Page 63 of The Diamond in the Rough

The soundof shattering crockery snapped me out of the vision.

“Shit!”

The coffee was hot against my shins where it had splashed and soaked through the fabric of my pants. I was more upset about the fact that I’d just dropped my mug than I was about the stains on my light-colored khakis. I hadanother at home, but that meant I was down to only one mug in my life.

I was also annoyed that Ms. Lefavre had used my mug. She probably hadn’t even thought about it—it probably hadn’t occurred to her that she shouldn’t just use a mug in the kitchen of the building she helped rent, especially since she’d washed it and put it back.

But now it was broken.

It was also, if truth be told, my fault the mug had shattered, because I still didn’t have the ability to control my psychic abilities. I couldn’t stop the memories from pushing their way into my consciousness, taking over, and causing me to lose time and control.

I’d tried rebuilding my brick walls, tearing them down, then building them up again as quickly as possible. Every time I did it, the problem only got worse.

So a few days ago, I’d given up on building brick walls. I tried imagining a giant door. Except that didn’t work because it wasjusta door, so there were no walls attached to it, and a door with no walls keeps nothing out. Or in. And I didn’t have time to imagine building an entire house any more than I did a brick wall, so that put me back at the beginning.

With a sigh, I bent and carefully picked up the dripping shards of crockery, tossing them in the trash after about half a second of contemplating whether or not I could reasonably glue the mug together. Not only was it unlikely that I’d get enough of it to put back together, but it probably wouldn’t end up being watertight. And even if it did, I’d put coffee in it and the heat would just melt the glue. So there wasn’t much point in trying.

“Rayn, you okay?” Mason asked from the doorway.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied, bending down to pick up more shards. “Just dropped my mug.”

He was silent for a moment. “Did someone use it?” he asked.

I nodded. “Ms. Lefavre,” I replied.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Rayn.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, grabbing paper towels to mop up the rest.

“No, it’s not,” Mason replied, although his voice was gentle. “I’ll talk to her.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have another mug,” I replied. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Mason made a soft grunting sound. “It’s still not fair to you,” he argued.

I looked up at him from where I crouched on the floor. “A lot of things aren’t fair to me,” I replied. “They are still true.”

Mason sighed. “Sadly, you’re not wrong,” he remarked. “At least let us pay for another class.”

I shook my head. “It’s my fault for not having this under control,” I told him.

“Rayn.” He sounded exasperated.

I threw out the wet towel with its shards of crockery, then turned. “A month ago, it wouldn’t have been a problem,” I told him. “But I let it control me, instead.”

“You shouldn’t have to choose between learning to control your abilities and being able to exist in the world in a reasonable way,” the orc argued back, although his voice remained gentle and low.

I shrugged again. “Except I do,” I replied. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll figure something else out.”

No longer having a mug to put coffee in, I slipped past him and went back to my desk, wishing I had a hot drink towarm both my hands and my insides. But, as I’d said to Mason, a lot of things aren’t fair. This was just one more in a long line of them.

When I got home,I turned my thoughts to the problem of wanting to get my abilities under control. I tried to think back to the early days at St. Cyprian’s, to what the psychologist there had said—because it had taken us a while to settle on brick walls.

But it hadn’t come back to me.

Not until last night, when I remembered something.

During those early sessions, they’d given me something to hold on to. Something to help me feel grounded.