Destroyers

Prologue: Concussions and Broken Body Parts

    There was an awkward silence in the headmaster's waiting room, the kind of silence caused by forcing two people who had just beaten each other up into a room together. Long ago, some idiot had said that forcing enemies together was a good way to turn hatred into friendship. That person, as previously stated, was an idiot, because you could just about taste the tension in that small space.

   On one side of the room sat a short, round-faced girl with choppy black hair and an even blacker eye, glaring at everything as if she wanted to fight it. She did in fact want to, and despite her small stature, would most likely have demolished any punching bag given to her. The girl was in short, not a pacifist, and that was the reason that she was sitting on a cold metal chair in a sterile-white waiting room, a secretary typing at an obnoxious volume in front of them. Ugly potted plants formed a barrier between the secretary's desk and the line of chairs, as if teenagers were slugs and the plants were made of salt. She felt an unreasonable urge to break one of the pots. Maybe it was because she was in a terrible mood, maybe it was because the secretary was a sour hag that drained everyone around her of the will to live.

   On the other end of the line of chairs sat a tall, milk-pale boy, his glasses broken and his nose a mess of blood and bruises, his long legs hugged awkwardly to his chest. He did not want to be here, but as usual, life had not gone his way. The boy was the type of person who would ask for extra homework, had never missed a day of school and who most definitely hadn't ever been in trouble before. He stared around the room wide-eyed, casting nervous looks at the door leading to the headmaster's office. Though his expression did not change throughout, his eyes were large and horrified. He would have preferred getting another punch to the nose rather than facing a reprimand from the school. 

    Occasionally, the secretary would look up disapprovingly at them, her long acrylic nails clacking on the keys of her computer. It was more work for her, and more distractions from her much-deserved lunch break. School days were too long, the paperwork was too tiring, and she was having many, many regrets about her life choices. When her career advisor in university had suggested seeking something more exciting than desk work from life, she had ignored him. Now she was approaching forty, and feeling rather dead inside. She should have listened to her career advisor. The silence was finally punctured by an ear-piercing buzz from the secretary's desk.  

   "The headmaster will see you now," she announced, her face the picture of disdain. The girl was pretty certain that the woman had rarely had to spend so long on misdemeanor reports before. Maybe she would have her midlife crisis soon. One could only hope. The secretary folded her arms, bright red lips pursed.

   "I mean today! Move, both of you!" 

    Reluctantly, the two students stood up, the girl wincing, clutching her head, the room spinning. When she pulled her hand away, blood oozed from her fingertips like jello from a small child's sticky hands. The gash on her head had opened up again, and was bleeding like hell. She cursed under her breath and decided to ignore it, tucking a thick chunk of hair over the top, hiding it from sight. The two of them made their way towards the wooden door of the headmaster's office, both shooting dirty looks at the secretary. On her way out, the girl made sure to knock a stapler off the desk with her elbow, earning a cry from the woman. Life was short, authority figures were everywhere, and she would piss as many of them off as possible or die trying.

    The boy was considering what he would tell the headmaster, or his parents for that matter. He was used to people hating him. He was less used to them physically fighting him. His white shirt was covered in blood, the same blood still dripping down his chin in a thin red stream. It would take so long to get the stain out... As per usual, it was his fault. His parents would be furious, and with good reason. His face was as expressionless as always, but if he'd been less reserved, he would have cried or thrown something, or simply sat down on the floor and stayed there in despair. As it was, he just quietly trooped into the office, not meeting the headmaster's gaze, and sat down in one of the black swivel chairs, the girl doing the same in the other.