(Author's note: Working on my headcanon that Petey trades sexual favors for attention soon after becoming a headboy. It's...a weird idea, I know. But I like the idea of Petey latching onto anyone that gives him even the slightest time of day, and giving into peer pressure for acceptance easily. It's...it's dumb and OOC and super not good. Also I just wrote this after having pulled an all-nighter so.
But please, try to enjoy. Favorites and Reviews are much obliged.)
"Mr. Crabblesnitch said he's too busy to see you, but perhaps you should try next week."
A stare, and his jaw seems to have gone slack. Miss. Danvers looks up at the boy, a quick, scowling glance.
"I don't have time for you either, child. Go find something to rough up. I have paperwork and a man to please."
He stands. An uncomfortably small teenager, petite and just-barely underweight. He hates the look of his body, and as so, he hunches, his new jacket—a gift from the principal, actually—held tight, closed.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. Petey—poor pitiful femmeboy, all washed up—knew quite well that he'd see the principal again, of course; it was just a matter of how long.
But the man was all Petey had anymore. And it wasn't fair.
("You don't deserve anyone else, you ungrateful gutter slut.")
He pulled his jacket tighter. It was cold. He'd been cold, sleepy, nauseated for the past 5 months. It seemed the moment the older man had brushed him he'd been set to feel only half-whole. The only cure to a starving, aching feeling of loneliness was staying close—painfully close—to the older man.
It wasn't fair.
The shaking began, almost like withdrawl. Because so many times, Crabblesnitch had punished him for daring to stay away. He'd been conditioned to stay at the man's side. It's not like he knew anything else but the feel of the other (or the boys he'd pleased before Crabblesnitch, or the men brought in by Crabblesnitch).
He was such a disgusting creature. He traded sex for affection, if only for a second, like he was trading cards. "If I give you a handjob, will you pretend to love me for five minutes?"
"Hey, faggot."
His pace quickened, but the words cut into him like butter. Because even if there were more openly gay (and openly in-love) students, that insult seemed to be reserved solely for him, by people who'd traded affection cards with him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The boy's cum had once dripped off Petey's lips, lips that were now being gnawed raw in frustration and fear.
He didn't wanna deal with this today.
"I said," a shove against a locker. Petey took a deep breath, eyes widening, narrowing, and then falling. The stronger boy glared at him, leaning in and whispering. "Where. Do you think. You're going."
Petey opened his mouth to replied, and it bobbed, open-closed, like a fish. His stomach twisted and knotted and the brusies from Crabblesnitchs' last 'punishment' burned a bright protest.
It wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair it wasn't fair it wasn't fucking—
"Hey, did you not here me, bitch?" The echo of a slap passed through the walls, and Petey's cheek stung. "Answer the fucking question."
"...to class." The voice was so quiet, so low. "I'm...going to class, okay?" A frustrated anger boiled in a sea of anxiety. "Can I go now? Please?"
The boy blinked, and his face cracked a malicious sort of amusement as he laughed loudly. "Excuse me, faggot? Do you think you have balls or something? Last time I checked—"
The words he mouthed, breathed, whispered, burned deep inside Petey, unlocking something buried under the mesh.
"—you were just a cheap, mindless slut."
Click.
The moment Gary had left and Jimmy made other friends, he'd been alone, and he didn't like it. He downright hated it. He didn't want to be alone, not anymore, not ever again.
'Wouldn't you rather be a whore then be alone?' He was so sweet to Petey in the beginning, wasn't he? 'Wouldn't you rather attend to your headmaster personally then be forgotten?'
After all, it's not like you're worth much else.
His vision bled red, and suddenly he was on top of the boy, and he was choking him, and he wasn't about to stop.
"...shut up." His eyes were wide, frightened but out of control, and his entire jaw clenched. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up shut up shutup shut upshutupshutupshutUPSHUTUP!"
Someone screamed, and footsteps, and Petey didn't care, he didn't care about how blue the other boy was turning, or how white his knuckles looked, or how he could feel angry, nasty tears fall off his eyes and onto his hands.
Prefects grabbed him. His turn to scream. And then bite. And scratch. And act for all intents and purposes as a wild animal backed into a corner.
(Because he was, wasn't he?)
He scratch the boys' face hard enough to drawl blood, and bit a prefect hard enough to make him let go. And he kept fighting and biting and screaming.
More came; back up. Students had piled out of their classes to watch, fascinated. Some cheered, but most stared, surprisingly quiet.
It took a good five minutes before someone shoved a tranquilizer in his arm, and Petey would slip into blissful sleep.
(During which time Crabblesnitch would excuse all of his wrong-doings, pay for the Prefects examinations, and allow the assaulted boy a free get-out-of-class-for-a-week pass.
Not that he'd see Petey himself.
No, he wouldn't be seeing Petey for a while. And he hoped it'd teach the boy a lesson.)
Femmeboy awoke a day later in the infirmary, but left soon after.
He went back to class. He held his jacket tight. The days proceeded as normal.