Sealed with a Kiss ✔

Chapter Two | Sealed with a Kiss

Every Thursday, at 3:30 p.m. you'll find me sitting on a plastic blue chair outside the door of a tiny office stowed away right at the back of the school. It's honestly a time when I'd rather be at home, in bed, either watching rubbish soaps or scrolling through Twitter.

I'm not able to do either, not when I'm sat here. An hour of my life is wasted stuck in a dingy, musty room in which I'm meant to 'open up' and 'trust' in Mr Hibbert, Year 12's head of year slash makeshift counsellor. Let's just say, I wouldn't be surprised if whoever gave Mr Hibbert the job of helping problematic adolescents with their troubles needed counselling themselves.

Mr Hibbert really doesn't have a clue. Not about most of the things teenagers go through or what today's times involve. Just last week he asked if I had bought the Spice Girls' new album yet.

A sigh whistles out my mouth as I inspect my shoes, distractedly thinking of how worn they look.

Mr Hibbert finally bustles out of his room, greeting me with a small beam under his bushy moustache. "Come on in Ruby," he says, opening the door wide. I follow after him as slowly as I possibly can.

The familiar scent of his dusty office fills my nostrils as my eyes adjust to the dimly lit environment of the room. Nothing in this office, not even an out of place coffee mug or picture frame, has changed during the two years I've been coming here. Or rather, since I was forced to come here by my parents.

Some people believe dark times are difficult because you haven't found the light or hope. Well what happens you losing that light is the reason why things are so dark in the first place?

That's what happened when my grandmother passed away two years ago. I don't think any of us could have imagined what followed after. We all suddenly had our own battles to fight. My grandfather and alcoholism, my father and despair, me and my nightmares.

Eighteen months on and things are better, lighter. Not to mention, I'm still being forced to come to these meetings, as if Mum's scared something is going to go off-balance if I stop.

Mr Hibbert strolls over to his desk and sits down as I sit at one of two chairs on the other side of the desk.

I don't think he realises his light grey cardigan's half-tucked into his dark grey trousers. His clothes perfectly match his grey hair, which there isn't much of to be honest since he's balding.

"So, Ruby," Mr Hibbert says, pushing his thick-framed glasses up his nose, "how have you been?" These same six words are said at the beginning of every single meeting.

"Fine." I don't return his irritating smile that's verging on patronising. Mr Hibbert blinks at my short response. I realise I'm probably being a bit moody but honestly, I'm still a bit miffed about losing out to Edwin High's netball team. The match was a hard one and having to go to therapy after does nothing to lift my mood.

"Well, er, let's look at what we discussed last week shall we? Perhaps we can move on from there." Mr Hibbert pulls a cardboard-brown coloured file towards him, opening it before rifling towards the end of the notes. I groan internally, remembering what we talked about last week.

It had been about recent panic attacks-

"So we started off talking about the problems with getting angry you've been having recently, especially with-" Mr. Hibbert's voice abruptly stops reading from the page as he realises that that isn't what we discussed last meeting.

"What?" I ask, furring my brows. "That isn't-"

"No. No, this isn't what we talked about, is it?" Mr Hibbert asks, looking at me confusedly as if for confirmation. I nod. We've never discussed anger issues since I don't actually have any.