“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I muttered under my breath.
Irony, perhaps?
“I hate you.”
You hate everyone.
I rolled my eyes and forced myself to respond to his email with my availability. What choice did I have? I couldn’t risk failing. If I had to endure Nathaniel for a few study sessions to succeed, then so be it.
***
Nathaniel reserved a study room tucked away on the third floor of the university library, an arched oak door with ‘room 044’ inscribed on the rusted plaque dangling from the worn wood. A curved window stained with dirt and grime offered a pale glow illuminating the dark oak desk in the centre of the room, the lantern in the right-hand corner barely adding any light.
I lowered myself onto one of four wooden chairs crowded around the table, dust coating my fingertips as I drummed them against the creaking wood. My leg bounced up and down to the same rhythm until the door screeched open and Nathaniel entered with twelve pages of research, his laptop, and two books on criminal psychology.
Within seconds, he launched into a presentation to convince me his chosen topic was the one we should pursue.
I sat in silence, arms folded over my chest as he rattled on with statistics and research. He paced up and down the small space as though he were a professor lecturing his students. I was bored out of my mind. And I didnotwant to do our essay and presentation on the topic he’d chosen.
“In conclusion,” Nathaniel finished his argument with a charming smile that screamedpunch me in the face, “I believe our research should focus on how serial killers manipulate their victims, detectives and members of the jury to convey innocence.”
“I disagree.”
Nathaniel frowned in a childish pout as a single strand of hair fell over his deep brown eyes. “You…disagree?”
“Everyoneis going to choose psychopaths and serial killers. We did three weeks on ‘the criminal mind’ alone. And it’s clearly what everyone is most interested in,” I explained, “we should try and stand out by doing somethingdifferent.”
To my surprise, Nathaniel did not argue. “Okay,” he murmured, picking at his bottom lip absentmindedly as he sat down, “what didyouhave in mind?”
I slid my laptop toward him so he could read the three pages of research and brainstorming I had prepared prior to our meeting. It was not as thorough as Nathaniel’s—but it had all the information he needed to make a decision.
“Why did you choose this topic?” he asked once he'd finished reading. “I mean, we could have doneanything.And you chose…” He squinted as he peered down at my laptop screen, “... religious fanaticism, an investigation into how cults manipulate its members to produce religious psychosis?”
My shoulders deflated. He didn’t sound impressed. “I chose it because no one else will. Haywood is probably sick of psychopaths. Let’s at least make grading our assignment interesting for her, hm?”
“It certainly is interesting…” Nathaniel hummed.
“But?”
“But nothing.”
I gave him a look.
“I’m serious!” he insisted with a laugh as he returned my laptop. “It’s interesting. I’m all in.”
“But you’re…a med student,” I blurted out.
“And?”
“And this seems…vastly out of your…”
“Circle of interests?” Nathaniel offered.
I nodded.
A quiet chuckle escaped his throat. “You don’t even know me, Augustus. How would you know what my interests are? What do you think I do in my spare time? Stare at medicine cabinets?”
“I don’t know, do you?”
