The Beginnings of Submission
With my preparations complete, I’m ready to begin phase 1 of my plan. I’m back on campus after catching several buses to several different places and making frantic preparations. As long as I hurry, I should be able to catch Ms. Sinclair before she leaves campus. At least, I hope.
I’m in a rush for a few reasons. Firstly, there are other players after Ms. Sinclair, and I’ve created an opening other people may try to exploit. Secondly, I don’t trust her to not do something rash. Having seen the mental state she’s in, I don’t think she’s more than a few steps from a full-on breakdown. Thirdly and finally, the reason she’s feeling like this is my fault. I’m the kind of person who tries to please everyone and offend no one, so this is causing me extreme guilt, if that wasn’t obvious enough already.
As I near her classroom, my heart drops. The lights are off, and from a distance, it appears to be abandoned. Had I missed her? Maybe if I hurry, I can intercept her on the way to the teacher park-
Suddenly, I see her. As I run past the door, I catch a glimpse of blonde, and skid to a halt. Using the window on the door, I can see her curled up in a ball on her desk, clutching something. There’s a faint sound of sobbing.
I open the door, and she scrambles to right herself as I step in. She attempts to appear normal as she pretends like she wasn’t just curled up in a ball crying. “I could've sworn that door was locked. Sorry, office hours are canceled today, if you have a question, ask it tomorrow.”
Her voice is teary, and she’s obviously trying to hide it. Badly, but she’s trying.
My heart aches as I ask, “Is everything alright Ms. Sinclair? You’ve been… ehrm… moody recently.”
She pauses for a moment then responds “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry about me. A-okay. Just peachy.”
“Ah, so the-”
“I’m doing fine— no, good— no, great even. Better than ever.”
"Alright, so then-"
She begins to pull harshly on her own hair, almost to the point of pulling it out. “I’m just having the time of my life. First, he breaks up with me. Then, no more than a day later, he’s already moved on!” She looks up at me, and for the first time since I entered the classroom, I get a good look at her face. She’s crying angry tears, but when I look into her eyes, there’s… something. I can’t get any more specific than that, because I don’t know what that something is. I keep trying to fit words to it, but none of them seem right. Rage, hate, sadness, hopelessness, nothing fits.
She continues, “And it’s not like she’s his WIFE! No, I knew about that, and I was okay with it, as long as he loved me! I thought he loved me!” she screams this all into my face, from no more than 2 feet away. I’m taken aback, but she doesn’t stop.
“Now he’s prancing around with some new BITCH!” As she speaks, she begins to encroach on me, and I gradually move backward. “Now what am I going to do, huh? There’s only one love for me.” she takes yet more steps forward, and I take more back. “He was supposed to be MINE! The man for me. The one!” My back presses against a wall, and she continues to step forward. “My true love!”
Her face is no more than a few inches from mine as she yells that last bit. I can’t help but flinch.
In a moment, her whole demeanor changes. Rather than… whatever that was, she appears to be back to her meek self. She squeaks out an apology and steps back, looking down at the ground. Her face is blisteringly red, her embarrassment easily readable.
Now that I’m not pressed against the wall, I can access my backpack. I pull out one of the things I’d prepared. Sadly, they’re a little smashed after that whole incident, but I think they’re still fine.
“Here, I just… wanted you to know how much I appreciate you.”
She looks up and sees what I’m holding. A bouquet of flowers. I bought them at a supermarket, so they’re not exactly pricey. On top of that, half of the flowers are bent, missing petals, or are little more than stems.
Sinclair looks stunned. “They’re pretty. Thank you, Sam.” Her embarrassment hasn’t subsided, but maybe we can move forward from here.
“Do you need someone to talk to?”
“I can’t bring a student into this.”
“You kinda already did.” Upon hearing this, her blush deepens.
“I don’t think it’s appro-”
“It’s fine. I want to help you, and it looks like you need it.”
Her blush once again deepens. Her fair skin is now tomato red.
She’s close to breaking. I only need to push a little more. “Just think of me as a therapist. Someone you can talk to and let all of your worries go.”
She nods. This is much further than I thought I was going to get. I pull out a notebook, move some desks, and roll her office chair over, instructing her to sit. She reclines back all the way, and I take a seat with a notebook in hand.
Time to pretend to be a therapist.
“Please, Ms. Sinclair, start from the beginning.”
“It all started when I was born...”
“Actually, let’s just start with who this man you were talking about is.”
“I… can’t tell you.”
Should I just confront her with the truth, or try to draw it out of her? Does it even really matter? This is a tough one.
“Would it maybe… have an effect on their career?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then, we don’t need to get too specific.”
And so, the world’s most scuffed therapy session begins. Surprisingly, I learn quite a bit about her that I hadn’t previously known. She’s pretty traditional and has a religious background. Apparently, whatever religion she was part of preached that women should only ever have one partner, and that should be the man they loved and married. Their “True Love” if you will.
She begins to get more closed off as she grasps the ridiculousness of the current situation. Luckily, I have something in my bag of tricks for this as well.
“Wine? You’re too young to be drinking Sam.”
“Hm? What’re you talking about? in Europe the legal drinking age is like 12.”
“Seriously?”
“Something like that.”
I didn’t bring wine glasses, so, in a stroke of brilliance, I poured myself some in a beaker. Here’s hoping whatever was in here last isn’t going to kill me.
She gives me a look, and I have a feeling if she wasn’t already destabilized she would be harshly reprimanding me right now. Instead, she grabs a large glass flask and says, “hit me.”
From this point on, our therapy session slowly begins to devolve. What was once me trying to help her work through some shit, is now us drunkenly explaining our philosophies on life, love, and everything in between.
“Y’see Cedric was my LOVE!” As she says this, she spills a bit of wine. She has to be a serious lightweight to be this fucked up already. “I wouldn’t expect YOU to understand, philistine!”
“And I’m telling you, there’s no such thing as true love! It’s bullshit!” I’m feeling the effects of the wine as well.
“He’s my soulmate!”
“There’s no such thing! Everybody can find love with anybody! There’s no such thing as someone you were meant to be with!”
“Okay, then prove it!”
“What? How? You’re the one making the claim, you’re the one who has to prove it!”
“What claim? Soulmates are an objective fact!”
“Then why’s your 'soulmate' off banging the yoga instructor? That man must have hella soulmates!”
She drunkenly lunges at me from her chair, and we collapse in a heap. I’m on the floor underneath her, with her sitting on my waist.
Her face is once again stricken with tears. I can’t help but feel we’re going around in circles.
“HE’S JUST… he’s… he...” she slowly devolves into hysterics, leaning down and crying on my chest.
We lay there for what feels like hours. I stroke her hair and whisper things to try to calm her down as the wet spot on my chest gradually grows.
Time passes slowly, and when I finally check the time, it’s almost 6. She’s stopped crying at this point and is just clinging to my shirt. No words have been said since she tackled me, which must’ve been about an hour ago.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “Do you… want to prove it? That he isn’t my soulmate?”
I’m not sure what she means, but I think this is an opportunity to get closer.
“Absolutely.”
“Then… please, stay the night with me... at my home.”
Isn’t this happening too quickly?