Monster in His Eyes(36)

Another laugh.

Another flashcard.

Another wrong answer.

"I'm done," I say, falling back on the bed and draping my arm over my  eyes, getting a whiff of something rancid as soon as I do. "Ugh, what  stinks?"

"That would be you," Melody says, tossing the flashcards down.

"Gross." I grimace, begrudgingly rolling out of bed and seeking out a clean towel. "I'm going to go shower."

"Please do," she says. "Soak the stench away."

I flip her my middle finger as I trudge to the bathroom. I turn the  water on hot, hoping the steam and heat will loosen some of the tension  from my muscles. I stand under the spray and close my eyes as the water  pelts me until I damn near fall asleep.

Swaying, nearly slipping, I blink a few times as I reach for the knobs  to change the temperature. The moment the cold water hits me, I'm jolted  awake, a shiver ripping through me. I wash up quickly before getting  out, not having the energy to stand there.

I half-ass dry off and wrap the old pink towel around me as I trudge  back into the room. As soon as I open the door and step inside, I come  face-to-face with Paul. He stands in the middle of the room, half on my  side, half on Melody's, tossing one of her balled-up dirty shirts into  the air. He turns to me as I freeze, and I expect him to look away,  seeing as how I'm damn near naked, but his eyes rake down my body  instead. Gross.

Melody groans when he finally looks away, but he just lets out a laugh  as he tosses her shirt in the vicinity of her overflowing hamper, like  it's a basketball. He retreats back to his girlfriend's side, flopping  down on her bed, laying his head on her lap. Melody covers his eyes with  her hands, shooting me an apologetic look.

I ignore it, grabbing some clothes from my closet and heading back to  the bathroom to change in peace. When I step back into the room, the two  of them are kissing. She makes no apologies for that.

Melody's a great friend, and she's always willing to listen, but when it  comes to sharing a living space, I've decided she's a terrible  roommate.

I block them out the best I can as I fix my hair and try to pull myself  together, not bothering with makeup or much more than a ponytail. My  eyes flicker to the clock. It's nearly noon. We have about two hours  until exam time.

Gathering up my things and snatching the notecards from the floor beside  Melody's bed, I head for the door. Melody pulls away from Paul when she  notices. "You're leaving already?"

"Yeah, I'm going to go downstairs and grab a cup of coffee." I pause. "Or a whole pot."

"Oh, well I'll meet you down there when it's time to go."

I walk out, shutting the door behind me, and head downstairs to the  attached dining hall in the back of the building. It's busy,  surprisingly, given that a lot of finals have already finished, some  students already leaving for the summer. I'm on my last day, my last  exam, before the break. The rest have gone smoothly, but philosophy will  be my make or break.

I use the last little bit of money on my meal card to purchase the  largest coffee they have, drowning the bitter liquid with copious  amounts of sugar, enough to leave me bouncing off the walls for hours. I  find a small table in the corner and sit down, scattering the  flashcards out around me. I scan the terms on the front before flipping  them over, trying to memorize the definitions on the back, but it all  seems to be floating around in my head and not sinking in.                       
       
           



       

I know better than to cram at the last second.

It never helps.

But I do it anyway.

I go over them again and again, refilling my coffee twice. By the time  Melody surfaces, sliding into the chair across from me, I'm jittery and  frantic and ready to get it the hell over with.

"You look like a crackhead needing a fix," Melody says, grabbing my  coffee and taking a sip. "Ugh, how much sugar is in this thing?"

"Enough," I say as I glance across the table. Her hair is tousled, but  not in the intentional way. "You look like you've been fucked six ways  to Sunday."

She takes another drink, grinning, her expression telling me yep, that's  precisely what she's been. I grimace when she holds the coffee out,  offering the rest to me. "Yeah, no, I'll pass. I know where those lips  have been."

Rolling her eyes, she downs the rest of it before tossing it in the  nearest trashcan. "Well, come on, fellow sinner. Satan awaits, and you  know how he feels about people being late."

We get there early today, the first ones in the classroom. Santino's  sitting in his chair, rolling his pointer stick around on his desk. He  glances up, hearing us, his eyes meeting mine as I take my usual seat.  He looks like he wants to say something but remains silent as the rest  of the students filter in.

At exactly two o'clock, when every seat is filled, he stands up and grabs a stack of papers.

Wordlessly, he passes them out, waiting until everybody has one before  clearing his throat. "I only know one thing, and that is that I know  nothing. Let's hope you all know just a little bit more than Socrates  today, ladies and gentlemen. There's no time limit. Turn it in when you  finish."

He retakes his seat, going right back to tinkering with his pointer  stick. I watch him for a moment before taking a deep breath and glancing  down at my test, reading the first question.

Explain the equation of universal modus tollens using examples from real-life situations.

I'm fucked.

It takes me well over an hour to get through all five pages of the exam.  My hand is cramping, my head is throbbing, and an irrational surge of  anger flows through my sleep-deprived, caffeinated body whenever someone  else gets up to turn in their finished test.

How dare they be done already?

I turn the page to the back, ready for this to be over with, and read the last question.

Thales said 'the most difficult thing in life is to know yourself.'

Who are you?

I try to contain it, to swallow it down, but a bitter laugh escapes that  disturbs those around me. I can feel their eyes but I don't look up, my  gaze glued to the paper. What kind of fucking question is this? I glare  at it, and glare at it, and glare at it some more, before turning my  head to subtly peek at Melody's. She's also on the last question, the  entire back of the paper filled, like she just wrote her autobiography  for him. She sets down her pencil while I'm looking, a smile touching  her lips as she stands up to turn it in.

I almost trip her.

I think about it.

I consider it.

My leg bounces in anticipation of darting out in her path, stopping her  from walking up there. It's childish, and irrational, but she looks so  damn confident while I'm struggling to finish.

Sighing, I turn back to my paper and glare at the question some more.  Melody returns and gathers her things, mouthing that she'll see me back  at the room.

I merely nod, tapping my pencil against the side of the desk as I listen  to others move around. The room is clearing out quickly. I don't like  it.

Who am I?

Someone who doesn't like philosophy anymore.

I consider the question for another moment before finally writing my answer.

I don't know.

Standing up, I march to the front of the room, test in hand. Santino  looks up at me as I approach. I hand my paper to him, face up, but he  turns it over when he takes it. His eyes flicker from my pathetic three-  word answer to me, and for the first time all semester, his lips curve.

He's smiling.

At me.

Creepy.

I say nothing, nor do I return his smile, merely walking away. I grab my  things and jet out the door, feeling a sense of relief on the walk back  to the dorm. Never again am I trusting Melody when she tells me to take  a class, when she says it's easy.

I want to go straight to the room, but I have a meeting with my advisor  that I'm already late for. I consider skipping it, saying fuck it, but  she'll reschedule and I'll be forced to come back out this way.

Sighing, I make my way across the street to another building and head  straight inside, plopping down in a chair outside her office. She spots  me from the open doorway and waves me inside, launching into small talk.

In one ear and out the other.

The sound of her acrylic fingernails clicking against computer keys  echoes through the small office. The woman is hen pecking at the  letters, taking way too long to punch my information into the system.  She pauses every few seconds to hmm and huh and huff, the sounds grating  on my nerves.                       
       
           



       

Can we just get this over with?

I've registered for all my classes for next semester, a full  course-load, and turned in all my paperwork. The counselor is just  making sure I'm not missing anything, a process that should've taken  thirty seconds, but we're going on five minutes at this point.