Degenerated
II

It's just any other school day. I sit in the counselor's office, which smells like carpet and cigarettes even though it's always been illegal to smoke on campus. All around his room are pictures that represent every kind of virtue and good deed you can imagine. This guy is the epitome of lunatic — his hair is way too neat, his suit way too pressed, and his smile way too fake.

"Now, Hunter," he starts off, and I already know it won't be pretty, "I know you've been going through a lot this past year."

"Got that right," I snort, putting my boots on his desk. The counselor knocks them off and glares at me.

"Still, that is no excuse, we've asked you a countless number of times to come down if you needed help, but you ignored us every time. We offered, begged, but you were just too stubborn."

"Look, man —"

"My name is Mr. Reed!" He was shouting now, an ugly vein popping out of his neck.

"Mr. Reed," I barely manage through gritted teeth, "you honestly have no clue what's been up with me, and I really wish you would stop trying."

Mr. Reed stands up now, breathing heavily.

"I've had enough of you, quite enough. You're failing more than half your classes, you have behavioral issues, you even have a police record! Mr. Brody, either you let us help you or you'll be on the road to juvenile detention...or worse."

"Better than this place," is all I grunt, and walk right out of the office, out of the school, out of my problems. It speaks louder than any of Mr. Reed's screams ever will.