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vintagemiserie · 6 years ago

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more of this boarding school au. i wrote it in bed on my phone directly after waking up but hopefully its legible enough for me to post without editing it asldkfslk (tw for f slur, i would say “period-accurate homophobia” too but its set in the 80s so its a bit too modern for that imo)

“Patrick, you know you can't keep getting into fights.”

“So? I don't care. Expel me already,” He said, barely in his seat. It was his third counselor visit that week, all for different reasons, the previous two ending up with him storming out before it was supposed to be done.

The counselor, frankly, looked frustrated at that point. “The fact that we decided to let you come here, even with a record like yours, is a complete gift to your mother. Are you sure you want to fail her like that?”

“Completely sure.”

The counselor sighed. “How about—how about, next week, we have you in private, one-on-one lessons with your teachers?”

“Lessons where I won't learn anything important? Lessons where the teachers fucking bully me regardless of whether I'm trying or not?”

“They don't bully you.”

“Yes they do! I'm trying my best and they single me out, no matter what. I'll be talked to, what, ten times in a class, and some kid in the front row, sleeping, won't even get nudged!”

The counselor didn't immediately respond, looking up at the ceiling as she collected her thoughts. “While that may be your perception, it's simply not true. Now, may I ask, why do you keep getting into fights?”

“I'm not fucking telling you that.”

“The sooner you tell me, the sooner I'm letting you leave.”

Patrick slumped. “It feels good. I like punching people,” He said, cracking his knuckles. The counselor didn't seem to buy it, but seemed to refuse to keep talking. Patrick didn't want to say much more, but the pressure built up too quickly for him not to keep speaking. “And, and when people keep calling me a fag, of course I'm gonna respond. What else am I supposed to do, let 'em know—I, I mean, um, if, y’know, if I were… fuck...” Patrick pulled his knees up to his chest, looking away. It felt like eternity before the counselor spoke.

“Does anyone know?” She asked, quietly.

“...I dunno.”

“How long have you been aware of that, about yourself?”

“...I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Are you okay with me informing your mother—”

“No! She doesn't need to know shit about me! I—oh my god…” Patrick hid his face, feeling himself start to cry. He felt cold, like he couldn't function.

“It's okay, Patrick. You're not going to be punished for anything.” She scribbled something down in her notes. “You can leave whenever you feel ready to leave. Does another meeting at this time tomorrow sound alright?”

Patrick sobbed, not even really hearing the question. After an amount of time he wasn't sure of, he felt himself stop crying, wiped his eyes, and stumbled out of the office, hoping he wasn’t actually as stupid as he felt like he was.

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