Mentor - Tape 2

[CW/TW: The Mentor's Tape recount stories of mental/emotional abuse and gaslighting in a student/teacher setting. Listener discretion is advised. This warning is strictly for this subseries.]

(Beep. Music fades in)

After that one embrace I was practically at your beck and call. I’m well aware how pathetic that sounds or how pathetic you will try and make it sound, but it went beyond that, and we both know it. We both know that you had spent a respectable portion of that classroom time building up this narrative cosmos for yourself and your students, in which you were this benevolent and--dare I say--loving force in our lives, who only willed what was best for us, even when we couldn’t see it. That’s what you wanted us to believe. You tried so hard to prove it without actually saying it. Because you couldn’t say it. Then you would be lying.

I imagine that when you tell the story, that’s the part you leave out. And I’m right, aren’t I? Because it was always about control to you. In this case, it’s about making sure you come out as sympathetically as possible. For that, you can’t admit how much you twisted reality. After all, that sort of thing is generally frowned upon.

The effect of your efforts varied from person to person. I mean, some people genuinely didn’t care, did they? They didn’t need you, and you’re no more than a brief anecdote in their life. If that. But then again, you did not need everyone, only a few. You only needed a few sacrificial lambs to feed your arrogance, right?

Was I a particularly hardy one? I can only imagine.

(Music fades out. Beep. Music fades in)

Oh, and I did get your message, by the way. Don’t be so proud of yourself for finding a way to reach me. The alumni email addresses are issued in a very predictable way. So that wasn’t impressive. But I am going to need you to clarify what you want me to apologize for. For taking you at your word? For accepting the way you presented yourself: as a compassionate human being with genuine care for your students? Or for not believing it anymore. For expecting you to be the person you acted as or for my being the person that I actually am.

Nothing you think makes sense.

(Music fades out. Beep. Music fades in)

It was pretty obvious something was going on. With me. I really don’t care about you and your problems. You’re a sick soul, and I can leave it at that. However, the thing--or one of the things about this supposed ability is that with it, I am perpetually tired and wear that exhaustion across my face, very prominently. Even before it started, my eyes were always a bit sunken. And the muscles didn’t set right on my face.

Call that a mark of fate if you want to seem profound. I really don’t care.

You had me coming to your office regularly pretty quickly after that one gesture of affection. You had burned hot, and then you immediately went cold. And I was so lost and confused from that sudden change. Then you threw me a scrap--a thing you wanted me to do. And it wasn’t like it wouldn’t benefit me in some way to do it. I mean, presenting at a conference could only help me in the long run in multiple ways. And it wasn’t like I couldn’t handle presentations. I’m surprisingly good at them, as you put it. You really were expecting me to fail, weren’t you?

Regardless, while it wasn’t a topic I was interested in, that was a trivial thing, right? I was young and naive, and I didn’t know any better. You knew better. You knew everything. And this was your specialty. That’s all that mattered. That’s what proved it was valid. That you thought it was the ultimate field of study, so whatever I guess.

When I agreed to give that talk, that apparently meant you had to supervise me, constantly checking my work every step of the way. Nearly every word of every draft. Doing so let you control every part of the process. And that’s what you were really after.

I must have written that presentation a thousand times because it was never right to you. Or that’s what you said. Really, it was just part of your plan, wasn’t it? To wear me down, dangling the carrot of your approval just out of my reach and making sure I was always chasing it. You need me to tired, outright exhausted for what came next. It’s an important step, a milestone more accurately, a marker for the next phase of your plan to begin, but something wasn’t quite right with me. I hit that point too soon, by the looks of it. And you had your concerns.

Concerns about you. Not me.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

So you questioned me, wanting to know specifically, what class had me so tired. That’s what you said. Really, you were fishing for a name, right? A connection I valued or someone you could persuade me to value just to risk. Same plan on that latter bit, just more steps. You needed fibers to compose the stick you would then use to beat me. And that was one of them, right? A potentially lost connection.

Because really, you didn’t have anything to offer, and you knew I would realize that in time. You have to supplement your tool kit because you have so little. You are so little. And that makes you lash out in this grand game of pretend with a casualty count. How pathetic.

It wasn’t a class. That’s all I said. Which wasn’t an acceptable answer to you. But I left it at that.

You can remind me over and over again that it was wrong for me to tell you about my secret, but that will be only your defense: repositioning blame onto me to draw attention away from your misdeeds. But I lasted against your inquisitions for a while. I really did. I lasted on your roller coaster without breaking longer than you would have thought possible before I gave up my secret. And there’s a victory in that, even if you try to deny it.

But yes, I should have told someone you were up to something, that you were mistreating me. Regardless of what you think, there were people who did care about me. They are people you just always hated. So now that you hate me, I can confidently say that I’m good company. The best of all of them. 

I count my blessings in that. And you should too. Because without those people, I’d have nothing to lose, nothing for you to take away from me. How else could you have taken control of me? 

So it was a gift to both of us. Funny how good and evil can converge like that.

I finally told you after yet another one of those death dreams. One of yet another streak. They’re all terrible. The details don’t matter. Exhaustion had caused me to doze off in front of your office door when you came late to our meeting. 

I was still out of it when you coaxed me into your office. Flashes of blood were still lingering in my eyes. That’s why I said it. Giving voice to those hallucinations gave me a chance to dispel them. Really, it had nothing to do with you at all. Nothing. You were just there, occupying a space. You were nothing but an occupant. And I know you hate that.

I know I hated the twinkle in your eye when I told you of this weird quirk I had. I knew it even then.

(Music fades out. Beep.)

The Oracle of Dusk is written, edited, and produced by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please consider leaving a review, joining the Patreon or buying the oracle a Ko-Fi. It’s a pretty exhausting life. All those links are in the description. Or check out another Miscellany Media Show, like Aishi Online, wherever you are listening to this one.