them out. He needed this. During Nineteen years of secrecy and pain he had managed to not behave like this. Far from home and surrounded by strangers, he found the perfect audience.

He wasn't sure how long he had stayed on the floor but once the moment was over, Hunter found himself being escorted out of the classroom by two security guards, and covered in a blanket.

"Are you alright son?" One security guard asked. He was a man in his fifties, with a hardened gaze, a neck tattoo and a solid build.

This guy's probably seen some stuff. Hunter thought as he nodded. "I'm okay now." He replied. And in truth, he was. Something about being that vulnerable in a public space seemed to put things into perspective. Sure, his future at Redwood was in jeopardy, but things could be a lot worse.

Devoid of tears he let the two guards slowly escort him down the hill, into a flat brick building, and deposited him outside a room labeled, 'Counseling services'.

A tired looking woman in a tweed suit opened the door and let him in. He looked around. The office looked as if it had been frozen in time for the past 30 years. There were several dingy file cabinets, a small water cooler, and to his amusement--two matching desks with old bulky computers, corded phones, and Rolodexes.

Oh wow. They could film a scene from a 90s movie in here. Grayson would love this place.

The woman stared at a freshly printed questionnaire. She wrote his name in cursive at the top, then wrote it again in print.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your depression, with one meaning happy and ten meaning--"

"Twelve." Hunter cut the woman off. He stared at the rotating fan through his sunglasses. He was certain that this was the typical procedure for outbursts like this. Long ago he filled out a similar questionnaire with a guidance counselor in high school. Just as before, he doubted a set of questions with numeric scales could really help with the real problem at hand.