To say that he was irritated, no, pissed, would be the understatement of the century. Of course, he did feel something akin to guilt when it began to die down, post-anger clarity setting him up to remember the look on her face, the way her body recoiled in fear when he let his anger consume him.
She hadn't even done anything particularly wrong to him, had she?
She was actually...nice.
And he was...awful.
Really awful.
'You sure do have a way of fucking up everything you touch, don't you?'
'You don't deserve her kindness.'
'She was really only pretending, right?'
'She's a fake. She'd kill you if she had the chance.'
What? That was...that was ridiculous.
'No she wouldn't! She was nice, really nice. This is really my fault. I just...I don't know.' Clenching his fists in frustration, the boy stumbled forward as they crossed back into Ishiyama's office, and if Dash could have loosed his bowels right then and there (again, might he add, the smell of his own pee still strong on his skin and clothes, a floor sign placed where he had been sitting just a little while ago himself, feeling a great deal of guilt as he looked at the mess he made), he would, stunned into a deep silence as his eyes fell on the visages of his parents, sitting in two chairs, and a third that sat between them.
Led and practically slammed into a chair, something that made Dash squirm as his back end began to ache again, he didn't dare to look up, knowing full well that they were looking at them. He knew that feeling, the burning singe of their eyes as their burrowed into his skulls, and if he was going to keep from running on the spot, he couldn't look at them.
This was much easier.
The two guards exited and Ishiyama and Spectra entered, the former to her desk and the latter to her side as the two women sat in silence for a moment or two before Ishiyama spoke, voice stern and solemn.
Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, I want to begin be saying thank you for coming on such short notice, but I was inform you that had it not been urgent, I surely wouldn't have called you from so far away. I'm sure the drive here was long, yes?" Looking to the pair, Dash flinched at the sound of his father's voice, and he knew that twinge of malice that dripped from every word.
"Oh, most definitely. See, having to drive nearly thirty minutes from the outskirts of town to get here just for Dash, can be a bit taxing, right, honey? Looking to Mira who'd, oddly, resorted to picking her dirty nails, noticed Allen looking at her after a few moments, perking up suddenly.
"I, uh, yeah, I mean yes. I was a drive, but I'm just, uh, glad we made it, ya know?" To that, she beamed up at Allen, but he didn't acknowledge what she said, smiling at Ishiyama as the room went silent again.
Deadly silent as Dash tried his hardest to calm his heart that rattled inside his chest.
'You know what he's gonna do to you when you get home, right?'
'You're screwed, totally screwed.'
"Yes, yes, and especially so soon in the year, too. Just two days in; I believe that might be a new record on his part. Speaking of which, do you know why it is that you're here?" The older woman waited for either of them to speak, and Allen, again, spoke up, leaning forward, his arm brushing Dash's own.
"Well, I imagine it might have something to do with his behavior? Has he been acting up...again?" The last word lulled darkly, the older man slowly glancing to his left where Dash looked forward, chuckling as he clapped a large, calloused hand over the boy's shoulder, squeezing tightly as he eyed him slowly, ominously, then released him.
"Ah, well, actually that is part of the issue, Mr. Baxter. Apart from his absolute disregard for the quality of learning from his classmates, ranging from causing furniture to squeal in the middle of class to even disrespecting instructors, he has yet to turn in any of his assignments, including that of a project that Mr. Falluca, his algebra instructor, assigned last year. That also remains incomplete, not to mention his makeup assignment was found discarded in the bin of the ISS room." On her desk, she handed the stack of papers to Allen, continuing to speak as the man flipped through them.
"Now, Mr. Falluca has been kind enough to allow him a third opportunity to earn at least some points towards his grade for the project, but ten percent will be docked off of the grade that he does manage to earn, but that is with each passing day, as well. He will have until Friday to turn it-," The stack of papers was slammed back onto the desk, Allen turning Dash as he grasped his shoulder again, this time a bit tighter as the man spoke through a strained smile.
"Michael, now, why did you throw it away, huh, bud? Did that make any sense to you?" Tighter, he grabbed his shoulder, pausing as if to allow Dash to answer, but the boy knew better.
Doing so would only make what was going to happen at home so much worse.
"Now, Mr. Baxter..." It was Ms. Spectra this time, stepping forward around the desk and behind Dash, leaning down to place her hands upon his shoulders, acutely aware of the way that he seemed to squirm beneath her grasp, but she ignored it, continuing to speak.
"...I recognize that Dash has been having some, how do you say, behavioral issues that he's trying to sort through. Isn't that right, Dash? Things you have absolutely no idea how to work through, right?" The boy said nothing as the woman stood again, reclaiming her spot near Ishiyama as she continued to speak, her voice ringing throughout the dome-like office.
"I mean, maybe he wouldn't be such a bother to everyone and himself if he just fixed himself, and what better way to do that, then to do that with me, right?" To this, Dash sunk into his seat.
A bother?
Was he really a bother?
...
...
Wait, was that really something he had to think about.
Of course he was.
Ishiyama nodded, looking to the two of them for their thoughts.
Mira was the first speak this time, remarking with a sort of nervous tick in response.
"Yes, I think that would be good. Maybe then he'd learn how to, you know, actually be good to others. We've struggled with this for a long time, so to have that extra help would be n-nice." Allen nodded, overtaking her last word just as she finished speaking.
"I agree, Ms. Spectra. When do you think that we could start that?" The man leaned in as if he were interested, crossing his arms and awaiting her response. The woman paused to think, tapping her finger to her chin before looking down, appearing to speak to the floor.
"Bertrand, when do you think it would be a good time to start our sessions, hmm? A little pro-bono never hurt, right?" At her side, a very short, stout man came upon the group, speaking a monotone voice that echoed Spectra's saccharine tone.
"Why not...next week? Monday, right? That way when can go ahead and...make preparations, yes?" Spectra pondered this for a moment before smiling at the smaller man, flipping dark brown over her shoulder as she looked to the others, in the room, but her eyes met Dash's for a long moment before she smiled, and just like that, she looked away.
Something about her made Dash's skin crawl, but he said nothing.
Nothing at all as he pressed his lips together to keep him from doing so.
"Monday, huh? What do you think, huh, bud? Allen's black eyes fell upon the youth and the boy nodded, flashing as wide a smile as he thought he could manage under the scrutiny of his gaze.
"Good, now. Michael will have the opportunity to complete the assignment, as stated before, over the course of this week, the latest being Friday, and then, it will be marked late. Is that understood, Mr. Baxter?" Gesturing to the older man, she all but ignored Dash, and was pleased to see his father nod, clapping a hand over his shoulder again as he shook it, knowing full well how tightly he grasped it.
"Of course, Principal Ishiyama. He'll be right back on track before you can say 'Go'." The man breathed airily, slapping his son just a bit too hard on the back before Ishiyama concluded the meeting, sending each them on their way before Spectra stopped the three, Bertrand at her side.
"We look forward to speaking with you Monday, Dearie. It won't be long until people can actually stand being around you, you know? And that'll be all thanks to us, right, Bertrand?" The shorter man nodded, appearing to have little more to say, turned to leave, his taller colleague following suit as she waved goodbye to them.
The teen went to leave for what he could only guess would be his next class, but his father stopped him short, hand just a bit tight on his shoulders as he led him to the main office, the clerk there called to attention as Allen told her that Dash would be leaving early that day, and his stomach lurched in understanding as to what that would mean for him, but he made no move to protest.
It always just made things worse.
"In fact, sign him off for tomorrow, too. We'll be having some...affairs to sort out. Don't worry; he'll be back Thursday. That sound okay, bud?" Dash didn't move an inch as the question hung in the air unanswered, eyes wide and unblinking as he simply nodded, breath coming out as hitched and labored.
'Breathe. Just...breathe. I can't...I can't lose it not again. You've already made a fool of yourself twice today. I have to keep it together for once in your fucking life. If anything...I deserve this.' Slumping his shoulders, Dash felt his father lead him from the office, and into the main hallway.
Leaving the building, he didn't look back as the large iron doors slammed shut behind them, the brisk cold of that rainy, autumn day clipping his exposed arms and ankles.
He entered their old car without a word, not bothering not put the seat belt on as there wasn't anything to clip it into anyway.
Immediately, his father found his bottle, taking a long, deep swig of the contents inside before Dash made any move to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.
"D-Dad, M-Mom, please. I was just-," The click of his father's tongue was enough to silence him, tensing at the sound as the man sat in silence for just a moment before speaking.
"I would suggest you shut your mouth before you make me lose what little composure I have left. I think that's what you should do." The boy listened as the car was started, and then set to drive, his mother having said nothing as she fished out a loose cigarette from between the seat cushions but mourned absent of a lighter all the same.
He would have laughed if his head wasn't swimming.
Mindlessly, he grabbed at where his jacket would have been to comfort him, but all he met was his bruised skin.
