Second Year

when the party's over

tw: sexual assault

10.

when the party's over

I've learned to lose

💜

Skye

"I just don't see what the big fucking deal is. Like, why do I have to be here?"

"You just do."

I groan, looking anywhere than towards the baldy prick in front of me. "I don't want to though."

"Neither do I. I could be talking to someone actually willing to co-operate right now, but here we are."

"Well, you're gonna be looking for a long time then. I have no reason to co-operate. I'm fine."

"Yeah, I bet. Would you rather co-operate here with me or waste away in ordinary level Irish?"

I shrug. "I'll need the points in the leaving anyway, won't I?"

"Ok then. Go back to class.", he says, sitting back in his chair and picking up a test from the stack beside him, getting a pen and opening it.

"What?"

"Scurry along. I won't waste part of your day if you won't waste part of mine.", he murmurs.

I scoff, picking up my bag and heading for the door. Before I get out though, I turn around.

"Why are you so obsessed with me? It's weird, dude."

He looks up at me, putting down his pen and removing his glasses. "Believe me, Skye. I'm not obsessed with you. More so, I'm obsessed with finding the solution to the irritation to my head these meetings cause me, and this is only our third one. You may think that, and I wish this was the case, that solution would be to just stop these meetings altogether, but life isn't fair. Is it, Skye?"

"Unfortunately not, dickhead.", I reply.

"Exactly. We're stuck with these meetings, for 80 minutes a week for 9 months. So, first step, how to find the solution to that head irritation?"

I shrug. "I could just walk out the door."

"Remember, life isn't fair, kid. So, sit down, and co-operate, because we have no choice."

I groan loudly, sitting back in the chair and dropping my bag.

"Ok. I have a question for you, Mr Ryan. Why is this mandatory? I'm 18 in a year. If I wanted therapy, I'd ask for it, and I don't want it. I can handle myself, no matter what anyone thinks."

"Well, it was arranged. Appointments were made. Money was given. And I can't just decide not to do my job, even if someone is a brat."

"Who did that? The money and shit?"

He shrugs. "My lips are sealed."

I scoff. "It was Sam, wasn't it? It was obviously her because my mother actually knows how to keep her nose out of my shit."

"Who?"

"C'mon, you know her. You taught her in third year."

"Skye, do you really think I keep track of every student from every school I've taught in over the years? I've taught many Sams. Now, enough about Sams and more about you."