The Transference

C9

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

I never understood why people think clocks tick, how did they even get the idea that the sound it makes is tick tock.

Don't mind me, I'm extremely bored and when I am, I tend to disappear in my head and ramble on about the silliest things.

Sometimes I just sit down and wonder who created words. I mean people just make up word from a bunch of letters. Who invented letters? The alphabet, the sounds, the rhyme. How did they think to call A or B? This life is just too fucking weird and the more I try to think about it, the more I realize how much time I'm wasting.

Bringing me back to the reason I'm here.

Leather.

Leather is all I can smell. Her newly purchased furniture brightens the place a bit, at least it's better than the old crappy material that was in her office before. Furnitures isn't the only thing new about this place, the whole place is different. It's like she gave her office a makeover. Probably because they've added therapist as part of her job. It's cool that they did, every teenager go through some shitty things and don't know how to deal with it, and I've seen the students of this school. I know they need some guidance and therapy and that's what she's here for.

I personally don't need a therapist because I don't well with them. I've had enough experience with therapist to last me a lifetime. But the headmaster is right, I need to talk about things that has happened even though I don't think about them anymore, it doesn't mean they don't plague me. So yeah I'm going to do it. I will sit here in this newly improved office and talk.

I mean I'm loving this new look. The plain white wallpaper on the wall lightens the mood of the room. Apart from the smell of leather, I can perceive the scent of lavender and it's nice, homey. Cool.

"How can I help you, Camille?" My eyes moves from the tiger stature on her mahogany desk, to her face. She looks different, everything about this place looks and feels different.

I didn't make an appointment for therapy, she probably thinks I'm here for some advice on the classes I should take this semester.

Miranda Mulligan is the coach of the cheerleading squad but one look at her and you'd know that she's more than that. She wears glasses and dresses like a highschool chemistry teacher. She claims to be a guidance counselor, in fact the first I noticed apart from the fabulous changes she made to this room is her degree. The one hanging behind her like a trophy.

Yeah I was going to talk to her about everything that's been going on with me, but I just remembered what happened last time I tried talking to her. I already forgot about that but seeing her framed degree just took back to the moment I was last here. That just switch my perspective. Instead of telling her what's been going on with me, I'll just talk about something else.

I'm not here to question her degree in counseling or her experience with troubled kids and how she helped them, but I'm worried about how she knows things she isn't supposed to know, like how she recognizes my markings.

I know Damian said I should wear the markings of the old gods with pride, but I'm not here to parade the school with strange marks on my body. The last thing I want is to have more people on my back, last semester's fame is enough.

The cardigan hugs my body and keeps me warm but my hand is on display, the arrows are still there. And the moment I deliberately place my hand on her desk, watching her reaction. I see the way her eye widens when they connects with my hands, so my question is pretty simple and easy.

"What makes you think you can help me?" I tease, crossing my right leg over left. She frowns as I recline against the chair, folding my arms above my chest. "And the name's still Cami."