The nameplate on Ms. Thurnglad's door gleamed in the fluorescent hallway lights: "Student Guidance Counselor." Remi stood before it, his hand hovering over the handle as the morning bell rang in the distance. Through the frosted glass window, he could make out a vague shape moving within—probably Ms. Thurnglad arranging her ever-present collection of motivational posters and self-help books into their precise positions.
He'd been here before, of course. The worn chair across from her desk had practically molded itself to fit him after countless "discussions about peer interactions" and "strategy sessions for social integration." Each visit had left him feeling more hollow than the last, wrapped in layers of well-meaning advice that had no bearing on his actual reality.
A soft knock on the glass made him jump. "Come in, Remi," Ms. Thurnglad's voice carried through the door. "I know you're out there."
Taking a deep breath, Remi pushed the door open. The office looked exactly as he remembered it—motivational posters covering every available wall space, a small desktop fountain providing what Ms. Thurnglad called "ambient peace," and the ever-present scent of lavender from the essential oil diffuser she claimed helped students "center their emotional energy."
Ms. Thurnglad herself sat behind her desk, her reading glasses perched precisely on her nose, her gray hair pulled back in its usual severe bun. She was writing in what Remi recognized as his student file—a folder that had grown noticeably thicker over the years.
"Sit down," she said without looking up, gesturing to the familiar chair across from her desk. "I've been reviewing your file while waiting."
Remi sank into the chair, his backpack sliding to rest against his feet. The fountain burbled quietly, its peaceful sound somehow making the silence more awkward.
"So," Ms. Thurnglad finally looked up, removing her glasses with practiced deliberation. "Would you like to explain yesterday's... incident?"
The way she said "incident" made it sound like he'd committed some horrible crime rather than simply leaving school. Remi shifted in his seat, aware of how his father's punishment had left him feeling even more vulnerable than usual.
"I just needed some space," he muttered, studying the pattern in the carpet.
"Space." She repeated the word as if testing its validity. "And you felt that leaving school grounds without permission was the appropriate way to acquire this 'space'?"
When he didn't respond, she sighed, the sound carrying years of dealing with what she termed "difficult cases."
"Remi, we've discussed this before. When you're feeling overwhelmed, there are proper channels to address your concerns. My door is always open—"
"Your door was open last time too," Remi interrupted, surprising himself with the bitterness in his voice. "When I tried to tell you about the football tryouts. About Coach Stevens and Shawn—"
"Ah yes, the tryouts." Ms. Thurnglad shuffled through some papers in his file. "As I recall, we had a very productive discussion about handling disappointment and developing resilience in the face of setbacks."
Remi's hands clenched in his lap. "That's not what happened. They deliberately—"
"What I see," she cut him off smoothly, "is a pattern of avoidance behavior. When faced with challenging social situations, you retreat into fantasy—your games, your online activities." She glanced at another note in his file. "Your mother mentioned this morning that your father has had to take steps to address this dependency."
The casual mention of his computer's confiscation felt like salt in an open wound. "That's not fair," Remi protested. "Those games, those people online—they're real friends. They accept me for who I am, not who everyone thinks I should be."
Ms. Thurnglad's expression shifted to what Remi thought of as her "therapeutic concern" face. "Remi, at your age, it's natural to feel misunderstood. But retreating into virtual worlds isn't the answer. You need to learn to navigate real-world social dynamics."
"Real-world social dynamics?" Remi couldn't keep the edge from his voice. "You mean like Shawn and his friends cornering me in the bathroom? Like Liza deliberately knocking over my lunch tray? That kind of social dynamic?"
"If you're experiencing bullying—"
"I'm not 'experiencing' anything," Remi snapped. "It's being done to me. By specific people. People you keep telling me I need to 'understand' and 'empathize' with."
Ms. Thurnglad's lips thinned slightly. "Raising your voice won't help this discussion, Remi. Perhaps we should take a moment to center ourselves." She reached for the essential oil diffuser. "I just got a new blend of chamomile and—"
"No." Remi stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "No more oils, no more breathing exercises, no more talking about my 'feelings' while ignoring what's actually happening."
"Sit down, please." Her voice carried that edge of authority she reserved for what she called "emotional escalation situations."
But Remi remained standing, years of frustrated counseling sessions suddenly crystallizing into anger. "You want to know why I left yesterday? Because this—" he gestured around the office, at the posters promising "Peace Through Understanding" and "Growth Through Acceptance"—"this isn't real. None of it helps. None of it changes anything."
"Remi—"
"You tell me to use proper channels, to report problems, to trust the system. But the system doesn't work. Not when Coach Stevens lets his star players do whatever they want. Not when teachers conveniently look the other way. Not when you—" He stopped, his voice threatening to crack.
Ms. Thurnglad regarded him with what she probably thought was patience but felt more like condescension. "When I what, Remi?"
"When you pretend everything can be fixed with breathing exercises and positive thinking. When you act like I'm the problem because I won't just accept being treated like this."
"I've tried telling teachers," Remi continued, his voice rising with frustration. "I reported what happened at tryouts - how Coach Stevens let Shawn and James keep hitting me after the play was dead. How they 'accidentally' checked me into the goalpost."
Ms. Thurnglad flipped through her notes. "Ah yes, I have the incident report here. Coach Stevens indicated it was standard contact drills—"
"It wasn't standard anything!" The words burst out of Remi. "They were deliberately trying to hurt me. Everyone could see it. Even the other players were uncomfortable."
"That's a very serious accusation, Remi." Her tone carried that particular note of dismissal he'd grown to hate. "Coach Stevens is a respected member of our faculty. I'm sure if there had been any inappropriate conduct—"
"What about the cafeteria monitors?" Remi pressed on. "I've told them about Liza and her friends destroying my lunch. About Eddie cornering younger students. They just look the other way."
"Perhaps you're misinterpreting—"
"Misinterpreting what? The way Shawn's friends followed me into the bathroom yesterday? The way they've been making my life hell since freshman year?" Remi's voice cracked slightly. "I've documented everything, just like you told me to. Times, dates, witnesses. None of it matters because no one wants to actually do anything about it."
Ms. Thurnglad sighed, removing her glasses to polish them with deliberate care. "Remi, high school is a complex social environment. What you perceive as targeting might simply be normal teenage interactions that you're having difficulty processing appropriately."
"Normal?" Remi let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what you call it when Eddie slams a freshman into the lockers? When James spreads rumors about anyone who stands up to them? When they deliberately sabotaged my chances at making any sports team?"
"I think you're catastrophizing again," Ms. Thurnglad said, her voice taking on that forced patience he knew too well. "We've discussed this tendency of yours to view yourself as a victim—"
"Because I am a victim!" Remi's hands were shaking now. "But every time I try to report it, every time I follow the 'proper channels,' it gets turned around on me. I'm too sensitive. I'm misinterpreting things. I need to learn resilience."
She made a note in his file, the scratch of her pen somehow more infuriating than anything else. "I understand you're feeling frustrated—"
"No, you don't." Remi's voice was quiet now, all the fight suddenly draining out of him. "You really, really don't."
Ms. Thurnglad set down her pen with deliberate care. "I think perhaps we should schedule another session for later this week. When you're feeling more... receptive to guidance. In the meantime—" she pulled a pad of hall passes from her desk drawer—"you should get to class. Your teachers have been informed about yesterday's incident, but you'll need to arrange to make up any missed work."
Remi took the hall pass wordlessly, already knowing how this would play out. She would note his "emotional outburst" in his file. There would be more sessions, more talks about "coping strategies" and "positive social engagement." Nothing would actually change.
"And Remi?" She called as he reached the door. "Remember what we've discussed about choosing appropriate responses to stress. Running away never solves anything."
He closed the door behind him without responding, the hall pass crumpling slightly in his grip. The first period bell had long since rung, leaving the hallway eerily empty. Somewhere in the building, his regular schedule continued without him—classes where teachers would give him concerned looks, students would whisper about his disappearance, and Shawn's crew would be planning their next move.
But for just a moment, standing alone in that quiet hallway, Remi allowed himself to imagine another world. A world where running away might actually lead somewhere better. A world where being different wasn't something to be corrected or counseled away.
A world where he could finally be himself.
The second period bell jarred him from his thoughts. He smoothed out the hall pass and headed toward his next class, Ms. Thurnglad's lavender-scented advice already fading like morning mist. But something else lingered—a feeling he couldn't quite name, a sense that maybe, just maybe, running away wasn't always the wrong choice.
Sometimes, he thought, you had to run away from something to run toward something else.
He just wished he knew what that something else might be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Melinda Halistaad stared at her computer screen, the quarterly reports blurring before her eyes. Her morning schedule lay in ruins after dropping Remi off at school, and now her mind kept drifting back to his face as he'd walked into the building, shoulders hunched as if carrying an invisible weight.
"Earth to Melinda." Sarah, her office mate of five years, waved a hand in front of the screen. "That's the third time you've sighed in ten minutes. Want to talk about it?"
Melinda glanced at the clock—10:30. She'd been at work for barely two hours, and already she was fighting the urge to call the school and check on Remi. Instead, she turned to Sarah, who was perched on the edge of her desk with two steaming cups of coffee from the break room.
"Is one of those for me?" Melinda asked.
"Hazelnut, extra cream, just how you like it." Sarah handed over a cup. "Now spill. And I don't mean the coffee."
Melinda accepted the coffee gratefully, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. "It's Remi," she said after a moment. "And Michael. Everything's just... it's all falling apart, and I don't know how to fix it."
"What happened?" Sarah pulled her chair over, creating a small island of privacy in their shared office space. "Does this have something to do with why you needed to change your schedule?"
"Remi left school yesterday. Just walked out." Melinda's voice cracked slightly. "He was gone for hours. Wouldn't answer his phone. We were about to call the police when he finally came home."
"Oh God, is he okay?"
"Physically? Yes. But Michael..." Melinda set her coffee down, her hands trembling slightly. "He took Remi's computer. Said he needs to 'learn about reality' and 'stop living in fantasy worlds.' As if that's going to solve anything."
Sarah's expression darkened. "Still trying to control everything with an iron fist, is he?"
"You don't know the half of it." Melinda lowered her voice, though their nearest coworkers were well out of earshot. "He's been impossible ever since Remi didn't make the football team. Keeps talking about how his son needs to 'man up' and 'stop being so sensitive.' As if sensitivity is some kind of character flaw."
"Sounds like Michael hasn't changed much since college," Sarah muttered. She'd known both Melinda and Michael since their university days, had watched their relationship evolve—and, in some ways, devolve—over the years.
"If anything, he's gotten worse." Melinda took a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. "He doesn't see what's really happening. Remi's being bullied—has been for years. The coach's son and his friends... they're brutal. But every time Remi tries to tell someone, it gets dismissed. And Michael just tells him to 'toughen up' and 'deal with it.'"
"Like Michael dealt with things in college?" Sarah's tone was pointed. They both remembered Michael's tendency to solve problems with aggressive confrontation rather than understanding.
"Exactly." Melinda's shoulders slumped. "But Remi's not like that. He's sensitive, yes, but he's also empathetic and kind. He sees the world differently than Michael does. His games, his online friends—they're not an escape, they're where he can actually be himself without judgment."
"And Michael took that away."
"He thinks he's helping." Melinda's voice held a mixture of frustration and defeat. "Says he's 'preparing Remi for the real world.' But whose real world? Michael's? Where everything has to fit into neat little boxes of what's acceptable for a teenage boy?"
Sarah leaned back in her chair, studying her friend. "You don't agree with how Michael's handling this."
"Of course I don't!" The words came out sharper than Melinda intended. She glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed her outburst. "But every time I try to intervene, to suggest a different approach, Michael accuses me of 'babying' Remi. Says I'm enabling his 'weakness.'"
"That sounds like Michael, alright." Sarah's voice was dry. "Still living in the 1950s where men aren't allowed to have feelings."
Melinda traced the rim of her coffee cup with one finger. "You should see how he treats Rachel differently. She can be as emotional as she wants, can spend hours on social media, can have all the feelings in the world. But Remi? God forbid he show any vulnerability."
"Have you considered..." Sarah hesitated, then forged ahead. "Have you thought about counseling? Family therapy maybe?"
Melinda's bitter laugh said everything. "Michael would never agree. He doesn't believe in therapy. Says it's for people who can't handle their own problems."
"And how's that working out for everyone?"
"About as well as you'd expect." Melinda's computer chimed with another email notification, but she ignored it. "I'm worried, Sarah. Really worried. I see Remi withdrawing more and more. The synchronized swimming team was the first thing he's seemed excited about in months, but even that... Michael just barely tolerates it. Keeps making these little comments about it not being a 'real sport.'"
"Sounds like Michael's the one with issues, not Remi."
"Try telling him that." Melinda picked up her coffee again, but it had gone cold. "I just... I don't know what to do. If I push too hard against Michael's decisions, it'll just make things worse at home. But if I don't do something..." She trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging in the air between them.
Sarah reached over and squeezed her friend's hand. "You're doing the best you can in an impossible situation."
"Am I?" Melinda blinked back sudden tears. "Sometimes I feel like I'm failing both my children. Rachel sees everything that's happening—she's fourteen, not blind. And Remi... he needs someone in his corner, someone who can actually protect him. Instead, he has a father who thinks tough love is the answer to everything and a mother who can't even stand up to her own husband."
"Hey." Sarah's voice was firm. "You are not failing them. You're trying to navigate a complicated situation with a husband who's stuck in his ways. That takes its own kind of strength."
Melinda wiped at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "I just wish... I wish Michael could see Remi for who he is, not who he thinks Remi should be. I wish I knew how to bridge that gap between them before it becomes too wide to cross."
"Maybe it's not your gap to bridge," Sarah suggested gently. "Maybe Michael needs to do some of that work himself."
"That would require him to admit he might be wrong about something." Melinda's smile was sad. "And we both know how likely that is."
Their conversation was interrupted by Melinda's phone buzzing—a text from Rachel asking if she could go to a friend's house after school. The mundane normality of it almost made Melinda laugh. Life went on, even when everything felt like it was falling apart.
"I should get back to work," Melinda said, straightening in her chair. "These reports won't review themselves."
"Mel?" Sarah paused at her own desk. "Just... keep an eye on things, okay? And remember you can always crash at my place if you need to. You and the kids."
Melinda nodded, though they both knew she'd never take Sarah up on the offer. She'd made her choices long ago, for better or worse. Now she had to live with them—and hope her children didn't pay too high a price for her compromises.
Turning back to her computer, Melinda tried to focus on the quarterly reports. But her mind kept drifting to Remi, sitting in Ms. Thurnglad's office, probably getting another lecture about "appropriate responses to stress." She checked the time again: 10:45. Still hours until she could pick him up, hours until she could see for herself that he was okay.
Until then, all she could do was worry, and work, and hope that somehow, something would change before it was too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End of another chapter!

I’m putting my Discord Channel back up on permanent invite:

https://discord.gg/NYjPU3auVy(link is external)(link is external)

Join Me and some other people to talk shop, discuss artwork, stories, chatter, or just share fun videos or memes!

If you want future chapters ahead of my posted works support me on Patreon!

https://www.patreon.com/c/alyssnancyonymous(link is external)(link is external)

Also, feel free to PM me if you have any questions or wanna comment.

TTFN Everyone.