Walking in, Mrs. Lawson gasped upon seeing my drenched state. She immediately offered a towel which I accepted gratefully. Changing into the spare clothes in the office had become a familiar routine. The older lady turned her back to give me some privacy. As I changed, I took in the usual appearance of the room. The walls were a calming shade of blue, adorned with framed motivational quotes and landscapes paintings. A wooden desk sat against one wall, cluttered with paperwork and a laptop. The room smelled faintly of lavender, a feeble attempt to soothe my nerves for today’s meeting. Smoothing out my curls as best as I could, I took my seat across from Mrs. Lawson. 

“Would you like to discuss how today was?” She asked, her voice gentle but probing almost as if she had an inkling that the day was shit. But instead of opening up like any sane human being would, I avoided her gaze and softly shook my head. I couldn’t risk her probing me for answers until I’d eventually break. She didn’t know that I was contemplating ending it all. That I was going to end it all. She didn’t deserve to have her soul crushed again.

“Your professors are worried about you,” she said, her smile seeming misplaced in the gravity of the situation. 

A bitter laugh escaped me, a harsh sound in the quiet room. The thought of anyone possibly giving a damn about me was ludicrous. No one here could give two fucks about me. Or any of the students here because if they did, four of them wouldn’t have committed. Instead of laughing with me as she usually did to ease the tension, Mrs. Lawson leaned forward, her expression serious.

“Kali,” she started off gently. “You’ve missed over two weeks of classes. Failing grades, lack of attendance…the school is genuinely thinking about kicking you out.”

Her words startled me. I knew that Elmwood University was strict, but I never thought that taking a small break would lead to such drastic measures. My school apartment was my sanctuary, the only barrier between me and whatever the hell the world had planned for me. If I were to lose it, I would be forced to go back to that woman and that was the last thing I wanted. Trembling, the words began to fully sink in. The walls of the room seemed to press against my chest, suffocating me. I’d worked so hard to escape from my old home, and now the world was telling me that I might have to go back.

What a fucking life.

The counselor’s voice became a distant hum as my mind raced. The nights spent huddled in my aunt’s basement, stifling sobs into a pillow, came rushing back to the forefront. The constant criticism, the impossible expectations— it had all driven me to the brink of nothingness. And now, the very thought of possibly returning to that suffocating environment paralyzed me. 

“Kali,” Mrs. Lawson’s hands pressed against both sides of my face, the gesture pulling me back to the present. “We can explore more options. Maybe a medical leave or something of the sort. Just know that you’re not alone in this. 

Except I did feel utterly alone.

The trembling spread from my hands to legs, and I’d probably buckle if I was standing. I wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but my voice remained trapped. As the counselor continued to try and soothe my nerves, my mind drifted once more. I imagined my aunt’s disapproving stare and I saw myself shrinking, becoming small and insignificant once more. 

“I won’t go back,” I whispered, pressing my nails deeper into my palms.

“Go back to where, darling?” Mrs. Lawson’s eyes were filled with concern.

“I refuse to go back to that place.”

The woman sighed before nodding. “I don’t know what it is that you aren’t telling me, but I’m going to do everything in my power to help you.” 

My eyes widened, and I’d probably laugh in her face if I wasn’t terrified at the consequences that came with possibly being expelled.  She clearly didn’t have a clue. The older lady stood, moving over to her filing cabinet. The sound of her shuffling through several folders filled the room until she found whatever it was she was looking for. Sitting back down, Mrs. Lawson placed an envelope on the table. Her eyes, usually confident, held some form of hesitation and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know what was inside now. I looked down at the envelope and then back at her. This time, she gave me a small smile as encouragement. 

Picking up the envelope, I opened it up to find a single sheet of paper with the name of some clinic– Serenity Springs Therapy. Mrs. Lawson then reached behind her and pulled out a business card before sliding it across the table. Staring down at it, my throat constricted. A therapist? No. I couldn’t afford therapy. I didn’t want any damn therapy. 

Therapy meant talking about the things that haunted me, facing my deepest fears and regrets. I couldn’t do it. Not while some old person with a fancy degree pretended to care. 

“It’s a new program the university offers. The sessions are free, and they currently have a few openings for students like yourself.”

Students like yourself.

The words stung, and she had no idea that she just proved exactly why I didn’t want to talk to some stranger about feelings. But still, a tiny part of me couldn’t help but consider it. Could I really talk to someone this time? And could they really help me? Doubtful. I didn’t believe in therapy, not really. It was a waste of time and money, even if this damned school was giving out sessions for free. But the more I thought about the possible solution, a slow realization came over me. Expulsion. That meant going back to her. 

No. I couldn’t go back. And so, despite the uncertainty gnawing at my insides, I decided to suck it up and give this clinic a chance if it meant securing my spot within the school. 

My mind was a whirlwind of emotions as I stumbled out of the office. Outside, the rain continued to relentlessly pour. Pulling my borrowed hoodie tighter around me, the dampness seeped in once more. Walking slowly, my feet carried me to the parking lot. If they were to actually expel me, where would I go?

What am I going to do now?

The questions plagued my mind as the wind picked up, blowing raindrops into my face. Pushing my hair away from my eyes, I knew that I needed time to really think about all of this before I drove myself insane. Somewhere quiet would do, at least then I could be all alone in peace. But first, I needed food in my system. Reaching my car, I turned the keys as the engine sputtered to life. Settling into the driver’s seat, I waited for the heater to kick in when my phone chimed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I whispered to myself, expecting it to be another text from my sister taunting me or Mrs. Lawson begging me to consider what we’d talked about a few minutes prior. But instead, it was a text from dad.

Dad: Hey K, how’s school going?

Me: It’s going fine. Was actually about to head to my next class.

Dad: Oh. Well, give me a call whenever you’re free. Love you.

 A tug of guilt hits me as I weave through another conversation with him. Deep down, I know that he cares about me, but sometimes I feel that it’s better to keep those who care within arm’s reach to protect them. Or at least, that’s what I told myself over the years. 

Tucking my phone into the cup holder, I pull out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly. The windshield wipers work overtime, swiping away the downpour that blurs the streets. I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening as the route the GPS is spewing at me takes me past the neutral-toned buildings, their windows reflecting the gloomy sky. The streets, usually bustling with life now seem desolate under the heavy rain. 

As I approach the Love & Latte Joint, its sign adorned with a steaming coffee cup comes into view. I park, the tires splashing through puddles and make a dash for the door. The bell above it tinkles softly as I enter, the familiar scent of coffee and baked goods filling my nostrils. Cecelia, the owner and practically my second mother, greets me with a knowing look as she makes eye contact with me. Her eyes, a warm hazel, seem to see right through my facade.

“The usual?” she asks, her voice a soft murmur. 

I nod, managing a small smile. “To go, please.”

As I wait for my sandwich to be prepped, I look around, taking note of the walls adorned with framed photos. Cecelia had mentioned just a few days ago that she felt the walls looked a bit bland. Now, they tell stories. To the far right, a photo catches my eyes. It was a picture of Cecelia and my mom, both laughing, their faces radiant with joy.

The outside world fades as my heart clenches. Mom used to tell me stories about how she and Cecelia dreamed of opening a cafe together someday. But now, with her gone, the photo remains a bittersweet reminder of how much life has changed over the years. 

“Kali, your sandwich.” Cecelia’s voice startles me from behind, causing me to jump. Turning around, I quickly snatched the brown paper bag and muttered my thanks before stepping back out into the downpour. The rain seems colder now, each drop a reminder of the emptiness that lingers.