Where I End and You Begin Read Online Free PDF Page B

seek help.”
    “Help?” I say stupidly.
    “Counseling. A substance abuse program.”
    “I haven’t been drinking!” I protest.
    His eyes are sad as he looks at me. “You have. I’ve been a professor for over twenty years. You think I don’t know what a student in trouble looks like. You aren’t special.”
    A pang slices through my heart at those words. Of course I’m not special. I never thought I was.
    “I could get drunk off the smell of wine on you,” he continues. “I don’t have to tell you that this is unacceptable behavior for a student.”
    No. No, he doesn’t.
    For a long moment we stare at each other across the desk, and though I feel the hot, crawling ants feeling of tears trying to rise up and spill down my face, I clench my fists and let my fingernails dig in to the flesh of my palms, keeping the tears at bay.
    I won’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.
    Finally he sits up and turns to his keyboard. “Miss Ray, I’m afraid the rules are in place for a reason. I’m not going to suspend you, but I am putting you on academic probation for the rest of the semester. You still have time to bring your grades up to an acceptable level—midterms are next week, after all. Don’t miss any more classes and you might pull it off.”
    The whole room narrows and suddenly the sounds are loud, echoing inside my head. His fingers on his keyboard clack and clank, a terrible din as, just like that, I go from student in good standing to a breath away from ruin.
    My vision darkens and I barely hear Dr. Arthursen as he turns back to me. “I’ve seen many students come through here with substance abuse problems,” he says, though his voice is far away. “I can’t order you to seek counseling, but I would strongly urge you to do so.”
    My lips move, and I find myself asking: “How strongly?”
    He gives me a grim little smile, full of sympathy and fatalism. “I’ve never had a student make it if they didn’t get help. Even if drinking isn’t the problem, there is probably some underlying stress that is keeping you from reaching your full potential.”
    My head bobs on my neck, and I realize I am nodding.
    He nods back to me and stands up. He begins to shuffle through the papers on his desk, and I understand I’m about to be dismissed. With hands that move like lead, I grab my bag and hoist it over my shoulders, but when I stand I feel so weak I think just the wrong step will have me falling apart, my limbs detaching, my bones clattering to the floor.
    “Here.”
    I look at Dr. Arthursen and see him holding out a pamphlet. My numb fingers take it and I see the words Britten University Student Health Services emblazoned across the top.
    “Go make an appointment at the Student Health Center,” he says. “And I’d like to see you again at the end of the month for a status update. Make the appointment with the receptionist.”
    I nod again, because there’s nothing else I can do. “Thank you,” I tell him, even though I’m not feeling particularly grateful. But he doesn’t have to encourage me. He doesn’t have to give me one last chance to pull myself out of the pit.
    I turn and leave his office.
    When I open the door, I see Daniel lounging by the receptionist’s desk. Our eyes meet once and I have to look away. I walk to the receptionist and tell her Dr. Arthursen wants to see me again in two weeks. She makes the appointment and hands me a little appointment card. I take it and stuff it into my jeans. Without looking at Daniel, I turn and exit.
    He follows me out. “Bi—er, Miss Ray?” he says from behind me. I turn and look at him.
    For someone so tall, he has a strange way of carrying himself. He looks as though he is trying to make himself fit into a smaller space, as though he is afraid of intimidating people. He’s taken his glasses off and stuffed them into the v-neck of his black sweater, and I can see that his brown eyes are huge, thick-lashed, warm. I swallow and