Final Room

10 | rowan lafontaine

CHAPTER TEN | ROWAN LAFONTAINE

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          Like the coward I am, completely unable to stand up for myself, I keep the yellow and purple leaflet Claudia gave me.

          Odette thinks I should attend the sessions ("It's forty-five minutes, seven days a week," she said, absentmindedly scratching Sidney behind the ears. "It's almost like a therapy session, but not really."), whereas Betty seems a bit more apprehensive ("I don't want it to, like, trigger you, or something like that."), and I'm, as always, somewhere in the middle, torn between my two options.

          I don't dare touch the subject around Xavier, even though I'm certain he can sense there's something amiss when I get home. I don't touch the flyer when he's around and stuff it inside the safety of my laptop's bag, where I know he won't pry, but I don't want to worry him by turning this into a more important thing than it really is.

          "There's bean burgers in the freezer," he tells me, once Sidney and I rush past him. There's a massive mug of coffee sitting in front of him. "Just make sure to leave them outside to defrost for a bit."

          "I had a burger for lunch," I reply, taking off my coat and hanging it by the staircase. "I can eat one for dinner again, it's fine," I add, not wanting to upset him for disregarding his efforts in making sure I'm eating properly, and a voice in my head reminds me of something Doctor Albott and I often discuss during therapy.

          Do I really need to sacrifice my own happiness, well-being, and general preferences for the sake of other people's? Does that bring me happiness in return, or is it just making me miserable and wearing me out?

          Even thinking about it is draining, so I don't. I don't need any more reminders that I'm being selfish, ungrateful, and immature, with my brain never shutting up about it, so I save that stress for therapy sessions instead of occupying my free time with those thoughts.

          There have been many times in my life when I've somehow convinced myself Xavier has the uncanny ability to see right through me, particularly in moments when that's the very last thing I want him to do. I've taken my first steps up the stairs when he appears in the hallway, still holding his mug of coffee, and he has yet to shave.

          "You okay?" he asks, sipping his drink.

          I nod, maybe too quickly for it to be even remotely convincing, and clench my fingers around the railing to maintain my balance. "Yeah. College was tiring. I already have a lot of reading to do, essays to write . . ." I shrug, hoping it's a good enough answer. "You know the drill. Sophomore year is no joke."

          "It's your first day."

          "I know. Betty was also caught off guard by the workload."

          "So you've been hanging out with her?"

          "And Odette, by association. I don't think she likes me much." I nibble at my thumb's fingernail, scraping off some of the black nail polish with my teeth by accident. "Maybe she does. Maybe it's all in my head, I don't know. I have a hard time reading her. I hate to feel like I'm intruding and screwing up their friendship because I've been spending so much time with Betty. Is it stupid? Am I being paranoid?"

          The correct answers are yes and yes.

          Xavier wrinkles his nose. "I think you're jumping to conclusions. You've only just met her. Give her some time to warm up to you." He raises his mug at me. "Coffee? I brewed an entire pot. I can fix you a cup, if you'd like."