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Axel
Iremovemyglassesto rub my eyes as I try to focus on the lecture and take notes. I volunteer during the day at a youth’s shelter and attend psychology classes at night time in order to fulfill my dreams of becoming a counselor. A dating life doesn’t exist for me anymore. I decided since the breakup to focus my energy on me and my future, limiting ‘sex’ to me jacking off if I’m not too tired first thing in the morning or at the end of the night. Most of the time I crash into bed which is fine for me because I think I’ve had enough sex for a lifetime. And I’ve learned with time that I’ve let it cloud my judgment. I wouldn’t necessarily say that I’m ‘abstinent’ though. If I had the time and energy, I’d definitely partake in it every now and then but I’ve gotten to a place where I feel empowered by the fact that I don’t NEED it as much as I thought that I did. Benefits of being a psych student and over psychoanalyzing yourself.
It looks like I forgot to put my phone on silent as it starts to ring so loud in a classroom filled with more tired night time students and a lecturer trying to sound enthusiastic, pretending that he’d rather not be at home with his wife and kids. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, jumping out of my seat and running through the door. The phone stops ringing and I groan, turning around to go back inside when it starts ringing again. I run my hand through my neat curls, messing it up. When I look down, my palm starts to excrete sweat as I notice the area code. I look back at the door to the lecture room in panic, jumping away from it in fear that standing too close to it will alert them to my secrets. I look down the empty hallways and hurry outside, walking far enough away where I feel like I can have a conversation with whoever is on the other end of the line in private.
“Hello?” I answer in a rush, failing to hide my shattering nerves.
A stranger asks me about myself on the phone before going into the reason for his call. It’s Julissa. She’s in danger again. I was never under the impression that Julissa being in Las Vegas would be ‘safe’. I’m not braindead. I knew going back there would put her in danger so this is no surprise to me. I’m about to tell the stranger, while I appreciate the call, I wish Julissa the very best in her endeavors but I won’t be accompanying her on her self-destructive journeys anymore until he tells me to check the Las Vegas news.
I mean, if she’s made the news, that’s no longer just Julissa running around, getting herself in the usual danger, is it? If she’s made the news, this must be pretty serious. The call disconnects and I brace myself for what I’m about to find, fearing the worst, like she’s in critical condition in the hospital or they’ve caught her and have her in jail where I know she won’t have any escape from her enemies.
I can’t ignore her with ‘tough love’ when I’m aching to know how she’s doing and whether or not she’ll be okay. I move fast to search for the news and when I see that she’s declaring war on the city of Las Vegas, I nearly faint. All I see is a woman attempting suicide, just the same to me as someone standing on the top of a building, about to jump off. Why the fuck would she declare war? I see a woman who believes she has nothing more to live for and that’s not true. Yes, I will never be the person that follows behind her like a cult member again but studying psychology has helped me learn so much about a person who has no regard for their own life. And while being in a relationship with such a person is not recommended no matter how much you love them and still want to be with them, treating a patient like this is imperative.
This one is hard. She’s not my patient. She’s the woman I’ve tried to convince myself to let go of, suppressed the need to grieve the loss of her love and my love for someone who doesn’t love themself, she’s the woman who I need to remind myself not to take on a savior complex for. She’s the woman who walked out on us because she was so bent on heading down a path of destruction. She’s the woman who doesn’t know what it means to love, at least not in a way that doesn’t serve her agenda. She’s the woman I should avoid, yet she’s also a woman who needs help. And I’m now the man who has learned to detach my personal feelings from the feelings of someone training to become a treatment counselor. I’m now the man with the tools to help her without throwing myself at her feet.
She’s also the woman that I never managed to stop loving that needs help. I can’t watch her commit her version of jumping off a building to her death without doing something to stop her, even if I have feelings involved. I’ll put my feelings aside to help someone in need and that’s the only reason I’m going. It has nothing to do with the fact that hearing her name again caused my heart to flip in excitement before it almost fell to my feet when I was given the reason for the call. It has nothing to do with the closure I didn’t get to have after waking up to find that she’d disappeared. It has nothing to do with the need to hold her again. Nothing at all to do with the fact that I’ve missed her every single day since she’s left and I’ve been trying to keep going as if I don’t care, focusing on her villainous traits so that I won’t miss her tender ones.
No. I’m going because this is great practice for my future path, which reminds me. Although, I’ll be going, I won’t let her mess up this path for me. And as proof that I’ve made progress; instead of running off like a chicken without a head, making an impulsive ticket purchase and showing up in a daze just because she needs me, I’m deciding to head back inside to let my lecturer know that I’ve got a family emergency. I’m going to collect my notes and bag, head back to my apartment to drop it off, write an email to the Dean informing them about this emergency as well so that they will be aware of my absence in the next coming days without fucking expelling me or some shit. I’ll do the same for the shelter I volunteer at.
After I take care of my life which is just as important to me as hers, I book the ticket to Las Vegas and pack, reminding myself to keep the wounded parts of my heart out of this all the way to the airport.
Chapter 38
Julissa
Iguessthere’ssomethingto be said about the recruits who came together to try to protect me. I mean, it doesn’t change much about anything. I’m still going to leave this fucking place and continue my plan and there’s nothing they can do to stop me. But I guess, maybe, if I decided I needed help, it’s nice to know that I’d have back-up. That’s if they’re willing to risk everything though. If they were, they wouldn’t have me cooped up in here. Besides, I’d only ask for their help if I found that I actually had something to live for at the end of the day but I’ve taken this too far, way past the point where I feel there’s any coming back for me. I don’t want to live with the person I’ve become and I’m not going to bring them on my suicide mission when they’ve got so much left to live for still.
I’m in a private suite in the facility, one of several used by recruits working an early or late shift should they need a place of collapse after their shifts or they’d like to stay at the facility to make sure they are on time, the choice is theirs. They’ve shoved me into one of the suites, disabling the code that I could have used to leave at will and keeping the key for themselves. They’ve put me here because the suites are a bit difficult to find, in case of a raid. It’s frustrating because I’ve been trying to figure out ways to bust out of this shit but of course, I’ve failed.
I’m taking some meth on the sofa when the door to the suite opens and I turn around to find a recruit, panicking. “We’re missing one of the pimps,” she says. I tuck the pipe into the cushions before she can see it.
“Who?” I ask, now more concerned than I was before I jumped ship.
Knowing the recruits' loyalty, I’m concerned that an escaped pimp could spell trouble for them too, not just for myself which I couldn’t care less about, if they talk to the right people which is basically anybody right now. One word from that escaped pimp and this whole facility will be discovered, putting all the recruits in danger.
“The white-haired one,” the recruit says.
My blood boils. I’ve had just enough of fucking Snow. I fucked up when I fucked him and after fucking him, he regained his balls somehow, not only passing his place trying to put me in mine, lecturing me, telling me what to do but to have the audacity to escape on top of everything. Beating this piece of shit isn’t enough.
“Let me go find him,” I basically growl.
“No, you’re crazy. We’re not letting you out there,” she says.
I push her out of the way. “Try and stop me because I’ll fight each and everyone of you if I have to. And unless you kill me, I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
She pulls me back. “Think about what you’re doing Julissa. You can’t fight us all and we’ll do whatever we can to restrain you.”
I think about it, wondering why the fuck I feel the need to start raging when I have a secret elevator in my office.
“Fine. Fine.” I lower my head in false distress. “Am I at least allowed to leave this room? Iamallowed to go tomy ownoffice, aren’t I? Do I have to stay cooped up here? Or do I have your permission m’lady to roam the fucking facility?” I ask as sarcasm draws my tongue.
She steps aside with a smirk. “Of course you can. There are recruits watching every exit anyway. It’s just that we want you to be as far away from any initial attack as possible.”
I look at her with pride, as the little soldier I “raised”. Well, that’s one way to put it. “I understand. I’ll be trying to busy myself with work. I don’t want to be disturbed while I sulk. Unless you have news, letting me know that you’ve found him, understood? By the way, are you aware of him leaving his post? What about the other day? Did you tell him about the news or did he see it himself?” I ask.
“The news about you?” she asks as if wondering how I would know if he saw it or not.
“Yeah, he mentioned something about it.” I find myself fidgeting with my ear. Damn it, they must know that I’ve fucked him. I didn’t do much to hide it. And yes, we’ve talked and I’ve spilled my stupid fucking guts to him, despite how much I said I would avoid him at all fucking costs. My stomach rumbles with disgust and embarrassment at the memory. I had a moment of weakness again and he used my panic attack to plan his escape, the piece of shit.
