JasonToddxReader - I Don't Hate You

Chapter 1: Library Sentence

What is comfort? Does it have to do with familiarity? How you smell, see, hear the same things so much that you wouldn't bother to be curious at anything new? Never mind how you feel, or what you thought of the place. Or was it supposed to be something that calms you, takes you out of that rope coiling around your limbs, as if you were stretched out on a large enough bed?

Because the waiting room outside the disciplinary office was something you were far too familiar with. You didn't feel uneasy or uncomfortable on the steel chair that was too cold for you to rest your arms on. The room was the same, stuffy humid that made you want to take deeper breaths, and there was that lingering smell of either strawberry or lemon perfume. But did it bring you comfort? Not exactly.

Arms folded over your chest, you stared at the Vice Principal's assistant on her desk. She avoided looking at you, busy with her own paperwork. And it was all too telling that she didn't want to start a conversation even if she wanted to. But she knew who you were. She looked up, caught your eye, and you looked away without so much as a greeting.

Her phone rang, and you knew it came from her boss. She stood up from her desk and walked over to the VP office's door right beside you. Only giving you a single look. Not of shame, or pity, or even annoyance. The assistant's face was blank when she pushed the door open for you. "Ms. Y/LN."

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you bit on your gums and slowly walked into the office. The door closed behind you, and Vice Principal Watson looked up at you from the edge of her glasses. She had her own set of paperwork on her desk, and with her free hand, she motioned for you to the chair in front.

"Have a seat."

You kept your arms folded in front of you and looked at the woman, up and down. VP Watson let out a gentle sigh and placed her pencil into her holder to take out another pen. She placed her hands on top of the other over her mouth and kept staring at the chair you didn't take. She wasn't too old. A little over her 40s. But she looked exhausted enough to not want to deal with this shit anymore. Your shit, specifically. She wasn't talking, so you rolled your eyes and reluctantly slumped onto the chair.

"Y/N." Her voice was soft. "This is a new low. Even for you."

"He deserved it."

"What was it that Mr. Maxwell did to you then? Enlighten me."

You guffawed beneath your breath and your eyes trailed around the room, your tongue pressing behind your teeth. Leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, you spoke.

"He spilled coffee all over my project."

"I see," she started writing down onto a form of some sort. "When did this happen?"

"This morning."

"And what was it that you did to retaliate?"

You couldn't help but smirk. VP Watson looked tiredly at you like she wasn't anticipating a response she wasn't already expecting.

"I threw a pair of scissors and it landed on his arm."

She muffled a slight 'mhm', taking down notes without so much as another glance. "Were you aiming at his arm?"

You slumped back against the chair. "Probably not."

Watson put the pen down and covered her face with her hands with a deep sigh. You held onto the all-too familiar chair and looked around at her desk, at the lack of a framed picture Watson usually had on top.

"I see you went through with the divorce."

"Enough. You're not funny."

But you laughed, your hands folded on your lap. Ms. Watson rested her face on her hands. "You have to give me more details. I can't rule this out as an accident again."