Chapter 100 ELLIOT

Chapter 100 ELLIOT
A/N: Triple update today as a treat for sticking with me for 100 chapters. It gets wayy worse before it gets better. Enjoy (≧∀≦).
ELLIOT’S POV.
By the time I got to his building, Vivian and Stephens had been waiting about an hour.
Cyril, the receptionist, led me up to what looked like a board room. Through the frosted glass, I could see Dr. Stephens and Vivian seated at the long table.
There were a bunch of paperwork scattered in front of her, and she frowned slightly as she perused the contents of the file before her.
They both glanced up when I walked in, and I fought the urge to wilt under their matching neutral expressions.
“Sorry I kept you guys waiting.” I said, shuffling closer. “Time got away from me.”
“It's no problem.” Vivian said, straightening and sending me a warm smile. “Mondays are hell for everyone. Have a seat.”
I took the chair next to the Stephens and he gave me a fond pat on the shoulder.
“I can't help but feel like I'm screwed.” I said to Vivian, chewing hard on my bottom lip. The skin there was basically chapped and raw, with how often I'd been bullying it.
She shrugged one shoulder and pushed her glasses into her hair. “Well, your punctuality is dogshit, Elliot. You were assigned four hours a week for thirteen months. It's been six months, and somehow the most you've averaged in a month is eight hours.”
She pinned me with an unimpressed look. “I don't think the Judge is going to be too pleased with that.”
I shrunk in my seat, fidgeting with the string of my hoodie. “It's really hard to juggle all the training and classes, and homework with this.”
“Yeah that's fair.” She agreed, nodding once. “But, it's not going to get you off the hook.”
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, “So I'm fucked is what you're saying?”
There was a beat of silence where she and Stephens exchanged a look. Then she sighed, leaning back into her chair.
“Not necessarily.” She started, picking up one of the papers in her front. “The primary purpose of your sentence was to ensure a permanent behavioral change, or at least some measure of improvement. And Dr. Stephens here was generous enough to volunteer to vouch for you on that.”
I turned to him, eyes wide. “You're going to be at the hearing?”
He shook his head. “Er…not exactly. I proposed that I'd write a letter. I'll tell the judge that you're a stellar young man who shows promise and a willingness to change despite your horrid attendance record.”
“You still might get an extension for your lack of attendance,” Vivian continued, “But it might be a bit more lenient compared to what she might've given in this case. There's also the fact that your school disciplinary records are clean, so points for that.
Your team records however states that you were placed in a ‘Forced Friendship Program’ after major disagreements with a fellow athlete that even resulted in violence.”
She met my gaze, brow cocked. “What's that about?”
“Oh fuck.” I groaned, burying my head in my hand. I should've known this was coming back to bite me in the ass. “It's stupid. I never would've lost my shit if he didn't provoke me in the first place.”
“Who's he?” She narrowed her brows. “Is this another Robby Fraiser?”
“No.” I hurried to deny, “It's not like that. And after the program, things cooled down a lot between us. I promise.”
She stared at me like she wasn't entirely sold. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yeah, positive.”
“Because if this is too reminiscent with what happened between you and Mr. Fraiser, the judge might take it as a pattern of behaviour.”
“It's not, I swear.”
“Okay.” She nodded once. “All things considered, I have very high hopes for this hearing.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “Do you think she might dismiss my charges?”
Vivian paused, considering this for a moment. “Judge Mason is very strict, you know that. But, its not unlike her to show random bouts of mercy. We just have to hope she's more…understanding than she normally is.”
“If not, we're gonna keep seeing each other for the forseeable future.” Dr. Stephens added, hand around my arm in what was supposed to be friendly support.
The only thing it did, was make me feel even worse.
We spent about two more hours poring over my records and getting facts straight, and eventually, I was released to return to the dorms.
My phone buzzed as I left the office building, and it was a text from Dennis asking if I'd like him to bring me some ramen. I told him I wasn't back in the dorm, and he offered to meet me halfway through.
I wasn't against the idea, and some minutes later, he found me a couple blocks away from the dorms. As promised, he already had the ramen packs in his hands.
“You look exhausted.” He said as soon as he got close enough.
I sighed, rubbing at the back of my neck. “It's been a rough couple days.”
He nodded once, falling into step beside me. “Does it have anything to do with Weston?”
“No.” I snarled, irritated at the suggestion. “I have a life outside of him. He's not the only element in my life capable of ruining my mood.”
“Right.” He flushed, “Sorry, he's just usually the main culprit.”
Half an hour later, Dennis and I were seated on my bed, legs dangling off the side as I finished the last of my pork ramen and tossed the takeout on the floor.
I flopped backwards, stretching my legs out on his lap and staring up at the ceiling, hating how aware of Weston’s absence I was.
“Do you know if Delia is still mad at me?”
Dennis shrugged, finishing his takeout and placing the pack back in the plastic bag. “She trash talked you the entire time we were at the cafe. I didn't participate.”
“Thanks.” I snorted, “You're too kind.”
Dennis huffed out a laugh too. A second later, he was sprawled out next to me, pressed against my side because the bed was too narrow.
I chewed on my bottom lip as I let my thoughts wander. Weston’s ring was still in my possession, kept in the bottom desk drawer where I kept all my A4.
I wondered what he was doing. Was he in trouble with his Dad? Was he thinking about me?
Should I text him?
I shut my eyes, banishing all thoughts of him away and turned my head. Next to me, Dennis was staring up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
He turned—almost like he could feel me staring, and cocked a brow.
“Watsup?”
I glanced briefly at Weston’s side of the room, and then back to hum. “You wanna make out?”
His brows shot up all the way to his hairline, but all he did was shrug a shoulder and grinned. “Yeah, sure, okay.”