Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1: Introductions are Overrated
September 2nd, 2035. 6:59 pm, New York City, America. Creed Enterprises, Fort-Worth Avenue.
My reflection slimmed against the Creed enterprises one hundredth floor glass window, "Edmund, if you want this finalised, your attention is of utmost importance." Senior director Nicolas says behind me, current manager of the largest oil manufacturing organisation in the Northern hemisphere. I stare so blankly, so darkly at the city, engaging each building into a cluster of its own accord.
"Edmund, the sooner we complete this, the easier it'll be." Nicolas whispers behind me, his pen is placed mid air, in my periphery. The second I stepped one high top leather shoe into this building, I was tensed by nature, perhaps by remembrance. The first time I saw Creed central office, I smashed everything, everything I held inside, let out and the loss of control soothed the raging inferno of memories that collided with every menacing slap, punch, whip and punishment I received by the man who should have raised me to be a respectable male, a respectable man.
He did nothing but rage his anger on me, because God Forbid, he could hurt his own flesh and blood son.
The place reeked of a hierarchy know under management levels and directors of the skies—No, it was an awakening for me, I learnt well, and I sustained the last shred of dignity I had left, firing and hiding both new and old, if they couldn't do the job, there was a new opening, if they were a part of my Father's punishments towards me—I wouldn't tolerate the sight of smirking, cigar-infested men and women who allowed my own father to ridicule me in front of them.
I take the pen from Nicolas' hand, callous as it was, it was no contrast to the silky smooth surface of the pitch black leather pen in my hand that almost felt too slippery as I sign the yearly confirmation marks of this company's running profits, only increasing. This wasn't a permanent sequence—No, it was all a trial and error, handing over an oil company to a teenager, back when I was a teenager, was a reckless, but nonetheless serious choice—in which Nicolas had no other say in.
I had Creed blood in my veins.
This company bleed from it.
The brand scorched the crest with an unhitched, callous reminder. It was mine—all in favour and fortune from Oswald Creed—a vile vulture in and of himself, thankfully a dead vulture. Being six feet under with the worms and mice was peaceful compared to what should have happened to that pathetic excuse of a man.
I sign the contract, skimming the contacts, I knew I'd have my own lease in the movement entailed within the Creed Enterprises. Talk gives me a stoic look from the side as every council-member that ever worked with Oswald, and saw the messes Oswald made in his beatings, are in this room. Some had the decency to wear guilt on their suit-covered sleeves, others couldn't look me in the eye, considering the devil stood watching behind them.
I stand at ease, my hands behind my back as I dismiss each one of them with a cold nod, waiting for the heavy black wooden double doors to close against the harsh office. Seventeen years old, I felt thirty in this moment, the moment I chose to take over the company, earn the money we needed to move to London, United Kingdom, a place I felt more information on the deceased asshole of a Dad could be.
Talon hands me a glass of Dad's finest whiskey, I stay at it, glancing at the crested ring with a Roman design, Creed legacy, the gold and black colours staining my slender pale skin, I take a small sip, wincing, "Never liked the smell of it." I mutter.
He scoffs, "You get use to it. You still haven't said anything about Sampson." He tells me, I side-glance him.
"I'm not going back."
"He'll think you're a traitor." He whispers, standing a metre from me and looking down at the well-lit city of New York, a city that never sleeps. It's different now—snow doesn't sink into my bones, I can wear heavy fabrics, I'm warmer.
For once, I'm finally fucking warm.
The taste of the wintry storm outside was oh-so-familiar, the pounding wet flesh of rain against the already cold glass. Talon leans on the metal railing, another ice-cold feature that he seems to admire, after being so long in sub conditions, "Did you see their faces when they saw you first?" He says, gesturing to the stubbed lip and black eye I sport. My last fight before I faked a death in the field. We fought on the ice, myself and Gibson. A known wrestler brought out of fifteen years in jail, to fight me in the snow, with nothing but shorts on and purple lips.
I was forced onto the ice-lake, down a hedge of snow and fall, shackled to a guard that held a pointed stick to my hip and forced me through the snow, near naked as the wrestler waited for me. The headmistress was there, in a fur coat and a grand smile on her face. No—she was smirking at my frame, my exposed chest, the wounds that I swore I would heal and forever remove. I didn't want memory of this I'd I ever got the chance to escape.
This was two months ago.
Before I knew Oswald had finally died.
I broke my nose during the fight, slammed against the ice with my head shoved into the frozen water and the wrestler on my back, keeping my held under water, long enough for me to fake my death, I slammed my head up after he believed my lungs choked on the water inflating them and my heart—dead.
I wasn't.
I snapped his neck and shoved him into the frozen lake. Standing for air, staring up at the snow for air, I knew I had frostbite, that I was close to passing of hypothermia. That was when Sampson made his move. I was in the infirmary, slamming a guards nose up into his brain, a guard I knew hit harder than the rest. Talon had a fight that day too, he was in the infirmary before me. We electrocuted ourself long enough to make it through the glass basement doors and up the ground ladder, into the snow. Dehydrated yet determined, we ran.
I'm going to have to live with leaving Sampson, Christian, Edison, Knox, Merritt and Atlas behind. They weren't in the right positions, and going back was impossible, I can barely remember how far we trudging through the snow, before Talon found a bar three hours away.
I built my own grave.
I built Oswald's too.
Paying for it with his money.
Talon clears his throat, "Do you even know how to run a company?"
I stare out at the structural alignments of roads, cars, anything but the never-ending snow against our dirt-covered shoes in the hike of running away from a place that still plagued my nightmares on a dangerous loop.
"I'll look through his notes, critique them and hire more developed staff members, managers that don't know of my past, nor will it be seen as relevant." I mutter, fisting my hand, throwing the cup in the bin, done with its reminding menace of the crest.
I still remember each fucking backhand he ever marked against my face, he said my silver eyes was a haunting reminder that he was my biological father, but there's a great difference between a Dad and the sperm donor who's in fact an abusive asshole, who deserved to die the way he did.
I'd always wished he passed in a far more painful way.
The slamming of a metal stick against the echoing metal mattress bar meant that it was time to wake. I glance over to Edison, who's holding a napkin to his bloodied nostril, his black eye and sweaty pale skin told the rest of us that he was snatched last night and used to play.
Sampson stares down at him, "Did you win?" He says, gruffly. Holding his hands at his sides, lifting up on the bed, even with the bandage around his abdomen from when a surprise attacker infiltrated his game, I had my own fair share of bruises. Talon holds his head in his hands, taking deep breaths, he was afraid it'd be him next. Given he was due in for his time to be snatched in the night and awoken, forced into the ring.
Edison stares down at his hands, nodding slowly as he sniffles once, Christian closes his eyes, "It gets easier." He whispers to him, I glance up and over when one of the guards stares our group down, nudging his head as the alarm blades through the speakers and we all roar at it, the deafening wake-up call.
I was shoved down the hall, towards the court room, Sampson makes eye contact with me, "You do this right and we all get the chance to live." He whispers, nudging me forward when I catch a group of obviously trained operatives moving a large, bare-hedged male into the snow outside.
Stage One of escaping...begins.
I squeeze my eyes shut, Talon swallows, "I can't go back." He confesses, sounding shaky as he looks at me, afraid. Fear was something we could never remove, it was drilled in after the mind games, the screams, the blaring alarm in the earliest hours of the morning. The scars.
I turn towards the three large monitors, I hated the mere scent of this room, the new leather smell that wafted through my nostrils. I take a slow seat and open the screen, the company logo on the front and a password as well, Talon shadows in the reflection behind me, "Are you certain this is the right decision? Once you do this, there is no going back." He says to me.
I place the first file on the steel desk, "This is the only way."
March 5th, 2042.
3:52 pm, London, United Kingdom.
Advanced Business Engagements Academy (Private Business Institution), Sylvan Lakeshore.
Four days ago, I made a distinct priority as a council team member of the student representative organisation of the academy to present and provide a personalised tour to two new students who had the school renovating their dormitory three months prior to today's date. I thought this to be a gigantic waste of my team, but to prove a standardised reputation and my own self-worth, I was accounted for such a priority.
I had no idea the two females I was suppose to show around the academy would show such tardiness and impropriety on their first week at such a prestigious and well-known school, that was analysed to be horrifically difficult to get into.
Lyndon gives me a raised eyebrow, "You look constipated." He says to me.
Talon glances up, "He's stressed. These two students were scheduled to be here four days ago on the first day of the semester. They don't appear to care of such commitments to anyone else. What did you say their names were?" He asks me.
I slam the file on our elite lounge table, "Melanie Myers and Lorraine Gunner." I say, roughly. I looked through both their schedules over a week ago, I even worked on where I'd tour guide first because I hated interacting with strangers like these two, when I had so much work on my plate.
Erik's eyes widen at the names, but I pay him no attention as I condense their whispers and instead hear the sound of incessant heel-clicking from down the hall, we were one year into this academy, and already—I was tired of it, but being away from New York, from everything helped.
"Have you had a chance to look around yet? The lecture rooms, or anything?" I hear the dainty notion of a British accent on a female's tone, just from outside and down the hall, I rip open the door, noting that both females were from here.
The brunette was in the middle of answering the almost white blonde-haired woman, who wore what looked to be a thin midnight grey business suit, I was quiet—momentarily taken aback, "Only a couple, I don't even know if they are our lecture rooms. I wasn't going to tour without you." She said to the blonde, obviously unknowing to my presence. I get annoyed at the show of such incompetence. Did they not realise they required a tour guide of sorts.
I stare menacingly at the blonde who smiles towards the brunette, walking directly pass me as if I were a part of the wooden wall beside them as they move, "You just don't want to do the tour for a second time if you did the first without me and didn't want to be alone when it was my turn for a tour." It was Lorraine Gunner, I recognised her immediately once the blonde one, Melanie, moves forward.
"You're late." I announce the words, sarcastically considering not a few moments ago, the blonde bimbo didn't even look at her surroundings.
She pauses and ever so slowly, does she trail her eyes along my raven black coat, sizing me up almost and forever moving her eyes up, given our difference in heights and there was an abnormally wide range in that difference. It was bizarre in the moment her eyes met mine, like a strange pin-drop in the distance, the rain outside moved swiftly into the background of my mind as I tried harder to stay still, even in my frustration. I had to return Nicholas' calls from senior management, report on toxic findings in oil testers in Moscow, I had a lot on my plate.
Her eyes narrow, what freaked me out more was the fact that she had purple eyes and I don't mean a subtle kind of shade, they were dragon-like and just plain weird, abnormal. I thought my eyes were out of this world—this woman was pure alien, through and through.
She blinks, "I'm sorry, who are you?" She says, rudely, but her aura looked like it was trying to match mine. I stare into her, incredulously, taking one step forward and studying the girl, she was thin, and screamed wealth by just how tamed and beautified her white-blonde curls were. She still looked like some kind of alien.
"You're too dense to even know my name?" I spit at her, unsure if she even was...well...human.
She penetrates a death glare into my eyes—the woman is ballsy, "Alright, listen here and listen good. I don't take well to your tone and you're the one who interrupted my conversation, rudely too and now you believe I am supposed to miraculously know who you are the second I meet your pompous self, think again. It would do you well if you politely excuse yourself." Her accent was irrevocably strong, on a new tangent for the Brits of Europe.
The blonde-haired, purple-eyed female in front of me acted so strangely to other females I have encountered. The citrus smell emitted in her personality was a stark contrast to her current perfume of rose vanilla.
She reminded me far too much of lemons.
Alluring—maybe—on the outside. Her exterior was in true fact...beautiful, but senselessly sour on the inside. The colour of yellow was all I was looking at when I trail my silver eyes along the strands of her lemon hair, her pale white skin, softer than marshmallows yet sharper than her natural claws. She looked polished, protected and very much perfected—even as she held herself...very alien, to me...at least.
I give her a practiced, dark look, "Listen Lemon, you're the one who doesn't know who you're dealing with here. I've been waiting four fucking days to give you a tour of this academy and you have the audacity to not only show up here, out of the blue, but insult me also. You have some nerve." I move forward, one step after the other, pointing at her face so she understands, I felt violent and the urge to reign it in, whilst letting my frustrations explode in front of her was creating an imbalance through my thoughts.
Her lips twitch, she punches the bridge of her nose—as if I'm more frustrating than she could ever imagine—I doubt she has any patience, especially the kind to wait four fucking days to give a half an hour fucking tour, "Don't give me a nickname, you don't even know me and you're probably only giving out this tour for a particular school credit. This is not high school, you can speak to me in a civilised manner and I haven't the foggiest idea as to why you think you have the right to yell at me in the middle of a hallway, claiming you're a tour guide when you can't possibly considering a tour guide requires adequate social skills. Something you greatly lack. You can forget about your position, I'll be requesting a better tour guide." She waves me away, like a speck of dust on her shoulder, like an insect in the air, like a nuisance to her.
I felt ridiculed and it pissed me off more.
It shouldn't have irritated me, but I felt at a loss on this one, her house of words and the way she spoke, it took me aback, by surprise.
I shouldn't have been so easily surprised.
Where did she get the nerve?
"I am a member of the elite of this school and you have just publicly and personally offended and attempted to humiliate me, stupid lemon. You've just made an enemy of me!" I prioritise my words, strengthening the bond between them before slamming the door in her face, slamming my back against it and holding my breath as Lyndon, Talon, Erik and Iris stare up at me, expressions masked, some jaws dropped and many eyes dilated.
Talon blinks, "Well, that was an interesting welcome." He whispers.
I thump my head on the door, "I called her 'lemon'." I whisper, shocked it even came out of my mouth. I gave the purple-eyed alien a nickname,what the hell was wrong with this situation? I felt tense and achy, like I should open the door, demand a do-over of some sort yet my body refused it. Refused defeat.
I was taught everything but.
I rip open the door, "Just come with me." I say to them, leaving it open as I strut down the hall, steps quick and concentrated, I should have just gotten this over and done with because then...I wouldn't have to deal with her or any weird fascinations I have for...lemons.
"—Did you see the way he looked at you?" I overhear, moving towards the corner, I watch Lorraine, the brunette one, wearing a far less expensive attire, growl at the blonde-haired alien...who keeps making me see lemons.
The blonde one looks stern, calculated. I halt Talon from moving forward as we stay well within the shadows...for now, "Does it matter? He's not going to be our tour guide anymore, Lorraine. He was rude to us even though we've never met before, I don't even have time for that kind of crap. Stop stressing, you might faint." She says, sounding level-headed.
She was anything but.
The brunette glares at her, both sharing similar heights, "Join me, would you? Did I not tell you how influential he is to the school? Him and his entire group might just make our lives a living hell now," The brunette groans at the blonde alien's nonchalance on the matter. Lorraine, at least I believe that's her name...the files didn't exactly have pictures and I wand't bothered in looking up their names, it's not like I'd have anything to do with anyone outside my group when this was all over.
Lorraine huffs, "No, I am not blaming you. He was rude, I'll admit but he's popular, well-known and has been here longer. We don't exactly have a reputation here to be considered to make a 'high-tide and don't-mess-with-this' statement." Lorraine looked as though she was about to faint.
Iris scoffs, "What is this?" She asks me, gesturing to them. I gesture to 'be quiet'. I watch Melanie Myers begin dialling a number on one of the more advanced iPhone's, one that didn't even look like it had been in store for more than a few minutes and she was already using it. I can't hear who she's decided to call, but her responses were loud and clear.
"Hello, this is Melanie Myers." I hear her say, almost smugly with a hint of a smirk.
"Good evening, Gloria, was it? I would like to request an exchange on my and my associates, Lorraine Gunner, tour guide, Edmund Creed with someone more fitting?" My expression twists and I advance forward, incredulously, my face twists as I stare at the blonde who has her back to me.
Lorraine freezes. Like a deer caught in headlights. Like a child staring into the eyes of surrounding eternal fire, with no air, water or a way out. She taps the blonde ones shoulder yet fails to get Melanie's attention...what with her being so busy ratting me out like a little snitch.
I watch Lorraine slap her shoulder harder as Melanie is too busy to see my group and I loom forward, like predators in the night.
"He may have the qualifications and a reputation at this Academy but he lacks one skill required to enforce all those qualities, and that's social skills. I believe it is entirely unprofessional to demand my locational status the second I arrive at the academy. If my next encounter with him is similar to the first, I will be filing a complaint and I'm certain you don't want to have to follow through with all that paperwork. I would like to know who's next on the list of students who can properly show my associate and I around the premises?" My lips twist and curl animalistic-ally. She did not just—
I watch her glare at Lorraine when the tapping and slapping becomes a nuisance for her. A pale Lorraine gestures in our direction, and I watch the purple-eyed alien turn towards us, irritation in her aura, a flare in those creepy eyes of hers. I fisted my hands at my sides, holding the flame bursting out of my spinal cord, the urge to wish I could scare her, but knew it wouldn't work.
She's silent.
Listening to Gloria, the student advisor and main directory.
I halt in my steps when I hear Melanie say on the line, "That won't be necessary, I can locate him myself. Thank you for your help." She murmurs, before hanging up. I tilt my head, wondering if the woman in front of me had really come to her senses or was rejected? I wonder if it is the first time someone has said 'No' to the well-off bimbo in front of me.
I felt superior with her eyes on me, "Looks like the little Lemon struggles to get her cognitive way. I will allow you to apologise, before we can get started on your tour." I say, stoically. Trying to sound apathetic.
She tilts her head, folds her arms, rolls her shoulders and looks at me.
Who knew one look could render me...oh-so-doubtful, "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed then. We have a new tour guide, one who is hopefully far more intellectually intelligent than you. Or, in words you might understand, you're fired."
I work my jaw.
Click my neck.
Strengthen my worth.
Who is this woman?
I watch her strut away, with Lorraine right next to her. A low whistle leaves Lyndon's lips, "That was unexpected." He murmurs. Glancing over to me as I stare in disbelief.
"Did she just—" I'm about to ask, when Talon raises an eyebrow.
"—fire you? Yeah, that's literally just what happened? I feel like I should have recorded that for something." He says, sounding surprised as he points in the direction we saw the both of them move towards.
I narrow my eyes and slip out my phone, dialling a specific number, it answers on the first call, "Gloria, this is Edmund Creed." I announce.
She sighs in defeat, "I sent Ms Myers to Claude Borne, computer lab in the library. Good luck, Mr Creed." She says to me.
I raise an eyebrow, that wasn't too hard.
I walk straight into the computer lab of the library, surprised that Melanie was even able to locate it in the first place. I step straight inside the second Claude Borne says,
"Oh. No, I hadn't been informed of any such development, I would have been far more prepared. I apologise, what was your name?" I capture a surprised Claude Borne, sitting with a half eaten sandwich, right next to the other quiet and fearful students here, who side-glance my presence in the library. I never step in here unless it was for a class of sorts, but never in my free time.
"I'm sorry, my name is Melanie. Melanie Myers." I watch Lemon say to him, it was far easier to refer to her as 'Lemon'. 'Melanie'—seemed far too sweet.
She shakes his hand, and he's about to introduce himself, before he sees me and naturally—his eyes widen, "I'd be happy to help your case...ah, Mr Creed?"
Lemon looks annoyed, "There is no Mr Creed." She says, as if her words could make me disappear. Claude points at me, gesturing to Lemon, who stiffens and slowly turns to me, our eyes meet once more, just as Lorraine mouths something unintelligent her way.
I address Claude, professionally, "Thank you for your assistance, Mr Borne but, Melanie and Lorraine are currently my students whom I will be touring for this evening. Your services are no longer required. Melanie, if you will?" I say to her, moving aside and gesturing her back out, her disturbance was enough of a problem, without her damn stubbornness as well.
She blinks, "Mr Creed, Mr Borne is perfectly capable of—" I cut her off. With distinctive measures.
"Melanie, do not be rude. Mr Borne is occupied. Let him eat in peace." I challenge her. Eyes watching hers, I knew we were the centre of attention, but that doesn't mean I care as I gesture her towards the exit once more.
She turns to Claude, with a tight 'I-could-kill-the-dust-in-the-air' smile, "I do apologise for any inconveniences that's been caused here. It seems Mr Creed has turned bipolar." I blink when I hear her words. This one is most assuredly spoilt, calling me 'bipolar', as if she hadn't just shown similar qualities, along with great exasperation syndrome. Surely she's diagnosed.
Lorraine moves in front of her, just as Lemon slips past me in an abnormally rude manner. I roll my eyes.
I couldn't wonder why.
I scoff as I close the door to the room shut and look directly down at the short little girl who has the attitude of a fucking giant cross her arms in front of me, sticking out her tiny hip. The woman was the size of only one of my legs, it was hilariously ridiculous, "Mr Creed, huh? Very original, lemon—" She cuts me off.
"What are you doing? That was a clear example of impropriety, right there? This is just a tour, why are you so persistent as to bulldoze your way into following me when the status of your agreement has already changed." She splices up at me, I raise a comical eyebrow.
Holding steady, "I am a man of my word and I can handle your ceaseless complaints for one evening so long as this circuit is resolved at the end. If you want me to uphold your colossally high standards of professionalism, you will show me the same respect. Do I make myself crystal clear?" I ask, lowly. Stepping forward in an act of intimidation, yet all I see in her eyes is the wish the ground below me would slingshot me through the roof.
All in just those creepy eyes.
"You really do." I overhear Lorraine murmur.
"The faster you can get this done, the better." Lemon snaps at me.
So polite.
"That's not an answer, lemon." I say to her, taking yet another step forward.
She scoffs, "It's the only answer you'll get."
I pinch the bridge of my brow and move pass her in further irritation, I needed to dump my face in a tub of ice—this woman irritated the fuck out of me, all in the first moment of meeting her and quite frankly, I wanted this bullshit over and done with so I could on with what I'm trying to do here, merely get the degree and go back to New York.
She steps forward and I turn back, giving her an intensely deafening look, "I would think wisely of your next words. This Academy isn't just for students with enough money to buy their way into private schools, if you fall behind, there are consequences far worse than just being sent home with a failed academic grade letter and a sympathetic pat on the back. You'd do well in taking my words seriously and keep your mouth shut. Can we continue with the tour?" I ask her, darkly. She nods. Just like that.
Not good enough.
I shake my head at her, "Verbalise your thoughts, lemon. I need to know you'll follow through with my warning." I explain to her, attempting to improve her own attitude somehow, only for her to retort back with—
"You told me to keep my mouth shut."
I give her a pointed look. She was eighteen years of age, and yet is still questioning me. I'm trying to help her, and this is what I receive in return. I couldn't believe it as I give her a dark stare, adorning in my eyes was a blackness I try hard to keep so far hidden in my core.
"Don't play smart with me. Tell me you understand?" I try again, this time—with a more pressurising tone, to see if she'd understand, to make sure that she does.
"Understood." She mutters. So, I continue.
"Good. I've taken the liberty of already looking at both of your schedules. I'll begin showing you your course lecture rooms first, before identifying other extra curricular qualities the school has, that either of you may be interested in. As you can see, this is our main library, where you managed to strategically yet, pathetically attempt to gain a new tour guide, lemon. Your mistake will be over-looked, for now. Please, follow me towards your first, shared lecture room." I explain to her, already having a sorted speech in mind, for confrontation like this. I went straight into business mode. I walk ahead of them, initiating they keep up as Lyndon and Talon give me chuckling expressions, turning away, texting that they'll meet up when I'm done.
"He's way out of line, Melanie." I overhear Lorraine whispering to Lemon—fuck sake, I mean Melanie. I lead them down towards the private gym we use as a distressing mechanism, something the Academy merely allows their students to utilise in order to maintain healthy lifestyles and more.
Something I used frequently to remove such anger, such rage from my system after a hard day of study, of more tests and exams, I'd rather be doing those than fighting against flesh stronger than my own.
I interrupt, acting nonchalant, "This is our gym, used mostly just for exercise but they do have compulsory sessions for your first month. A promotional statement in keeping active when most of your time will be on computers working on reports and such. Down the hall is another study room and to your left is three of your lecture rooms. Though, you're both taking the generalised subjects for your first year. Business engagements, Computer programming under Economical Advancements and English Intellect." I gestures to each door, just as Professor Forthright clears his throat behind both girls.
Surprising them.
Forthright looks to me, holding a file he promised from our previous session, "Edmund, these are the few websites I had spoken to you about during your last session with me. I thought I'd give them to you in person, given the fact, I believe you have academic decathlon during our next session," He says, turning to Melanie as I nod towards him, furrowing my eyebrows at the look he gives her, as if one of recognition.
I wasn't sure.
"Good Evening. I'm Professor Finley Forthright, Guidance councillor and mental health doctor of the school, I don't believe we've met, you must be a new student." He introduces himself to Melanie first, making sure to catch her eyes as he studies her.
I wonder if he too picks up on her shitty attitude.
Her tight smile returns, ice-cold, "Lovely to meet you. Yes, my name is Melanie. I was just wondering, do you meet with all the students in the school, for counselling, I didn't realise it may be compulsory?" She says, snapping her hand from his.
"The pleasure is mine and yes, counselling is compulsory at this academy, unlike many other schools, where it wouldn't be. Privacy reasons, of course, but this school takes particular pride in being an open community. I am usually busy around the clock as I'm meeting with each student at least twice every two months. A stress relieving process does take time in nurturing ones mind to positivity, don't you agree?" Forthright answers with, a simple strategy he uses for the first time on all his students.
I never spoke to him about my past life, only current events.
He helped, in some ways, more than anyone else was able to do.
"One may think but the majority of thoughts lie with privacy and confidentiality. Are you implying all students must invoke their private lives and stresses even if they choose not to do so?" I fold my arms, studying her words, rather than her herself.
"Of course students have the right to not speak of their private lives, I can assure you we do not pressurise the students in providing detail of their problems they may face in their studies. I use a number of techniques that allow various solutions to stress, anxiety, depression, loss and the time consuming ways of life that students struggle with at this Academy. May I use an example? Not from another student of course, but what I can read from your aura, Miss Melanie." He explains to her, sounding reasonable to me, only I catch him staring at her differently. Strangely.
I catch Lemon—Fuck, Melanie, nod once.
I shake my head in irritation, get that stupid name out of your head, fucking idiot, Edmund.
"You're quite against one revealing ones secrets even though they could potentially help more than one person in relieving heightened stress levels. Do stop me whenever you like, I do know I get quite carried away in trying to read ones mind, but, is the fact you don't agree in exerting a particular stress because you feel another may use it against you?" He asks her, I raise an eyebrow—it could explain her natural moodiness.
"No." And, this one bleeds denial—The incapability of accepting that of reality.
Meaning: The woman is stressed and I'm dealing with the fucking aftermath.
Forthright nods, already making a diagnostic—this might just be entertaining, "From what I read now, you don't particularly like being questioned or ordered, as I read earlier from your encounters with Edmund here." He gestures to me, before Melanie asks immediately,
"What encounters do you speak of?"
"You were both yelling in front of my office, which is on the corner of the school's main study rooms. Did you feel angry against Edmund's accusations against you when you two had not previously met before?" He asks her, I raise an eyebrow—I hadn't thought we were yelling at such heightened volumes.
"No, there's no point in feeling such strong of an emotion as anger to someone I have never met before." Well, alright then.
"Do you believe he was false in his accusations due to the fact you may have arrived later than what was scheduled?" Yes, did she believe my accusations weren't as justified as saying—I don't know—that the earth is a sphere and not FLAT?
She continues and I grow more and more bored, "Do you believe knowing such information regarding a new student is not considered inappropriate?"
Forthright smiles, plainly, "No, I don't believe so, considering you were both in a hallway, and this is a free country, Miss Melanie but, I do apologise if I stepped too far over the line." He says to her, before apologising.
Would it be rude to ask him if he could give both Melanie and Lorraine him for the rest of the tour?
They might just swoon over his apparent charm.
"Thank you for your apology."
Melanie does the weirdest movement, stepping closer to me, when she speaks quietly and in a hushed tone of voice, to Forthright, who stares down at her soundlessly, probably trying to understand her obnoxiously bizarre behaviour. He turns to Lorraine, while I give Melanie's profile a highly questionable look.
"I apologise, I haven't introduce myself to you, yet, Miss..." He wonders. Lorraine greets him, introducing herself in a certain way, I don't bother looking at them as the alien below me gives me a deadpanned look, glancing back to Forthright as if there was something I should have been seeing right now.
I needed to get to the gym.
If anything.
"-we grew up together. I just have one question, how do you sense someone's aura, without even knowing them?" Lorraine asks Forthright, confused.
I was the first time too.
And, very much aware.
"I can be quite the mentalist, reading body language and knowing the arts of languid movements. Those kind of observational skills do take extra practice and a range of different people in order to...successfully read into how they think, how they breathe...the kinds of things most would miss, where I take great care in attempting to understand." Lorraine blushes under his movements, while Melanie...she looks...disgusted.
I was even more confused.
Forthright proceeds to hand them his business card, one each, I guess he doesn't know that they live in the same dormitory, "This is my business card, along with my email address, officer number and emergency calls at the bottom. A session will be scheduled for the both of you soon, after you have gotten a feel for life at the Academy. I will be sending you both an email when the dates for your sessions arrive. Please, enjoy the tour and good luck for your upcoming classes." He says, shaking my hand before he leaves.
"Are all the professors that good looking and charming? Did you hear the way he spoke about reading the mind?" Lorraine sighs, girlishly. I give both of them a blank stare.
"He's a con artist, Lorraine. That part was obvious." Melanie retorts, staring at the card, as if her eyes alone could burn it to dark grey ashes and dissolve into dust for just having touched it.
I roll my eyes and scoff, she must have some phobia for matters of the importance of hygiene, "He's our most popular Professor because everyone gets along with him and he is known for solving the problems many students face, who struggle with the stress levels of the Academy and the courses here. I think you're judging him a tad bit too quickly, lemon." I explain, using that stupid nickname again, it just blurts out now.
She's better as 'lemon'.
On a more personal level, Edmund.
Fuck off.
"Would you just continue with the tour?" She initiates, wanting to get on with the tour.
Still as bossy as ever.
