The absence of any malice and the abruptness of the change had shocked me into a stillness I often hid inside.
“Sebastian?”
His voice was like a bass drum, low and strong. The last letter rolled off his tongue, the beat making my name sound like something bright and brand new.
“I’m—”
I knew who he was.
Roman Hayes was as much a stranger to this place as I was now. Ridgemont didn’t always offer counseling services to their students. It was a position the board had created years ago, and it was a position we couldn’t seem to keep filled.
They quit.Always.
No single counselor had stayed more than a couple of months. I’d blame it on the eerie atmosphere and horrible pay, but it was likely the students that kept scaring them all away.
Not so much on purpose but the students here were…a lot.Most were foster kids or orphans. Some had parents that dropped them off at the curb for the year just to spend some time alone. Others chose this place as an alternative option to juvy.
Me? I was born here.
Trapped.
Mr. Hayes cleared his throat. The noise was gentle, but it commanded attention in a way that had my chin sweeping upward.
My eyes were narrow, hidden beneath the shadows of my hood and the ends of my bangs. I studied him through the wispy strands. He was several feet taller than me, and his arms were folded across his chest, displaying the color that decorated them. Beginning at his wrists, disappearing beneath the edges of his sleeves, were bold, vivid lines. No two tattoos looked exactly the same, but they seemed organized somehow, more meticulous than random.
I noticed the bird on his forearm first. It was bright red, wings open and beak cracked. Feathers were falling from his body, and they were cracked too, as if someone had torn them off.
“Do you like birds?” he asked.
I shrugged.
I didn’tthinkI liked birds… not until I saw that one.
“It’s a phoenix,” he said. “A tad cliche but I like what it represents.”
Resurrection.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the bird with the broken wings represented who he was now or who he was before.
I was broken now…silenced. A lot like that cracked beak.
Mr. Hayes flexed his arm, and the phoenix danced across his skin a little. He was as patient as I was apprehensive, and I think he must’ve picked up on my nervous state, because he stood there and let me study him.
His choice of outfit lacked the pompous flair that most of Ridgemont’s staff possessed. I wondered if the headmaster had seen him yet and what he’d say about the simple black t-shirt Mr. Hayes wore. It was clean, free of wrinkles, and tucked into a pair of pressed jeans. A belt was secured around his waist and there was a pair of shiny black boots on his feet.
“Should we get started?” He asked, and I liked that he made it sound as though I had a choice.
Morning sessions with Mr. Hayes was a mandatory condition upon my returning to school. Trauma and tragedy were a vile combination, and the board was worried I’d spiral.
As if I hadn’t already.
Mr. Hayes took a step backward, making room for me to slip past him. My steps were tentative and small as I moved into his office. It was bigger than I thought it’d be but it wasn’t grand by any means.
He had lamps of all variations placed strategically throughout the room. I imagined they were to make up for the lack of windows and the absence of natural light. Their beams cast a gold-colored hue across his wooden furniture, and there were shadows concealing the areas the lamps couldn’t reach.
A wall of bookshelves stood proud behind his desk. Their cleanliness contradicted the scent that lingered through the air. It was a musky, vintage smell that made this place feel thousands of years old.
I nearly expected cobwebs to be strung across his low ceiling and tangled in the legs of his oversized desk.