Bells
My first fewclasses were a blur of lectures that went way over my head, considering that I was coming in in the middle of the semester. I’d had spellcraft, alchemy, and an introduction to the various paths available to students hoping to graduate from the Academy and prove they were reformed.
The primary five were military, administrative, healing, justice, and special forces. None of them sounded remotely within my wheelhouse. And how could they? I didn’t even know who I was and they expected me to choose my entire future. The fact that not one but two complete strangers had announced they were my soulmates at breakfast was enough to make me want to say fuck it, just throw me in super prison. Things couldn’t possibly be any more confusing there.
There was one thing keeping me going, though, and that was the fact that I needed to know where I came from, and how I’d gotten here. Without that vital information, I had no idea what to do with my future, and it had become clear that there were a lot of people with a vested interest in making sure I knew as little as possible.
I skipped my lunch break at the risk of running into Dean and Alistair again. I wasn’t even sure I was going to show up after school to meet with them, but I definitely didn’t have the energy to deal with it now.
Instead, I found a relatively quiet spot outside on one of the balconies overlooking the vast woods surrounding the castle. From this angle, the great iron gates surrounding the property looked more protective than punitive, but as beautiful as the campus was, it was still a prison.
Once I’d soaked up enough fresh air to feel a little less like I was going to hyperventilate, I grabbed my bag and headed back inside to find my next class. The name listed on my schedule didn’t make any sense.
Talk session.
What the hell was that supposed to be?
I figured I’d find out one way or another. The classroom was located in a different part of the building from the others on my schedule, and when I passed the headmaster’s office, I was sure I’d taken a wrong turn. I checked my schedule again and looked up at the number on the door in front of me.
202. This was definitely it.
I knocked reluctantly, but no one came. I was about to turn around when I heard someone moving around inside.
The door opened, and a man with neat blond hair looked out at me. He was prettier than he was handsome, and could’ve passed for a preppy twenty-something if it wasn’t for the faint lines around his amber eyes. They were the same exact shade as his hair, actually.
“Come in,” he said, his voice refreshingly welcoming as he held the door open and stood aside.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping inside. The office was neat and spacious. It had a warmth the rest of the school was decidedly lacking, just like his eyes. “I’m actually not sure I’m supposed to be here. This isn’t a class, is it?”
The room was spacious with a zen aesthetic, including a waterfall along one wall. The light hues were definitely supposed to be comforting, but that just made me feel like I had reason to be concerned.
“Are you here for your talk session?” he asked.
“Oh. Yeah,” I said, suddenly feeling like an idiot. “That’s therapy?”
Shit. I would’ve skipped it altogether if I’d known that. I wasn’t even sure why I was so averse to the idea, it just triggered something inside of me that made me want to immediately run in the opposite direction. “I think there’s been a mistake. I don’t need anything like that.”
As far as I knew, therapists dug into your past, and my problem was not even having one.
“Yes, it’s therapy,” he said with a smile, settling into the gray chair across from the couch. I guessed the couch was the size it was to accommodate the less-than-human-sized students. “Why don’t you think you need it?” It was more of a curious question than an accusation.
I felt awkward standing as he sat down, but I knew if I ended up on that couch, I was pretty much stuck. “I don’t remember anything,” I admitted, scuffing the toe of my shoe against the carpet. “I’m not sure there’s much you could help me with.”
He chuckled a little as he pulled a pair of silver-rimmed glasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. “That’s exactly how therapy will help you,” he replied. “The point of therapy is to gently bring approved memories to the surface. Do you want to be a whole person?”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about the fact that he was hotter than any of the staff I’d come across yet. The glasses definitely completed his look. “Oh,” I said, reluctantly letting my bag slip to the floor as I sat down on the couch across from him. “Yeah, I guess that’s the point. You can really do that?” I asked doubtfully.
“Yes. I’m a psychic,” he replied. “Dr. Price.” He leaned forward, his hand outstretched to shake mine.
“Psychic?” My eyes widened at his words. In the time I’d had to wonder what the hell I was, I’d entertained the possibility that I might be a psychic, but I had no powers to speak of. I definitely couldn’t read anyone else’s mind, and the only way I was bending any spoons was by force.
I reached out to shake his hand. “Should I be worried about you reading my thoughts?” I asked, only half-kidding.
“Worried? No, there’s nothing to worry about,” he said cryptically. “So… what’s your name? And what’s your very first memory?”
That didn’t sound like a no, but I wasn’t going to press him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, since there was nothing I could do about it. I just tried not to think about the fact that he was attractive. Which, of course, made my mind drift deeper into the gutter.
“I’m Bells. At least, that’s what it says on my ring. The first thing I remember is waking up,” I answered, rubbing the mark on my wrist. It had become a nervous habit. “Angels in white coats asking me a bunch of questions about what I remembered and who I was.”
