Chapter Text
Cold. I’m surrounded by an all encompassing chill. The kind that makes you want to curl up and sleep forever. Despite that urge, there’s something else inside me. It starts as an itch, one rooted deep within my chest. It starts to expand throughout my being, shifting from an irritation to pain, and then an agony. It fills out my chest, bursting into my limbs. I try to move, but there is no will left to do so. My body is in a sweltering, writhing agony. Yet, above the misery, above my mind screaming for escape, there is one haunting constant.
The smell.
That sharp, chemical odor burned into my brain.
I-I can’t… I’ll never be able to be like him… why did I push myself so hard?
I burst awake, my flailing throwing what little sheets I have on my bed onto the floor. I scan my small studio apartment, eyes searching for nothing as my brain catches up to reality. I’m fine… the smell… I take a deep, hesitant breath. That nauseating smell quickly fades, replaced by the familiar scent of my home.
I let out a drawn out sigh. It's been months since I’ve had that nightmare. Why would it come back now? The stress of starting another year of college, perhaps?
“Don’t dwell on it. Don’t think about it.”, I repeat to myself, my tried and true mantra somewhat suppressing my runaway thoughts.
I slide out of bed, returning my abused sheets back to their rightful place on my bed. I stop to consider if I should make my bed but decide against it. “Too much work, just gonna mess it up again tonight anyway,” I say aloud, to an audience of no one. Making my way into the bathroom to begin my morning routine, I stop to look at myself in the mirror. My 5’ 10” frame, pale skin, and shaved head don’t do me any justice when it comes to sticking out in a crowd. Perfect.
But, as I continue to look myself over, my eyes land on my face. The man looking back at me bares a prominent frown, eyes glaring back at themselves. How did I not notice I was scowling again? I force myself to smile, my lips pulling back into a toothy grin.
I’m fine… I feel fine.
But as my face returns to its default expression, that scowl returns. Why can’t I just be fucking happy? A new school year starts and I’ve already settled on being miserable. That familiar guilty feeling begins to well inside me. Maybe if I had just… no. Stop. It’s easier this way. I’ve learned what effort gets me. But I’ve also learned the best way to deal with these thoughts. And it’s just to not deal with it at all.
Pushing all these thoughts to the back of my mind, I begin mindlessly moving through my morning routine, my hygienic and nutritional needs met, barely. I throw on some jeans and whatever t-shirt is at the top of the stack in my dresser drawer. Finally, I don the lynchpin of my fit, my hoodless Carnohartt zip-up jacket. Ah, my old reliable. If there was ever one constant in my life, it’d be this beloved jacket.
I collect my school supplies and gym clothes and slide my boots on. Before I leave, I take one final look at myself in the entryway mirror.
God damn it. The scowl came right back. I cross my arms in disappointment at myself as I look myself up and down. I look like a proper douchebag. Not much I can do about it at this point.
Leaving and locking my apartment door, I step out into the cool September air, starting my trek towards my bus stop, letting my developed routine take hold, my body autopiloting towards my destination.
As I reach my destination, I sit down, setting my backpack onto my lap. Minutes pass as I wait for my transport, my leg bouncing in anticipation of the day that awaits me. The lack of stimulation allows time for my subconscious to start to work, but I beat back those intrusive thoughts, focusing on what my classes for this semester are.
Entering my junior year, I’ve finally finished all my general education credits and can finally start taking the classes related to my degree, a bachelors in business administration. I picked a random smattering of classes: business management and leadership, managerial accounting, and applied marketing techniques. I’ve no clue what they’ll entail beyond what their names tell me, but they should be a cakewalk. This whole degree should be a cakewalk. I just need things to be easy for me right now, then I’ll work on being better, after.
I’m startled out of my internal monologue as my publicly funded ride pulls up along the curb, the double doors sliding open. Nobody gets off, so I walk inside, flashing my student ID card at the bus driver, an older human female. She nods and I grab the nearest empty seating. As the bus pulls away, I look around. Barely anyone is aboard, save for a couple Saurians spread throughout. A perk of living on the edge of town. Can’t say I could ID the Saurians’ species, I never bothered learning all that shit. Why couldn't biologists pick simpler names? These lizards must get off on watching skinnies struggle to pronounce their word-vomit names.
The Saurian on the other side of the aisle shifts uncomfortably, pulling their belongings close to their chest. Oh fuck, I must’ve been staring at them.
“S-sorry ma’am, didn’t mean to stare, I just started - uh - it’s my first day back at school. Stressed is all.”
She simply shifts uncomfortably again, saying nothing, giving me some scathing side eye before turning to look out the window.
“Fucking idiot,” I mumble to myself, deciding that I’d follow her example and focus on staring out the window to pass the time.
As the bus turns onto the on-ramp for the highway, I gain a view of the region. Towards the east, I can see Mt. Prichard rise to take up the horizon. The hulking stratovolcano, the biggest in the state, blocks out the rising sun, both sparing my eyes from the sun’s wrath and casting a massive shadow across the town in which I live, Laramide, Clawshington. As I shift to look around, I take in the evergreen trees that blanket the hills and valleys of the region, the variable species of flora coloring the hills in shifting shades of green. The morning dew evaporates in the areas where the sunlight can reach, filling the air with a cool, light mist.
I find myself smiling, enraptured by the simple beauty of my home. Despite all that’s happened, I love this place. Even on the days where I wish I hadn’t woken up, I force myself forward, just so I can look out at it all again. But the smile quickly fades, as I realize the bus is pulling up to my destination: Western Laramide University. I quickly rise as the bus stops and the doors open, stepping out of the bus after mumbling an unacknowledged “thank you” to the bus driver.
Off the bus and onto the pavement of the campus, a familiar living sea of color fills my vision. Saurians of every kind are moving back and forth, lost freshmen frantically walking to their classes while the seniors take their time, their senioritis already taking full effect. Unfortunately for me, my classes are all on the other side of campus. Readjusting my backpack, I put my underutilized hunter-gatherer genes to use, and began to fast walk into the crowd.
Despite my past two years here, this part never gets easier. I try my best to dodge and weave between the students, but every tail, plate, and spine is a shin-seeking missile. I stumble and trip my way forward, mumbling sorries to whatever dinosaurs I stepped on. Eventually, either through sheer luck or my developing dino-dodging skills, I make it through the scalie maelstrom, arriving at my new house of education for the next four months, McCormick Hall. My first class, business management and leadership is thankfully on the first floor, and I find my way there with a minute to spare.
As I enter the classroom, I find it packed. Shit. A lot of people take this degree because they can’t think of anything else to take, it's why I chose it, so why couldn't they be more prepared for all this? As I survey the room, I find that the only open seats will require me to ask other students to move. “Guess I have no choice,” I say quietly, mentally resigning myself to having to actually interact with my peers. But as I move forward, a gruff voice calls out from my right.
“Hey skin - uh - man. There’s a spot right here.”
I turn to my right, and find myself looking down at… some sort of aquatic dinosaur, I think? My mind fails to identify what species she is. She gazes back up at me as I look her over, her face neutral. She’s wearing a simple outfit: a pair of well-fitting jeans and a tucked-in cotton flannel. Her thick tail wraps around the back of the seat, gingerly sitting in her lap, her hands resting on top of it. Her skin is a dark gray, though her lower jaw and the anterior side of her body are a much lighter shade. Along her snout are parallel speckled lines of that same light shade of gray. Her hair, as curly as it is, is tied up in a simple bun.
Finally, my eyes arrive at hers and I find myself transfixed by them. Her eyes are unlike anything I’ve seen. Her irises are the color of dawn, made up of concentric rings of amber that lighten in shade as they move away from her pupil. Do all Saurians have eyes this pretty?
But as I stand there staring, the movement of her face contorting into a look of annoyance quickly breaks the spell those golden pools had over me.
“Alright skinnie, ya gonna grab the seat or keep gawking?” she states, immediately regretting her casual usage of “skinnie”, as several students in front of us turn around, giving glares to her and I, looks of sympathy.
I awkwardly shuffle past her to the open seat on her right, placing my backpack beneath the desk and my ass in its new plastic throne. Despite my almost-late arrival, the professor still hasn’t arrived, so I’m unfortunately left with some mental free time to fixate on that awkward interaction.
Why was I so enthralled by her? I’ve talked to plenty of dinos before, never had any issues. Hell, my ex wa- actually no, let's not think about her. I’d actually rather focus on my cringy staring contest.
You know what? It’s simple. I’m just a young man who was surprised that a pretty lady was talking to him. That’s all. So, being the strapping young lad that I am, I should just clear the air now to make my life simpler this semester. No need for a misunderstanding to lead to a bludgeoning with the Title IX hammer. My mind churns through several excuses to justify my totally-not-gawking, finally arriving at one that’s good enough, at least to my male brain.
I turn to the Saurian and provide my apology, “Sorry about that, ma’am. I’ve - uh - never seen a Saurian like you before. Guess I was just trying to figure it out. Again, my bad. I’ll leave you alone now.”
Instead of a “it’s okay” or a “no worries” like I had hoped, my apology is simply met with a chuff and her looking away from me.
Great. A new school year and all I’ve managed to do is piss off women by getting in my own head and staring at them. My expectations were already low for myself but, Raptor Jesus, even I should be doing better than this.
Okay, new rule. Don’t talk or look at women ever again.
Finally, the professor finally makes an appearance, power walking through the classroom door, heading straight for the desk at the front of the room. The professor is an older, white haired human male, wearing a simple outfit of khakis and a tucked-in Polo. He quickly pulls out his laptop and hooks it up to the projector display cables, he then turns to the class.
“Hello everybody. I am Professor Pickins, and I will be your instructor for this semester. And to be clear, this is BUS 301: Business Management and Leadership, so if that doesn’t sound right, please double check your schedules. Anywho, while I struggle with technology, please pass this stack of copies of the syllabus around.”
The professor hands a hefty stack of paper to the closest student before returning to finagling with his laptop. The stack, now much more diminutive in size, finally finds its way to me and my neighbor in the back of the classroom. I take my copy and pass the stack to her. As I begin to read the sheet, I remember that it’s the first day. Which means it’s syllabus day. We’ll just waste the hour going over it anywhere.
Letting out a content sigh, I slide down in my chair, closing my eyes, mentally preparing to doze off for the next hour. My leftward neighbor seems to have the same plan, as she lets out a drawn out breath, throwing her arm behind her head to relax.
Professor Pickins finally wins his battle against his HDMI port, displaying the contents of his screen on the whiteboard: a digital version of the syllabus. Ahh, it feels good to be right. He begins his syllabic tirade, going down the sheet line by line, adding in whatever extraneous details he can to pad out the hour.
I enjoy zoning out, however, after about 15 minutes, the dino on my left speaks up out of nowhere.
“I’m a Platecarpus,” she says, face still pointing forwards.
“Hmm?” I question, not fully understanding the relevance of her statement
She turns to face me, “You said you were wondering. I’m a Platecarpus.”
My utter ignorance on what a “Platecarpus” is must’ve been blatant on my face, as she immediately follows up with: “It’s a type of Mosasaur.”
Okay, I think I know what a Mosasaur is. “O-oh, cool. Thanks for indulging my curiosity.”
“And sorry. For calling you ‘skinnie’. I’m working on that. You were just kinda weirding me out with the staring.”
Huh, an apology? Guess I didn’t mess up too bad then. “It’s all good ma’am. I’m used to it. Really was my bad. I’ll leave you be.”
She scoots closer, an incredulous look crossing her face. “Little man, stop fucki- don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I’m not your boss or your mommy,” she states quietly, her stern look barreling down her snout and into me.
Okay, now it’s going bad. How am I already fucking things up this bad? I got through all of last year just fine, now one lady is messing everything up.
No, actually I didn’t do anything wrong this time. I said I was sorry twice now, yet she’s all up in my face over something like “ma’am?” Being polite ain’t gonna cut it anymore, I’m going to end this shit now.
I stare back up at her, steeling my introverted nerves for the first bit of confrontation I’ve had in a year, and, as sternly as I can manage, say, “Okay, fine. What should I call you then?”
She sits there, staring at me, that stern look fading away back to a neutral look. Then, once again I’m surprised, as that stifled smirk from earlier returns. It doesn’t last long, as her lips curl, revealing a toothy grin. I immediately notice that her top left incisor, as well as the tooth behind it, have been replaced by gold-plated replicas. Her sudden fit of smiles alongside her gilded mandibles has me very quickly regretting my microscopic burst of anger. What did I just do? Why is she smiling at me like that? Why did she get so mad at “ma’am?” With my heart hammering in my chest and my mind swimming in a haze of questions, I nearly don’t hear the dinosaur's next words.
“Sinclair, little man. Just call me Sinclair. And now it’s proper that you tell me your name.”
Are you fucking kidding me? Is she messing with me? I can’t take this. This flipping back and forth between everything being fine and being one bad thought away from a panic attack is sapping me of all my energy. I place my face in my hands, mustering up the last fumes in my social gas tank, and mumble out, “Murph. Just Murph.”
She must be satisfied with that, as I hear her turn and scoot away, saying nothing else. Please let this be the only time I have to deal with this kind of thing this year. Any motivation to keep up the appearance of a studious pupil has been stolen away by my obnoxious aquatic neighbor, so I set my hands on top of the table and rest my head on them, content to just blatantly sleep the rest of class away.
The shuffling of paper and people rouses me from my tuition-funded cat nap. People are already filing out of the classroom, and to my joy, that woman is nowhere to be found. I pray that she is just a one off thing. I can easily find a different seat tomorrow and just avoid her the rest of the year. I rise, shoving my copy of the syllabus into my backpack, and join the crowd flowing out of the classroom. Next class to sleep through is… managerial accounting. Oh yeah, this one is gonna be a snoozefest. The nice thing about having just my degree specific classes left to take is that they’re all in the same building. Simple and easy.
I weave through the crowds, dodging students like dinosaurs dodge meteors, taking the stairs to the 2nd floor. I quickly locate the classroom and, with the short walk it took to get here, my choices of real estate are abundant. I scan the room, analyzing the layout for the optimal place to zone out and be alone, when my eyes snap to an unfortunately familiar hair bun. Oh great, that Platecarpet or whatever is taking this class too. But it’s not all bad luck, she hasn’t noticed me and there’s still plenty of seats.
Let’s see, she’s sitting in the back right row like she was in the last class. So, to the front left row it is. I powerwalk to the front class and quickly take my seat, praying to whatever cosmic forces to not let her see me. I will not let her ruin things for me.
Those forces must’ve heard me, because this class passes without a hitch. No annoying women giving me tonal whiplash, and I’m free to zone out for 50 minutes. We’re back on track, baby. As the professor dismisses us and students begin to rise, I turn my head enough to eye that lady to keep track of her. To my surprise, nobody else had come to sit in that back row with her. Well, it’s probably because they could sense how weird she is. It’s what she gets for messing with me like that. She eventually finishes packing up and leaves the room.
With that, I’m free to escape and move onto my next class: applied marketing techniques. Ascending to the 3rd floor and entering the classroom, I find myself in the exact same scenario as in the last class. Well, if it ain’t broke and all that. Following the same strategy as last time, I place myself as far away as possible from that Saurian. This final class of the day goes the same as the last two: grab a syllabus, pretend like I’m reading, doze off until class is over, wait for that lady to leave, and I’m free.
Despite how things were going at first, successfully getting things back on track has renewed some of my motivation. I was thinking of skipping the gym today, but I’ve got the drive to do so now. Now free to enjoy the rest of my day, I leisurely make my way across campus to the gym. Changing into my workout clothes, I set off to weightlift to help take my mind off things.
As I take time to rest between my sets, my mind begins to churn once again. How exactly did I mess up when talking to that woman? I was as polite as possible. Was my staring that upsetting? It couldn’t’ve been more than a few seconds. She was attractive, sure, but it… her eyes were just so pretty. What was her name again? Something starting with a “S,” I think. What did she say she was again? A mosasaur but what kind? Plate… carpet? Would it be so bad if I tried to talk to her again?
Yes. Yes! It would be bad! What am I even thinking? Why do these doubts always have to creep up? I saw what effort got me. I saw what relationships got me. Never again. I don’t care how many times that little doubtful pit in my stomach appears, I will keep snuffing it out until I can finish school and just move on with my life.
As I lean forward to pick up my dumbbells, a male microraptor walks over to me, tapping me on the shoulder.
I turn to him as he says, “Hey man, are you almost don-,” his query cut short as his eyes land upon my face.
“Uh - ne-nevermind, dude. You - uh - go ahead and finish. Sorry,” he stammers out before promptly turning around and leaving me be.
I sit there dumbfounded. What was that? Asking about equipment is normal stuff in a gym. Why would he just change his mind? I find my answer as I turn back to the dumbbells, my eyes making contact with my reflection with the gym mirror ahead of me.
Upon my face is an intense, familiar glower. I let out a deep sigh, my face in my hands. Shit, I scared him off. Those runaway thoughts poisoned my facial expressions again. I wish I could just stop thinking sometimes, all it seems to do is make things worse. I pull my face from my hands, deciding to channel all this negative emotion into my next set of hammer curls.
With my workout finished and my mood worsened further from my interaction with that microraptor, I decide that I’ve had enough of being around others and getting into my own head, and make my way back to the bus stop so I can go home. The ride back has decidedly less appreciation for nature, my mental and physical energies too exhausted to do anything other than get me home. Off the bus, I slowly make my way back to my apartment. As I enter my apartment, I throw my school bag onto the floor and toss my gym clothes in my laundry hamper. I could eat but that near panic attack took everything out of me. Deciding to have sleep for dinner instead, I strip down and hop in the shower to clean off the grime, then after some hygienic maintenance, collapse into a dreamless slumber.