That figure pulled into the space of my office, managing to earn my lingering gaze, which remained watching every little movement he gave—From his eyes skimming every corner of the area, to his hands pulling out the seat opposite my desk.
"May I?" His voice was low, gaze fixed on my form.
"Mister Marshall's got a terrible attitude"
I remembered the words of Principal McKenna, while she went on about her supposed insight to the kid, yet right in front of me, was a young man who seemed like every other normal person one would run into on their way home, the supermarket, wherever.
Those eyes of his were held soft. One couldn't tell what color they were, but one thing I could assure was that they were enough to earn one's attention.
So soft on my form they rested, observing, more like exploring, and in a short while, they moved to the papers dispersed before me.
"Your desk is untidied, Miss Sangretti"
Why did scattered files seem much of a concern to him? He chose that of all things he could say?
"Do you feel uncomfortable with the desk untidied?" I asked.
"It bothers me not a bit, but I'd prefer being in a composed room" Followed Logan, voice low.
"Then I'll have it tidied immediately"
Figure had shot up at once, hands snatching papers here to there, pulling them all into a stack. My fingers reached for the paper cup at the edge of the table, and in a second, I had knocked it off, spilling the hot coffee held in it, on the body of Logan.
His gaze shifted to the steam pulling into the air, eyes watching the liquid trickle down his pants.
"I-I'm sorry" I followed, soon pulling out a tissue from the desk, reaching to wipe the stains, but he had pulled back in a second, like I was some sort of sting to him.
I remained watching every slight movement he gave, from hands soaking the tissue with the coffee, to him wiping his hands with it.
In a second, he had relaxed back into the chair, eyes fixed on me.
"You're a mess, Miss Sangretti"
That gaze of his was prepossessing, beckoning onto me, daring me to hold on, and I tell you, I did just that, watching the young man away with intent, as if my lingering gaze could give me so much as little knowledge to whoever this subject was, that had been put in my care for examination.
How could one person manage to leave me shaken, with nothing to do but watching that profile.
Snap yourself! My professor would say.
"Remember you're the examiner, and they're your subjects. You can't gain approval of them and proceed with the counsel, if you show no domineering act"
Make this a comfortable space.
I uttered no word, only taking my seat, finally meeting those eyes.
"Why do you have that scarf on your head?" His voice was low, calm.
With questioning eyes peering on at me, he leaned back in that chair, body language stating he wasn't a bit intimidated by my being.
"I believe I'm the one asking the questions here, Mr Marshall"
"Sure" He scoffed, soon sitting up in the chair, pulling closer to the desk which divided our forms.
"Why did you punch that kid?"
"He vexed me"
"You made him unconscious"
"I believe when one's passing a message, you don't go for the mild things. You let it all out"
"What message were you passing?"
"Not to fuck with me"
I turned silent at his utterance, eyes holding onto his.
"Please, language" I called. "Now, how did he— There poured a long breath from my lips, with eyes shifted away from him—"How did he mess with you?"
"You can say the word, 'Fuck' Miss Sangretti" He chuckled. "For fucks sake, we're adults"
"How old are you?" I questioned.
"Eighteen"
"It says otherwise on your school file, Mister Marshall"
"You're seventeen" I stated.
"To turn eighteen, November" He followed.
"You know— He drew forward, sucking in a breath—Being an adult doesn't qualify one's age alone. I mean, I have an uncle who's fifty, and till this day, he's a bigger cry baby than my little sister" He called.
"I mean, as you've stated, I'm not an adult yet, but I believe I've been oriented with a lot of things, that should certify me as being one"
"What sort of things, Mister Marshall?"
"Sex" He stated flatly.
Eyes were found gaping on at him, watching the amusement held in that gaze. He relaxed back, eyes held in my prying gaze, with the silence soon breaking into the room.
"Mister Marshall, why did you punch that kid?"
"I believe we're past that? Can I leave?"
"Not until you tell me why you punched Adrian"
"Like I said, he—
"What did he say to you?" I cut in at once.
He remained silent, eyes only watching mine.
"He spoke of my brother" He let out.
"You don't like people speaking about your family?" I itched to know.
"I don't like people speaking of my dead brother"
His voice was low, gaze beholding the fear that had crossed my eyes. For a long minute, we both stayed there, staring at each other, and in a snap, he had gotten to his feet, walking out the room, without sparing me a glance.