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Professor, actually. It’s my name that drives the scores of high-paying hopefuls to even attend one of my lectures let alone land me as their Professor.
Vincent Valentine. Professor of Psychological studies and author of best selling self-help and college textbooks.
Having literally written the book on how to deal with shit, I’m failing my own advice right now. Have been for a while, I guess.
Just hit me today that I’m not only thinking dangerous thoughts.
I’m acting like a fucking maniac.
But it’s only Violet that makes me feel the lines of virtue and violence getting thinner under my feet every day.
By the second now I know there’s real world threats against our happiness. Our future.
I fight hard to focus on my rep count after stacking every plate I can find onto the bar. Blocking everything out with the numbers.
Lifting the weight easily but it’s doing nothing for the real burden I’m carrying inside me.
Eight… Nine…
Ignoring Dean Reinhold as he stands in front of me, scowling at my insane behavior.
Ignoring my burning pecs and back as I hold the bar mid-flex. Knowing I don’t feel things the way other people do anyway, it’s one reason I look the way I do.
No pain no gain.
But the pain I’m really trying to feel, the knowledge my career is likely over, my reputation in shreds… None of it matters.
All I can think about is the one thing that cancels everything else out.
It’s so clear to me, why can't she just see? Why won't she just let me-
“Professor Valentine!” The Dean growls in his best authoritarian voice. I’ve got twenty years and twice that in muscle on textbooks him, but he’s got the pluck to stare down a charging rhino.
A pretty accurate description of how I’m feeling so far today.
I finish my set of ten, the sound of my suit jacket tearing signaling a bad choice of gym wear on my part. But also meaning I’m pumped up enough to split tweed as well as deal with what I know is coming to me.
Today, Dean Reinhold is my boss. Twenty years ago I was the muscled jock on the same bench in the same gym he was pleading with to pursue a career in psychology instead of football.
A memory I know we both hav as his face softens and he runs a thick hand over his deeply wrinkled features.
“….I was trying to tell you before you stormed off, that I can let all this slide if you agree to take some time off…” He says, tilting his head as he looks me up and down.
“…Maybe now I’m not so sure… Vincent. I think you need to see someone… You might need help-” My oldest mentor starts to say. Meaning that it’s time for me to start keeping my appointments with Dr. Lutz. The state appointed Psychiatrist who’s kept me as a patient practically my whole life.
I cut him short with a loud scoff, shaking my head as I get up from the bench press. Already feeling calmer but only because I’m warmed up enough now to snap his neck if need be.
I know if anyone tried to get between me and Violet, it would end worse than badly for them.
Ready for the worst but it looks like old Reinhold has a soft spot for me after all.
If he was gonna call the cops, or even campus security, he would’ve done it by now.
“Dean Reinhold,” I address him, straightening my tie. Ignoring the bead of sweat that tickles the side of my jaw as I relax it, “I think maybe you mistook my leaving your office so abruptly as a sign of guilt, but I can assure you, it’s quite the opposite…” I inform him in my calmest clinical voice.
The one I use when people are about to do something they’ll regret and need talking down.
The voice inside my head I’ve been ignoring for weeks now.
