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This Is Our Sweet Blasphemy

Never Giving In

“Victoria!” I quickly turned my head to face a furious Mrs. Quibbles “Victoria I am sick and tired of you not paying attention in class!” Her face was as red as a tomato and she was talking particularly fast. She reminded me of a hamster, with her big cheeks and the way she went all in your face when she was mad. Even her name reminded me of a hamster. I decided that I would become rich and famous with a new brand of hamster food called Quibbles. The idea of me standing on a stage about to reveal the new bacon flavored Quibbles made me want to laugh, so I ended up smiling.

Let me tell you one thing: smiling is not the best thing to do in your teachers face when she’s already sick and tired of you.

Mrs. Quibbles stood upright and her face went normal again, and that’s when I knew my life was fucked. “Principal’s Office. Now.” She said, in a tone which reminded me of my mother’s when she told me to go to my room and put up Jesus’ Cross; I keep taking it down and it seems like my mom doesn’t want to believe that I’m not catholic in any way.

Anyways, I guess I went pale (even more than I already am) because I heard some of my class mates snicker when I stood up to pack my things. Mrs. Quibbles opened the door and I head out of the classroom swinging my backpack over my shoulder. It wasn’t the first time I’ve been sent to the principal’s office, so I wasn’t so surprised when Mrs. Quibbles came up to me, the only thing was that my mom had a conversation with me not so long ago that if I did one more thing major wrong, there would be major consequences.

I did plenty of ‘wrong’ stuff, such as sneaking out to go to concerts, not going to church, arriving late at night after a party (which I also snuck out to), et cetera… so I’m not exactly sure what my mom talks about when she says major wrong stuff since everything I do for her is wrong. Man, you should’ve seen her face when I dyed my hair blue and got snake bites. She snapped completely, telling me that she was going to send me to a military school in Brazil. I got a bit quiet after she said that though, because I knew she was capable of sending me away, hell, I think she’s just waiting for a reason. I eventually took off the snake bites though; they were kinda annoying because they kept scraping against my teeth and gums and I read somewhere on the internet that it could lead to infections so I decided to take them off. The holes are almost closing; they’re not quite there yet, but almost. My dad always nags me about it saying ‘What lawyer would want a girl like you?’ or ‘doctor’ in the place of lawyer, which is complete bullshit. Just because I have certain piercings (or had) and my hair is blue doesn’t mean I’m worthless. I can still have the highest IQ in my class and end up rich and retired. Or of course I could end up fetching leftovers in Applebee’s. Either way, my hair color doesn’t define who I am.

I stood in front of the principal’s office door and knocked lightly, the small plastic window, that was kinda useless in my opinion since it was always covered, vibrated with each knock. I heard a muffled “Come in” from the inside of the office and opened the door softly, it creaked a bit which made me cringe a little.

Principal Smith looked up from his computer, probably checking the new trouble-makers this year consisted of. He half smiled at me and casually said “Hello Victoria.” I half smiled back and replied with a polite “Good morning Mr. Smith”. He gestured for me to sit in one of the two old, worn out chairs. I sat down on the one on the right and looked at the papers he had scattered around his desk. I’ve been in here plenty times before, the principal and I were, well, I couldn’t say we were ‘friends’ but we definitely had a better relationship than merely student/principal. The chair I was sitting in had holes on the right armrest from the numerous times I kept picking on it out of boredom; I started picking at it again and looked up to watch Mr. Smith in his natural habitat. I know most people picture principals like the old douche that wants to kill all joy in the school and make it the most boring pace to ever exist, but I didn’t look at the man sitting across from me and think ‘Damn he’s one old douche’. Mr. Smiths must’ve been like me when he was my age, because he always had a soft-spot for me, every time he looked at me with those black eyes of his, I could just feel the connection between us.

Oh, and I’m not talking all lovey-dovey here; have a crush on the principal? Ew.

“Want coffee?” He said, looking up at me, I nodded, so he stood. “I’ll call your mom when I get back.” See? There’s no ‘Again Mrs. Adams?’ or lectures of any kind between us. We just drink coffee and he calls my mom and I go home. It’s become way too casual. Oh well, at least I get to drink coffee. Some days he brings M&M’s from the teachers’ lounge and we eat silently. I turned the other chair towards me and put up my feet, I twisted a bit so I could be more comfortable while drinking my coffee, which should be arriving any minute now. I started looking at the desk in front of me again, scanning around, there were many useless papers about new students and detention slips and absence notes. I looked around a bit more, getting really pissed at Mr. Smith’s slowness to get coffee.

I was wondering if he’d remember to bring sugar when something caught my eye. It was a bit under the mouse pad and red. I reached over the mountains of paper and pulled it out from under the soft pad. It was a guitar pick. I turned the pick and almost passed out. It was signed by David Bowie. I was so in chock I didn’t even hear the door open and close until I saw a hand pose a cup of warm dark liquid in front of me.

“I got that at a concert when I was younger.” he said, I looked up to the man who runned my prison, bits of his dark with-a-few-strands-of-grey hair looking a little rebellious and out of place.
“Wow” was all I managed to say while picking up my coffee. I stared a bit more at the valuable pick and put it above some papers.

I watched in silence while he picked up the phone and dialed my mother’s phone number, occasionally sipping on his coffee. He left it on loud speaker like always. I started picking at the chair again and was creating one hell of a hole when my mom picked up, the conversation went a bit like this;

Mr. Smith: “Good morning Mrs. Adams. I’m calling you in behalf of your daughter. She got kicked out of her class this morning and-”
Mom: “-And now she’s in your office waiting for me to pick her up because the teachers are sick and tired of her. Yeah. I’ve heard it plenty of times before.”
Mr. Smith: “Um… Yes, well, I’m expecting you to arrive soon then?”
Mom: “Not this time, no. Tell Victoria I’m waiting for her at home, maybe next time she’ll think twice about being too much of a teen.”

That’s when my mom hung up. I just rolled my eyes. Could my mom be any more disrespectful? By her tone I knew she was going to kill me when I got home. You could say that this must sound very exaggerated just because I wasn’t paying attention in class, but it’s the third time this week. And it’s Tuesday. And my school has this 3 strikes rule for each trimester, which I’ve never been able to have less than 3 strikes. And just about everybody was sick and tired of me. Except Mr. Smith.

“Sounds like your mom is having a bad day…” the man with the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen looked directly in my chocolate color ones. “I could drive you there, at least to your street…?” he proposed, I could just smell the pity oozing off his words.

I finished my coffee before answering, which gave me some time to think. “Nah, it’s okay really, I’ll walk.” I felt like that dude from that Silent Hill game when a bartender asks him if he wants a ride before the zombie apocalypse and he declines like ‘nope, I’ve got a flashlight, I’m safe!’
I looked down at my coffee mug and Mr. Smith stood, he walked over and grabbed my backpack from the floor and held it in his arms for a few seconds, finally extending outward. It took me a moment to realize he was holding it for me and that I was supposed to get the hell out of here before my mother went on a massacre (in the name of Jesus of course). I stood up quickly and grabbed my bag mumbling a quiet “Thanks” before opening the door and walking out of his office. It was a bit cold out so I put up my black hoodie.

The walk back home was quiet. I’d forgotten my earphones at home and felt horrible, like I’d forgotten my baby in hell or something. It took about 10 minutes for me to arrive on my street. I looked at all the other houses thinking about how they might be giving a home to a beautiful family, with nice children and happy parents. Then I looked at my house and a wave a disappointment swooshed over me. Throughout my entire life I never liked coming home; it was cold and didn’t have that cozy house smell which most houses do, plus, ever since I became agnostic it felt like mockery; with all those crosses and “God Bless Us” signs, and bibles on every table, each one open in a different section, oh and don’t even get me started with the fridge magnets.

I opened the door slowly, dreading it already because I knew the minute I opened that door my mother would start talking. It doesn’t matter where I was coming from, with whom or at what hour, the moment I opened that door, she would talk. Or just give me a glare when she wasn’t in the mood.

This time was different for some reason, I actually had time to walk in and put my backpack next to the couch before she came walking over from the kitchen, holding the house phone next to her ear. I gave her a puzzled look but she just motioned me to sit down. All the while muttering “Ok… Ah yes… I see…” I was pulling out my chemistry notebook when my mother said something a bit louder than before gripping my attention: “She’ll be arriving Thursday.”
A whole bunch of questions went through my mind with the simplicity of those 4 words; who is this ‘she’? Where is ‘she’ going? Why Thursday? Is it this Thursday? Who would want to know the day of arrival of ‘she’?

My mother took a seat on the couch on the other end of where I was sitting. “Your father and I have been talking for a while about sending you to London. There’s a lovely catholic school over there and we really think this is a great opportunity for you.”

You have got to be kidding me. I am not going to give in to this. She will not make me go there.

Notes

Hello! This is my first fic, so feedback would be appreciated :) I got inspired with this fic because of @Electric_Revenge 's Gerard Way fan fiction "S-I-N-I-S-I-N (Priest Gerard!)" if you're an MCR fan you should definitely check it out. I upload whenever I can, I'll try my best to not leave you guys waiting for too long. I hope you enjoy ! ~julia


Comments

Great chapter! This story is so awesome! I hope that Vic and Andy can be happy together soon!

eclaire eclaire
3/8/15

This really great. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Aww haha. Yayy! Thanks so much I really liked it. Vic stop being so stubborn and allow yourself to be happy!:(

Please update I miss this :(

Please update soon <3 this is so sweet and heart breaking but I love it!