The Student Counselor, a General story

My Life in All Its Glory

Chapter 1

My story began on a rainy day during the frosty month of January. It doesn't snow in California, but I wish it did. It would be easier to end my suffering by just ending this miserable life in the chill of winter, but apparently, God has plans for this boy. God has given me the ability to charm women, to know what they want, but I have no interest in them.

I'm not homosexual, but I'm not interested in women. The ability to know just what women want runs in the family, apparently. My father, the cunning bastard, seduced my mother. And my grandfather seduced my grandmother and so on so forth.

The point is: I don't want to continue the tradition.

But I don't want to fall in love.

Ever. I'd prefer to save brain-space for my work, thank you very much.

The clock struck six and I arose myself from my dark dreams, pulling myself back into the darker reality. I put on my rectangular spectacles and looked at myself in the mirror. There he was, the bastard I never asked to be. The brown eyes, the soft brown locks of hair, the bastard, the bastard. I sometimes wonder why God gave me this vessel.

I would've been better off living in the body of a scrawny, regular person with average intellect, living an average life. But life is fickle and I don't get that choice. I dressed myself quickly and left the stuffy apartment without breakfast. Time to do what I do best: conquer and win.

S.C.H.O.O.L: Seven Crappy Hours Of Our Lives. The government forces kids to go to these 'centers of knowledge', but they don't pay enough money to even fund the damn things. And besides, this is where I'm usually targeted.

"Thomas! Thomas!" they cry, "Help me! My boyfriend/girlfriend is cheating-on/left me!" Etcetera, etcetera. I smile and blast them with that 'wondrous' smile of mine and 'help' them out.

Teenagers are all the same; they spend more time trying to have sex and fiddle around with girls than they do homework.

And apparently, when shit goes down, they turn to me. Blah, blah, blah, whine, whine, whine; that's all they do. They have a problem, I have to solve it.

And here comes one now.

"Thomas, Thomas!" she calls out, running after my turned back.

I force the smile onto my face and turn around, beaming genially to everyone in the world. "Ah hello, Miss…?" I try not to remember people's names; they're a waste of time to memorize.

"It's me, Crystal!" she pouted, "I'm your neighbor!"

Oh damn. "Ah, Crystal, sorry about that," I pretended to look abashed and smacked myself with my palm, "Must be that early morning sickness, heheh."

"Well anyway, I was wondering if you could help me," she fingered her golden curls. Twenty bucks it's about a guy.

"There's this guy…" Ha. I knew it. "I really like him…" Damn it woman; get to the point. "So please…will you go out with me?"

Now while I get these kinds of requests less than the request for advice, or for help, these offers of love are frivolous and extremely annoying.

"Sorry, but I don't think I can." Yeah, yeah, explanation, explanation. It took enough of my precious time to get rid of her, and then I was bombarded by another request. "Can you help me? There's this girl I like." Or "I want to confess to this guy, but I'm scared." Or "I think I'm going crazy. Help?"

However much I hated it, I had grown accustomed to it. Years of experience had torn my body into nothing more than a dispenser of love advice, psychological advice, etc. My ears were now lined in iron, resistant to their cries, their pleads, their hysteria.

I had become what everyone wanted me to be, what they wanted to believe me as.

The benevolent young man, handsome, smart, always willing to listen.

I am just lucky that humans are satisfied once they see what they want to see.

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