'Just don't look at them. Just don't look at them.'
'They're all staring at you, you know?'
'I know that! I wish that they'd stop. I hate this. I hate this so much.'
'Do you think they can see your face? No, they definitely can. No, for sure! They can. They can see how ugly you are.'
'No, no that can't be. I made sure to put on the makeup, just like Dad told me, and the hood helps. They can't see my face, right?' With this in mind, he pulled his head down further, only just narrowly missing a student's desk that he nearly bumped into, his eyes steadily tracking his shoes, trying his hardest to watch them move along if only to focus on something, anything, apart from the distant glowers of faces and eyes on...him.
Only on him.
Solely on his as he felt him shrink away.
Hoping against hope that he could just...disappear entirely.
'There's a way you could make that happen, you know?'
'What are you waiting for?'
'Yeah, what the hell are you waiting for?'
'Why do you bother going on?'
'Look, please don't do this. I don't know if I can do this right now. Please, just...just stop, okay?' Of course, they didn't listen.
They never did.
He noticed that he was still gripping his jacket, pulling it close to him as he practically fell into his own seat, keeping his eyes down, head down, as the noises around him began to blur, the voices growing louder with each passing moment.
Why couldn't they just be quiet?
Why?
WHY?
He gripped his shirt harder, biting his already bloodied lip, dark from abuse and past bruises that his saliva had allowed to show through, the partial taste of foundation and lip stick present on his tongue, but that didn't register at all.
But instead, through the haze of noise, so much noise, too much noise, Falluca's voice flitted on his ears, urgent and tired as he just barely raised his head, not daring to meet the beady, frustrated eyes of the former, as well as the eyes.
All of them whispering, chuckling, chortling, just beyond earshot.
And each and one of their whispers were about him, he knew it.
"Now, Mr. Baxter, I would greatly appreciate it if you could stop mumbling to yourself so loudly, and that's me being generous. It was more like you outright speaking to yourself. I won't ask what you were, ahem, speaking about, but I will ask you to quiet down-" Falluca huffs with annoyance as the boy abruptly banged on the desk, again muttering to himself before turning his attention to the other man, face still obscured.
"Sorry, uh, Falluca. I don't know what you're talking about? What were you saying?" Around him, a few students groaned, their whispers growing louder, more agitated.
But if Dash were being honest, he was trying really hard to listen, but something felt...wrong.
Off.
Everything was muffled, softer, as their screaming grew, louder and louder as he strained to focus on the older man's words, but nothing was making sense.
'They can't stand you.'
'Just do it already.'
'Haven't you done enough?'
'Shut-up! I can't hear him, I can't hear what he's saying!' But it was true.
His head swam as the older man's voice seemed to get louder, but all he could hear was them, their droning, their moaning, their anger. He could see Falluca's anger rise, too, louder and more distorted over the tones of listless noise, noise noise.
What was he saying?
What was he doing?
Was he coming towards him, or was he walking to Falluca?
What the fuck was going on?
Looking to his left, even Kwan looked...strange. Like he had grown three heads and was trying to discuss stocks with him as if it were any other day. As if he were a strange, anomalous thing needing to be deciphered, to be tamed.
In fact, the boy noticed as his head whipped around, side-to-side, back-to-front, everyone looked like that. All of those confused, scared eyes staring at him, staring at him, staring at him.
Always staring.
Staring at him.
Picking him apart.
Why were they looking at him?
Why wouldn't they stop looking at him?
Over the noise, he saw some teachers come, one by one as they eased toward him, grasping his arms before he felt himself pull away, and only then did he notice something odd, something akin to a dry throat as he felt his mouth open and close, the voices so pervasive that he hadn't even heard what the teachers had said.
Not a word as they went to restrain him, feeling his body collide with the ground, the air knocked from his lungs all at once before he finally heard it.
A deep, guttural sound that echoed around the classroom and into the hallways as students began to gather at the door.
The sound of his own screams.
Of course, Ishiyama hadn't considered herself a particularly bad principal. As a matter of fact, in her mind and from as far as she could see, she was a pretty fantastic one actually.
From managing rowdy students, to rounding up and trying her hardest to make things work after the...incident, she could confidently say that she was pretty at her job, but if she were being honest, she wasn't quite adapted to restraining...unwieldy students.
Yet here she was, standing in front of one of them, screaming bloody murder as he squirmed around on the floor.
In her mind, she had half a mind to try and quell the concerns of the students around the...commotion, each one reading expressions of both awe and apprehension as they watched the scene unfold, though she noticed with some amount of curiosity that the teachers that had accompanied her had little trouble subduing the boy.
She wasn't sure if it was just her imagination, but...
He looked really...small.
Was he that small before?
...
Never mind.
That wasn't important.
Right now, she needed to regain order, and he was clearly disturbing it, and in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but the agitation at the sight of a familiar face, the sound of his incessant yelling.
Of course it was Michael Baxter.
"Strangely enough, I recall having you in my office just a few days okay, Mr. Baxter. I can't say that I'm terribly surprised at that fact, though." The two teachers had managed to get him up again, the teen still struggling somewhat but he had since slowed down, much further, and as far as she could see, through her tired eyes, he looked strange, too.
Like he was caked in...makeup.
No, that couldn't be.
It was just a trick of the light, one of his many ploys, just like always.
Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't get the look in his eyes out of her head.
Those blue eyes, as if something was missing altogether.
Students parted the way as they came through, the tired youth slumping tiredly in the grasp of Tetslaff (who always seemed to get called to these events), and another, a taller man with dark hair that seemed thoroughly miffed as he appeared as though he was trying to lean away, presumably at the stench of the boy he had been reluctantly in contact with for the last minute or so. The hallways were packed down as well, smaller groups having formed about Falluca's door as the situation escalated, and to her delight, the falling action had made many of them lose interest, but some still lingered, muttering and mumbling about the curious and wary, some pointing, others laughing at the boy that seemed to ball into himself as the jeering, but she made no move to stop them.
She couldn't really place it, you know?
That...indifference to his discomfort, something she could clearly see but, admittedly...she didn't care?
No, that was the wrong word.
Of course she cared. She cared for all of her students, it was just...hadn't he earned this?
She could recall many times before where he would have to be escorted from the room, to be taken into to ISS in just his freshman year alone, something he was doing a second time because, if she remembered right, he was doing the exact same thing this time.
Disrupting classes, making a racket, harassing and even physically harming the student body for the umpteenth time.
All of this gave raise to no desire at all to shield him, even chuckling herself as he seemed to twist and turn, as if avoiding rain or the burning light. 'In a way...', the woman couldn't help but think as she turned her head away, pretending not to see them laughing, or their shocked expressions as they gossiped amongst themselves, '...this was entirely appropriate, right? It isn't as if he hadn't asked for this, being the way he is.'
'No. This isn't wrong, not at all.'
Not one bit.
Down the hall, a nurse watched, clutching a worn, varsity jacket in her arms.
"You understand why it is that we had to call in your parents again...correct? I can imagine that they're getting tired of your behavior, and I'd like to imagine that you are, too, yet here we are, again and again as always, Mr. Baxter. Why is that?" Her fingers rapped along the desk, watching him, tearing into him with her dark eyes as he tried to find the right words to say, the right action to make as if he could make it all better if he did.
At least, that what he sometimes did with Mom and Dad when they got to made at him.
They were always happy when he let them have their way.
He wished it were that easy here, or, he reminded himself, that wasn't always the case with them, he knew. Sometimes even that wasn't enough.
'Nothing you do is enough.'
'Nothing you do will ever be enough.'
"Can't you just give it a rest already, huh? Don't you know that I-," Freezing as if just remembering where he was, the boy tried his best to clamp his mouth shut, to remove the sinking feeling his gut as Ishiyama plastered him with disdain that he tangibly feel wrap around his throat, squeezing every once of willingness to look up, that same buzz of activity writhing just beneath the surface, though this time, he tried harder to choke it down.
Choke so it wouldn't spill over again as embarrassment, anger, and self-loathing weaseled between the cracks.
Dad wouldn't be happy about this.
He had told him, the boy started as his teeth sunk into his cheek with a hard clamp, ignoring the distant and growing ache that radiated along his swollen face as the pressure grew, not to do things like this.
That if he was bad, he'd have to be punished again.
Punished because he just couldn't control himself.
How could he be so stupid?
His parents had told him just one thing to do, just one thing, and look at what he had done?
He had fucked it up.
Made a fool of his father in front of everyone, and his mother, too, with his stupidity.
Upon his arms, inflamed scratches began to tingle, but he stopped himself, reminding himself darkly that at the very least that he could stand to do what he was supposed to do for once.
He would take anything his parent's if only to make it right, to bend their anger just a bit.
'That's the least that I could do.' Dash chided to himself, not noticing that Ishiyama had since grown annoyed with him, having waited several minutes for him to answer when he didn't.
So she would ask him again.
"Michael...," Trailing off as she placed a hand on the bridge of her nose, pinching it as she breathed a deep sigh, not noticing the ridged pause the sound of his name had given the boy.
Even through the screaming, the profanity, wreaking havoc in his mind, he tried to listen to the one that said his name, even when he wanted to run away, run as far as he could.
His name always brought bad things to him.
They only said that when he was bad.
Had he been bad?
Wait, yeah.
He had to have been to end up here.
Lancer punished him.
Why would she be any different?
"Now, I do not like to have to repeat myself. I asked you a question, Michael, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would not be rude when I request an answer. Now, speaking of which..." Just then, he could practically feel the air around him shift, like electric eels ripping their way into his blood stream as his heart raced and his body seemed to become electrified, worsened still as a calloused hand collapsed upon his shoulder, and his mother's small form seemed to float not too far behind.
His parents had arrived.
And from the way that Allen had been gripping his shoulder, the boy reckoned, the older man was not pleased.
And who could blame him.
"Ah, Principal Ishiyama. I see that you've had to call us back here...," Like a vice, the hand held strong, and stronger still, feeling more like crocodile teeth through his delicate flesh, but no one noticed it, the way his mouth opened and closed in silent wails of agony at the sensation, and had it gone on just a bit longer, Dash was sure his shoulder would have popped.
But the hand was gone now, leaving a fresh bruise behind.
He deserved that, too.
"...again. Might I ask why that is? I thought we had this all sorted out. Don't tell me that Michael has been acting up...has he?" His father was smiling.
He could feel it in the way his voice lifted, played like poison harps on the thick air with each second that lulled by as if swimming through the thickest molasses one could find. He was happy, knowing that Dash could hardly stand it at all, that his anger would soon be directed towards him, yet in the same breath, delighted in the fact that the boy wouldn't act again him.
No, no he wouldn't.
He never did.
At least, not anymore.
But Allen had taken...precautions.
Precautions to stomp out that nonsense long ago.
And he no problem reiterating that point as many times as Dash needed him to.
Dash smiled faintly, too.
He was just glad his father cared enough to make sure he was on the straight and narrow.
That's what parents were supposed to do.
And his parents did that plenty because they loved him.
And that was enough.
Ishiyama smiled back, though it was framed with exhaustion, exhaustion and fatigue at what he could only guess was because of him.
All because of him.
"Yes, Mr. Baxter. I'm afraid that is the case, but this time, he made quite the scene. So much so that he almost hurt a few other students as he did so, turning over his desk and whatnot. Imagine how frightening that must have been for the other students." He could hear his father's voice again, but this time, it was accompanied by his eyes, beady, black eyes so empty and dark that he didn't need to be looking to feel the light in the room dim a bit.
"Ah, is that so, hm? What for? Why did he do that, do you think? What do you think, Michael? What do you have to say for yourself?" The older man turned his body in the chair, his knee bumping into Dash's own as his father's gaze collapsed like his hand, harsh and ominous in the low light of the office. It didn't take much time for Dash to begin his croaky reply, and not much time after that for the many to overtake him, grasping his neck heftily even with Ishiyama there, but she seemed unbothered.
For a moment there, the boy considered with sudden clarity as he caught a glimpse of her face through his oily hair that fell into his face, she looked...pleased.
The boy wondered why.
Oddly enough, he could recall in the midst of it, the adults always looked sort of happy when this happened.
From Pre-K, to Kindergarten, to First-Grade onward, there was always this air of...satisfaction.
As if they had made a big catch, like he was a fish that they had caught and wanted to show to their friends when he got into trouble.
He supposed he looked like one, too, gaping like a fish when he couldn't quite find the words to say.
"Not much to say, huh? You're always so gosh darn talkative any other day. So talkative that you had the gall to disrupt a class not once, but twice, this week, not to mention miss an entire project from the summer. Something you care to tell us, Mikey, hm? You and I both know this isn't allowed...right?" The grip on his neck grew tighter.
Then it hit him.
This wasn't about Ishiyama, either.
No, he it was as if it was just Allen, Mira, and himself, as if they were home but the only thing keeping him from really being punished the way he deserved, was because there were people around, that person being the principal herself.
But he knew the first chance his father got, as soon as they got home...
It was terribly predictable, right?
He shouldn't have expected otherwise, but...
Why did that thought scare him so much?
He should feel elated, ecstatic...yet all he felt was ungodly terror, agony as his blood ran cold in his veins at what his father and mother could possibly have in mind...and that he wouldn't be able to stop it.
Not that he'd want to.
He wanted them to make sure that he understood what he had done wrong.
Why he was the horrible child that he knew he was.
And why he deserved everything that gave him.
So why am I so scared?
Looking about, a thought struck him, suddenly.
Maybe...maybe he could tell them.
Tell them about the voices.
How angry they were?
Did they know that he had them?
Would this be the place to tell them?
Would that be...okay?
'No, I can't do that. That would just be me making excuses for myself. I shouldn't do that. It's my own fault that I can't handle them. I should be able to handle them. It's not that big of a deal.' Yet, in spite of his own words, the boy couldn't help the terrible wish to disclose this regardless, to...defend himself.
But he shouldn't try to take the responsibility away from himself.
He should just accept that he was the problem.
It was just him.
There was nothing wrong with him that he couldn't fix himself.
"D-Dad, I...I don't know what happened, but didn't mean to - I mean it just happened - I was trying to listen in class then I...," What exactly was he supposed to tell them? There was nothing he could say that would make them stop looking like that, like he was just this irritating insect that wouldn't stop buzzing, that wouldn't stop bothering everyone with its noise.
That he was just...bothering everyone.
'That's because you are. You are just a nuisance that everyone puts up with.'
'No one can stand you. Not a single person, you know.'
'No one cares about you. No one wants you, not even your so-called friends want anything to do with you, and who could blame them?'
They were right, were they?
They were...they were right, right? How could he argue with what he could clearly see. That not even Kwan, and Star, and Paulina, and even Dale could stand being around him.
No one could stand being around him.
And it was his own fault.
Everything was his fault.
Always his fault.
'It's true. They're just tolerating you, but when you're gone, they're happy. Didn't you know?'
'When you're not around, they feel happy. You just take that away from everyone.'
'The only thing you're good at is being fucked and making everyone hate you.'
'Everyone hates you, you know.'
'No one loves you except Mom and Dad.'
'They're the only ones that care enough to deal with you.'
His throat felt tight as they talked around him, as if he wasn't even there.
Not there at all.
...
He felt...small.
Really, really small as they talked about him.
"He's been trouble since the first day." He heard Ishiyama say, and he couldn't dispute it.
He had been, hadn't he?
"Making noise, missing assignments, irritating the other students; frankly we may need to make an alternative solution as we wait for the school counselor to assemble a plan for him. Maybe she can put up with him." Again, he voice, but much more...grating. As if just being around him was a chore as she flicked a hand in his direction dismissively.
Yeah, that was all true, right? He couldn't say that it wasn't the case.
He had been a bother, like always.
"I can only imagine how much trouble he's caused you all, so I really appreciate you all taking the time to put up with the little...guy. I know that he can be a real hassle." Releasing his neck, Allen took that hand and placed it on Dash thigh, but didn't let go, also refraining from looking at him, but from what Dash could see through the flashes of muscle twitches, the grip of his hand that loosened and tightened, he was angry.
Really angry.
His father was angry a lot, he noticed.
Not that it wasn't justified, of course.
"It really has. We're, uh, really sorry, Ishi...Ishiyama. Uh...he's not a very good kid. Uh...we just wish that he was better, but maybe he can be fixed with choices we make next." His mother didn't look at him, but he could feel it.
The malice that dripped from her voice.
The way she clenched the helm of her dress through the rubbing between her fingertips was enough for him to know that she wasn't pleased.
Not...one...bit.
"Yes, perhaps, and actually, a few teachers and I have been discussing a few alternatives for him. So that we can direct him in a space that's more...suitable, for him, I mean. Methods that can ensure the quality of the learning experience for other students, where he can no longer be a disruption to those around him." Smiling, she leaned over and pressed a button on her phone, then picked up the receiver, and speaking into it, she said, "Mr. Lancer? Would you mind coming down to my office for a few moments? I won't keep you long; I know lunch is almost over but I have his parents here, so I was wondering if you'd be available to stop past?"
There was a stunted breath between the two of them as what he could hear as Lancer's dripping, oily voice came through like forbidden whispers in the receiver before she responded, her smile a bit wider, carefully placing the phone back down as the line went dead.
"Alright, folks. Mr. Lancer is on his way."
