“But about a month ago your grades started dropping, you started sleeping in class, or not bothering to show up at all, and now you’re refusing to put in any effort at all to improve. So, what’s your plan? Drop out?”
Excellent fucking idea. Then I wouldn’t have to bother with all this fucking bullshit.
Ms. Gonzalez kept her eyes on me, waiting patiently in silence for me to say anything. It was getting awkward, and I clenched the pillow harder with my fists. I noticed her gaze flick towards the clock on the wall before settling back on my face.
“What if I said yes?” I finally relented just to clear the awkward silence.
She pursed her lips in thought before speaking. “I’d ask you what you planned to do then.”
“Get a job, obviously.”
She nodded. “And why not finish the school year and then get a job? It’s only seven more months, and you’ll be a much better candidate for jobs if you have a diploma.”
I let out a silent groan. What was I supposed to tell her to get her to leave me alone? She was right, and I didn’t have a good excuse to bullshit her with.
“I take it you know this,” she said, raising a brow in question.
“Yes,” I muttered. “It’s just probably the best option for me.”
“And why’s that?”
I could tell she was curious and eager to know the truth, but I could never give it to her. What the fuck would I say? ‘Oh, I’m planning to marry an older man and become a housewife so the gang I’m in can commit crimes of political corruption.’
“What does your family think?”
“My dad doesn’t give a shit,” I spat with annoyance.
“That must be hard,” she said, with a sad smile. “Your family is supposed to support you, help you to make choices in your life that will help you to succeed.”
I rolled my eyes with a scoff.
“And your brother?”
My stomach tensed at the mention of Javier and what he would think about my choices lately. Just the thought of him knowing everything that I’d done since his death made me want to die. I might not have known all his secrets, but I was sure as shit that he would’ve at least called me a weak failure.
I cleared my throat trying to get rid of the lump that had formed.
“He wouldn’t have an opinion. He’s fucking dead,” I said angrily as my eyes started stinging with tears.
“Fuck,” I grumbled, reaching over for the box of tissues on the small table between our chairs. I muttered curses to myself as I dried my eyes and began fanning my face.
“What are you feeling right now?” Ms. Gonzalez asked with sympathy.
“Like my fucking eyeballs are getting stung by a hive of killer bees,” I spat with annoyance. “You said you read my file, so you should know I’m allergic to my tears.”
She gasped and urgently asked me if I needed an EpiPen.
“No,” I growled. “But some fucking ice would help.”
“Of-of course. I’ll be right back.”
I heard the door slam against the wall and let out a sigh of frustration.
For fuck’s sake.
Fuck this motherfucking day.
Fuck me for being such a goddamn fucking weak-ass puta. I swear, I’m either getting more pathetic by the hour or my allergic reactions are getting worse.
