Sky Full Of Hope (on hold)

Prologue

To those who silently ache behind closed doors.

• • •

𝐒𝐤𝐲

(three years ago)

Legend has it that all Psychologists are selfless, capeless heroes who have the ultimate goal of healing society's mental health.

Let me break that myth and tell you how I'm a sad exception. I'm going to be a very selfish psychologist. And here's how I can justify; 97% of the people who choose psychology as a major are really interested in the subject and want to help people manage their issues. The unfortunate 3% of the faction really like the subject but their intention of wanting to study it is to be versed enough to solve their own issues. In simpler and bitter words, the 3% don't give a fuck about society.

Despite the fact that I haven't met anyone else from the latter group, I like to think I'm not the only exception. I believe in unconventionality, like the other 3% and so does SPACE, apparently. The one and only college in Georgetown, Denver, that favors the ability of humans to multitask.

SPACE (the college of Science, Psychology, Arts, Communications, and Economics), allows us to pick two majors and juggle them for four years so we'd come out of college with not just one, but two degrees. Smart update for a place like Georgetown.

Psychology hasn't always been my passion. Rather, it's a subject I was made aware of the summer before my sophomore year. No, that was me sugarcoating and being very vague. I was attacked by nearly two dozen people at the age of 15 telling me to take up therapy at a funeral so many times, that I included it even in my eulogy. I hoped to ask at least one of the two dozen people what therapy really meant, but they were so bent upon giving me the contacts of said therapists, I decided to Google it myself.

Google did tell me what a therapist means and does. So much that I didn't want to go to one, I wanted to become one. I don't have the time (or interest) to mend other people's minds, but I know I have a lot of fixing to do to my own. The tallying of how much time, money, and awkwardness I could save if I become my own therapist fascinated me.

Here we are, six months through college and life has been stably functioning. I've been digging psych along with embracing my true element-music.

"Sky, this is the perfect spot." Christina backs me to the wooden mahogany shelf that contains a dusty pile of true crime books. "No one borrows a crime book from this library."

It's true. By the amount of dust settled on it, it was impossible to make out the book names from the book spines. "No one borrows any book from this library." I rephrase with a smirk that makes her chuckle in whispers.

I pull the back of her neck and draw her in for a kiss. Christina kisses the way she plays her keyboard, skillful and in total rhythm. She begins to tug on the collar of my pine green shirt, before slowly inching her fingers down to unfasten my buttons from the top. I give a look in the direction of Mrs. Dennis, our librarian, seated on the bang opposite side of the library, royally snoring. A perk of being the college's favorite band is having no restrictions-be it campus time, attendance, or assignments.

"You're so hot, what do you even see in me?" Christina whispers when she kisses my shoulder blade.

I don't see anything in her to feel the same. I just see her. All of her. And all of her is pretty easy to love. Bold, confident, and completely unbothered by the world. But most of all, Christina Vance does not have insecurities. Something I haven't seen in a very long time.

"I see you. All of you." I respond with such a straight face, she flushes to a crimson red in seconds.

I tug on her waist and hug her until her cheek is flat on my chest. "Sky Flynn, I love you," her whisper ingrains goosebumps on my skin.