Page 5 of Vicious Titan

5

Elliot

Fuck. How does she do it? How does she provoke every emotion—good and bad—from me with nothing more than a glance my way, then push me over the edge with her words? Once again, I’d spent my day being petty, tormenting her, and in one moment she has me completely obliterated, standing in a damn janitor’s closet, frozen in place like a freakin’ idiot. Why? Because I want to follow her. Beg her to forgive me. Again. But that won’t end well for either of us. How can it when I do nothing but inflict pain on her? Whether unintentional or deliberate, it’s always the same dreadful end result. Her in tears, suffering, and wanting far away from me.

It’s a good ten minutes before I’m able to regain my composure and step into the corridor. Before I realize where I’m at, I’m walking through the front office, heading to Principal Huntington’s door. I half expect the secretary to stop me, but instead Mrs. Ruth waves me past without paying much mind to my zombie-like state. Huntington stands from his desk when he spots me standing in the doorway.

“Elliot, what can I do for you?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble, so many thoughts rushing through my mind.

There’s a hint of concern on his face when I meet his eyes, and he motions to the chair in front of his desk. “Well, how about you have a seat, and we’ll figure it out together.”

My body remains tense, feet rooted in place at the doorway while Huntington remains standing, his watchful eyes on me. I don’t know why I’m in here, I just know that there’s something wrong with me. “Why do we hurt the ones we care about the most?”

Huntington gives me a remorseful look that makes my stomach turn. I don’t want his pity. He’s the one person who has been holding me accountable, not putting up with my shit even though my dad gave him a sob story. Huntington moves around to the front of his desk, leaning against it as he crosses one ankle over the other, his palms pressed against its smooth surface. The remorse is gone from his face, thankfully, and is replaced with an expression that I read as understanding. “I’ve asked myself that same question. I’m not certain of the correct answer, but my best guess is it’s because we know those are the very people who won’t turn their backs on us, even if we deserve it sometimes.”

“But sometimes they do.” My mom. Victoria. My dad, although I don’t think he actually cares even though he should. If you can’t love your own son, are you even capable of love? Am I capable of love, or am I just as screwed up as him?

“It might feel like that at times, but it’s still there, even if we can’t reach out to them, talk to them, or be around them, they’re still with us.” Huntington pushes off the desk as I look to him, unable to accept his words. “Why don’t you have a seat. We can discuss what’s on your mind, or you can just hang out for a while.”

Nodding, I stiffly move to the chair where I plop down and stare at the photograph on his wall. Huntington has a woman I recognize as his wife in his arms, and she hugs their daughter. They appear to be a happy, doting family. Is it real? Do they secretly hate each other behind closed doors, or is there a such thing as being truly happy inside and out?

When I remain silent, Huntington gets the silent plea that I just want to sit here. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to discuss anything because all of it brings up even worse feelings, and I don’t want to think about Victoria actually being done with me. As much as I want to stay away from her, be angry with her, I realize that part of me hoped she’d fight for us. Whatever us is … or was.

I hadn’t realized that Huntington left the room until he appears in front of me, handing me a bottle of water. Sitting in the chair beside me, he unscrews the lid off his water and gulps it down without a word. That’s how we remain for a few minutes until I spot the degree certificate on his wall.

“Did you always want to be a principal?”

“Nope. I wanted to be an astronaut.”

I can’t help but laugh, thinking of Huntington floating around in space. “What changed your mind?”

“Motion sickness. I couldn’t handle the carousel at the mall without getting woozy, so I figured rocketing out of Earth’s atmosphere was out of the question,” he chuckles, shifting as he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. Plucking a photograph from it, he passes it to me. “But I lived out the dream on a smaller scale.”

Studying the picture, I see his daughter wearing a plastic astronaut helmet as she sits on his lap in a mock space shuttle. The bright smile on her face is contagious and causes a smile to peek at my lips.

“Are you happy?”

“I won’t say there haven’t been some ups and downs, but yes. I’m truly happy. My wife and daughter are my world, and I have a fulfilling career I enjoy with my feet firmly planted on the ground.”

I glance at the picture once more before passing it back to him. “Thanks.” Standing, I move to the door, still unsure how or why I ended up in this office.

“Elliot, my door is always open. Don’t forget that.” Huntington moves towards me, standing a few feet away. He hesitates before stepping forward to extend a business card toward me as he continues, “If you need anything, give me a call. Day or night.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, looking at the card before tucking it in my wallet. I appreciate the gesture, but I know he’s only doing so out of pity because of the circumstance with my mom.

There isn’t much time left before the final bell, so I take the opportunity to head out to the parking lot before the crowd descends. I’m not in the mood to pretend to be happy; I’m anything but at the moment. My thoughts move back and forth between the conversations with Victoria and Huntington on the drive home. Both are unsettling—each in a completely different way—but not as much as the sight of my father’s car parked in its usually vacant spot in the garage. He never stays around for more than a few hours at a time, yet he picks now to remain close at hand, the day I want to be as far away from him, and everyone else, as I can get. The only consolation is Susan’s car parked out front. She’s a pro at keeping tempers from getting too out of hand … most of the time.

Stepping into the kitchen, I’m greeted by Susan’s smiling face but there’s an underlying uneasiness to her posture as she neatly folds a dish towel, draping it over the counter in front of the sink. “Supper is in the fridge and there’s a package that came for you today. I put it in your bedroom.”

“Thanks.”

“Elliot.” Susan walks over to me, lowering her voice. “I’m going to head home in a few if you’re good.”

“I am.” I give her a reassuring smile even though I’m anything but good. “I’m going to crash early, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She props a hand on her hip, studying my face as she scrunches her eyebrows.