The girls sent several gifs of the sea snail from Spongebob and I chortled as I stepped off of the elevator and onto what everyone called the ‘Resources’ floor. It was set up like a doctor’s office with a waiting room that had several uncomfortable chairs and a long check-in desk with a receptionist manning it. Past the reception desk was a long hallway lined with the offices of Carolyn Smith and the other counselors and therapists employed by the academy.
“Hey, Emily.” I greeted the beta receptionist, a younger woman with short brown hair and stern, green eyes, as I checked in by sliding my ID card through the scanner and tapped on my appointment. Emily fixed me with a raised eyebrow and a look that implied ‘you’re late.’ If there was something that this beta hated more than a jammed copier or office supplies not arriving on time, it was people who were late for their appointments, heat or no heat.
“Dr. Oscar is waiting for you in his office already.” Emily heaved a sigh and apparently decided that I was beneath her ire. After telling me about my appointment, she went back to looking at whatever she had been doing before my arrival, effectively dismissing me. Oookay, I wondered who had shit in her cornflakes this morning?
Deciding that it was better to just ignore her, I hurried down the hall to my appointment and quietly reminded myself: “You can’t be everyone's sunshine.” As I headed towards my destination I passed by a few open doors and heard the murmur of conversation inside. I really wanted to eavesdrop—which was one of my few joys in this hellhole—but I rose above the urge and finally made it to my therapist, Gary Oscar’s, door.
I didn’t knock, just threw the door open and grinned, “Good morning Gare-bear, did you miss me?”
The beta didn’t even look up from his computer as I flopped down on the couch that had been haphazardly pushed up against one of the walls. Dressed in one of the most hideous Hawaiian shirts that I’d ever seen and a pair of oversized cargo shorts, Gary Oscar looked more like someone’s surfer dad rather than a therapist with a doctorate. He was in his early fifties and had worked for the San Francisco Omega Academy for the better part of two decades. In the almost eight years that I’d known him, he’d always kept his waist-length gray-blond hair tied back in a long ponytail that was definitely not office appropriate.
“My heart longs for you every day that you miss an appointment, Tibby.” The man said without looking up and I grinned at his monotone response. It was almost as if he'd answered this question before—and let's be honest—he had.
Gary was also one of the few people in the academy other than Eloise that I genuinely liked.
“As it should.” I mock sniffed and sat up, waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing while kicking my feet in front of me like a toddler. Finally, he was done and closed his laptop. He grabbed his notebook and came to sit in the purple wingback chair that was adjacent to the couch. He then proceeded to cross one skinny ankle over the alternate knee before giving me the “what are we going to talk about today” look.
Gary had given me this look three times a week for eight years. For the first year, I’d just silently stared at him for our hour-long sessions, refusing to share anything about myself. Then he’d started doing yoga during our hour together like an absolute madman. When I finally gave in and asked him what the hell he was doing he had simply replied with: “Well if you aren’t going to talk I may as well make use of my free time. Care to join me?”
After that, I'd decided that Gary was just crazy enough to be my therapist and started to slowly open up to him.
“I got the same alpha for my heat.” Might as well get that out of the way and... yup... Gary scribbled something in his notebook. Oh, to be able to look over his shoulder to see exactly what he was writing. I gave myself a little mental kick, I didn’t need to see what was inside of his notebook. For all I knew, the man was drawing butterflies and was trying to psych me out.
Gary, oblivious to my inner monologue, stopped writing and looked up at me with his watery blue eyes., “Are you okay with having the same alpha for your heats?”
It looked like we were going to be playing probing twenty-questions today.Yay, my favorite. Well, two could play that game.
“I don’t know, are you okay with me having the same alpha for my heats?” I queried back, arching a ginger eyebrow at him.
“Doesn’t matter to me.” The man responded before promptly changing the subject, “do you want to talk about the upcoming parole hearing?”
I pouted. Gary never played along with my bullshit. It was probably why he’d lasted as long as he had as my therapist.
“Not really,” I grumbled, scratching at the tattoo on my inner wrist which had begun to tingle at just the thought of the parole hearing forhim.I couldn’t even think of his name—like he was Voldemort, or some shit like that.
Gary, of course, wasn’t going to let me wriggle out of this, “Let’s do it anyway.”
I sighed one long whoosh of breath, pushing out all of my anxiety and panic like I was blowing up a balloon, grounding myself.
“Well, I don’t feel great about it. Especially because they want me to say something at the hearing. I thought that I would never have to do this again. Buttheyfucked up.” They being the jury who’d decided to not convicthimof thirty-two counts of first-degree murder because the prosecution couldn’t prove, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had been the one to...I jerked back from the thought like I’d touched a hot stove.
So, instead of life in prison without the possibility of parole, he’d received 25 yearswiththe possibility of parole. He’d only served eight years so far. I kept telling myself that there was no way that he’d be granted parole. But there was always that tiny voice in my head that told me to never say never and whisper-sang in his voice “Tab-i-tha, tab-i-tha, I love my little Tabby-cat.”
You know, poetry had never really been one of his talents.
Gary continued despite my thoughts being miles away now, “You have to believe that the justice system will work in your favor Tibby, especially with your testimony as an adult.”
“I just wish I didn’t have to testify at all.” That was the one benefit of living at the omega academy. If you wanted to hide from the world, you could. At least normally you could. It was kind of hard to hide from a court summons.
“Can’t the others testify again and leave me out of it?” I asked, trying not to sound like a whining baby.
A strange expression crossed Gary’s face but it was gone in a flash before I could decide if my eyes were playing tricks on me or not. “Unfortunately, kiddo, the courts don’t listen to old men in Hawaiian shirts. Why don’t we work through what you would want to say in your testimony?”
I heaved another sigh and began scripting what I would say to the man who was—in essence—my own personal boogeyman.
