Page 61 of Wings of Torment
Uh, no. Definitely not.Please tell me that question is rhetorical.
I stay silent while he turns a student desk around to face me before dropping into the chair. “Right. Well, let’s start with the basics. How are you fitting into your life here at SCU and what would you say your favorite class is?”
Did he really just ask that? He asks how I’m fitting in as if he doesn’t fucking know how shitty it’s been, even before the demon attack and my sudden change. “Fine,” I say, not wanting to get into it. “I’d have to say my favorite classes are History and Angelic Powers. I like combat training as well.”
“Good, good.” Professor Uriel jots something down in his notebook — an actual physical book, not his slate — and I wonder if he’s really taking notes or just making a list of all the ways he plans to ruin the rest of the semester for me.
“And are there any students or professors who have been giving you a hard time? More than the usual school shenanigans, of course.” His voice is playful, a grin spreading across his face, but I’m not amused.
I only stare at him in complete shock. I want to laugh in his face, but not because what he said is funny. He knows firsthand what I’ve been going through because he eggs it on in class and piles on more shit himself. I wonder what his reaction would be if I came right out and told him to look in a fucking mirror because he’s at the very top of myleast favorite professorslist.
As for the students, most have backed off since the demon attack — either in fear of what they think I can do or in awe of the same reason. Those that haven’t are either backed up by his own shit in class or the Seraphinas of the world, so it wouldn’t matter if I shit arrows that could take down the entire demon population. She’d still find a reason to hate me.
Angels aren’t just born to be bullies, though. They usually act that way because of something going on at home or elsewhere in their lives. Something that makes them feel small or out of control, so they drag others down to feel better or cause chaos for someone else in order to take control back. It’s not right, but I can sympathize enough not to call them out. Whether or not Professor Uriel will do something is beyond me, but I don’t want to risk causing more strife for someone who’s clearly already struggling.
“For the most part, things have calmed down for me recently,” I tell him, finally answering his question. “I have a wonderful support system to rely on which helps.”
“Recently, as in since your transformation?” His eyes glint as he watches me, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel.
“Yes. Since the attack.”
“Interesting. I’m glad you brought this up—“But I didn’t. You did. ”—as I have several questions for you.”
Part of me is curious where this will go, given the track record of our conversations so far, but I try to be positive.Parents, lend me your optimism!
“I’ll try to answer your questions, Professor Uriel, but there isn’t much to tell.”
“Other than your wings, have you noticed any other changes?”
I sit up straighter, not expecting that question. Have I? I let my mind wander over the past few weeks, trying to pinpoint anything that might be important, but there are too many variables. Am I stronger because of my wings or is that just because I’ve been working hard? My wingsfeeldifferent beneath my flesh, but that’s probably expected after a transformation. Right? Then there’s the random hot flashes, but those seem to only happen when I’m paranoid or actually think I might get killed.
To him, I don’t say any of this. If he wants to keep tight-lipped when I ask for help, then I sure as shit won’t be offering up my answers to him on a silver platter.
“No, not really. I just feel like me.” While it’s the truth, it’s not exactly the whole truth. I feel so much more like myself than I ever have before. But it’s not the me from before, it’s the me I always could have been but never knew. Something just feels right. Whole. And for the first time in my entire existence, I’m comfortable with who I am.
“Good, good. Please let me know if anything develops. It’s completely normal in cases like this for new powers and abilities to manifest, so don’t be frightened.”
“This has happened in the past, then?” I ask, catching on to his slip.
“Oh, I can’t say for certain that this, uh, specific issue has occurred before, just that it’s common in big changes.”
He’s such a shitty liar. Rambling after slipping up is a dead giveaway, but I don’t press him on it now. Instead, I mentallytoss the information into the odd-behavior bucket with the rest of the shit he’s done. I can deal with it later.
“Speaking of, have you and your friends discovered anything of note?”
I wish he’d wipe the creepy smile off his face. It does nothing to soothe my discomfort and only sets me more on edge. The tilt of his lips doesn’t meet his eyes. He looks more crazed than happy or comforting.Fuck, I just want to get out of here.
“No, unfortunately. Do you have any resources you could lend us that might hold some helpful information?” I press, knowing his answer even before he speaks. But it hits me then that he knows we’ve been researching. How? Did we tell him, or maybe the principal? I don’t think we did, but then how does he know? Dread settles in my gut. Has he been following us?
“I’m afraid not, no. And I truly don’t think you’ll find anything, either.”
His words should disappoint me, and maybe they would if I were someone else, but I’ve had more professors tell me what a failure I am than I’ve had new socks. Now, it only spurs me on.
I check the time on my slate and wince. I’ve been trapped in here for thirty minutes already. How much longer will he keep me here?
“That would be unfortunate,” I reply, then stand. “Is that all, Professor?”
“Oh, no. We’re only just getting to the good stuff. Sit down, Miss Hayliel.”
