School of the Damned

-Andy's POV-

My mom sighed.
“Honey, there is nothing secretive or mysterious or dangerous about this school, ok? They are not hiding anything, and you will be fine.”
“Besides, you’re going, whether you like it or not,” my father added. “Now, I’ll give you this: we did not consider your sexuality when we enrolled you. However, as you have stated many times, you don’t want it to affect how you’re treated. So, whether you’re gay or straight, you’re going to this school.”
“Yeah, but in this case, it should matter! They don’t even believe in gay rights in that area! That’s when it needs to make a difference!”
“Too late now! Get your things together, because this plan is not changing. You’ll be wearing a uniform, but if you want your makeup and phone and charger, you better pack it up. Anything else in general, really. They let you take a small bag of personal items,” he said, as if it improved anything. My jaw dropped. They really weren’t listening. Calmly, I composed myself again and stood up, making my way upstairs to my room. If I acted as though I had surrendered, I could sneak things into my bag to make my escape. There was no way I staying in that place, no way in hell! In my black shoulder bag, I first packed the essentials-makeup, my phone, my headphones, my phone charger. Then came all the money I’d saved up over the years, a swiss army knife, a black cloak, a tiny umbrella, and several mini water bottles. Money was really the key, though. A swiss army knife couldn’t hurt to have, my cloak could help me blend into the night when I crept away, an umbrella if it rained, and water so that I wouldn’t have to buy any. Perfect. No, wait, I was missing something, but what was it? Hm… ah, I know! I thought, quickly opening my desk drawer and rummaging around. Paper and pen was always necessary. I stuffed my journal and spare writing utensils of different sorts into the bag for creating plans just as my mother creaked open the door.
“Hey, honey?” She called softly.
“Yeah,” I responded, avoiding her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “And I know that you’re going to tell me not to apologize, do something about it instead, but I can’t. What’s done is done is final, but is there anything I can do to make it better other than the obvious take you out of it?” I was silent for a moment.
“No,” I replied quietly. There really wasn’t. She closed the door and left with another sigh.

Sunday came much too soon for my liking, and I had managed not to say a single word to my parents in that day in a half. Even the car ride was silent. Headphones on, world out, don’t focus on what’s ahead. That’s what I repeated to myself faster and faster as we rounded the corner and Hell loomed into view. Ironic, considering it was a Catholic boarding school, but to me, it was my own personalized Hell. It was located in the middle of a forest, the winding road we drove down was of grey, crumbling gravel, somehow more silvery and bright than the cracking building itself. A tall, golden spire protruding from the top of the tallest of the three towers was the only speck of color amongst the shades and tints of neutral hues. Gargoyles lined the windowsills, designs were carved into the stone, this place was practically medieval. Medieval and falling apart, I thought, noting a small chapel off to the side of everything else. Maybe it was just the tree shadows that blanketed it, but it appeared to be collapsing in on itself. Sunlight dotted the ground like golden pools dripping through the tree branches and splashing to the ground, like a motionless, ever-constant waterfall.
“Andy!” My dad snapped at me, yanking off my headphones. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes!”
“Sorry,” I mumbled instinctively before realizing I had spoken to him and broken my internal vow of silence. Dammit. Oh well.
“We’re here,” my mom told me.
“No, really?” I asked sarcastically.
“Andrew Biersack, you quit with that attitude right this second! Listen to me, you won’t be seeing either of us until the end of the school year, so cheer up while we’re still around!”
“Ok, jeez, fine, I said I was sorry.” I stepped out of the car and was met with a temperature slightly higher than what I was used to. At least the weather was nicer here. My parents opened up their doors and walked around the car to face me. “I’m sorry, alright?” I repeated. My mom just hugged me, and to my surprise, I found myself hugging back.
“I’m going to miss you so much, Batman,” she said, sniffling a little.
“Mom!” I hissed, pulling away and looking around. “Not here! Don’t call me that, I’m not five anymore!”
“Yeah, but you still love Batman just as much as you used to. I remember your first day at kindergarten when you walked into the class and told the teacher your name was Batman. You refused to tell her your real name and insisted that you really were Batman and I had to call and tell her-”
“Mom!” I cut her off.
“Sorry, Batman.” I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Alright,” she whispered sadly. “I’ll stop embarrassing you.” She let me go, and I stepped away, taking my bag from my father and giving him a hug, as well.
“We’re gonna miss you, son.”
“Yeah,” I told them. “I’m gonna miss you, too.” They left me, then, and I entered the main office to check myself in alone. The inside of the school had a stiff, pristine atmosphere that matched the white cinderblock walls and pale tile floor, highlighted with navy blue streaks. Oh god, I thought, watching a couple of classy boys dressed in the school uniform pass by, tossing me weird glances. This really is going to be hell. I opened the office door with my heart pounding; I already hated the feel of this place. The man at the desk looked up, startled by my dark appearance.
“Um, may I help you?” He asked in a surprised tone. The nameplate on his desk read Patrick Stump, Secretary.
“Yes, please, I’m here for my check in,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. I could have said “I would like to check in,” but that would imply the wrong impression. Little things here and there can swerve someone’s opinion of you.
“What’s your name then?”
“Andrew Biersack.” I continued to answer all of his questions and fill in a couple forms. My parents had already completed some of the necessary documents.
“Wait here,” he told me afterwards. “I’ll bring you your schedule.” I sat down in one of the dark blue, puffy chairs. This is about as tedious as it gets.

Notes

Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I'm working on the next chapter!