No Academy (boyxboy)

Prologue

A night with torment, at some point—became sanctimonious, methodical, routine. If suffering was man, then consider drink his creator.

If it will be God, or a mother, or as typically considered an old friend. It's always there, like it was the night of Waylon's 18th birthday.

It's a shame really, with his newfound independence, most adult influences in his life had hoped the responsibility would come with a change in his manor.

They were wrong.

There's no kind way to describe, no mounds of sugar could sweeten the delivery. In the end he should be grateful no one died. He couldn't live with himself, he wouldn't live with himself if he had taken another life. Such selfishness. Still it was a pity, adulthood barely begun and now he'd be a bird in cage once again.

Reform school. Established in the 1800s by the United Kingdom(go figure), it had a goal. Keep children out of prisons, make them good. Now, whether that meant good enough to exploit for labour, or good for humanity is a highly debatable topic. Nevertheless, it exists, in many forms. Juvenile detention centres, alternative school, wilderness camps.

Waylon was ever grateful to have avoided the latter, a friend of his from primary school had been sent to one. She was far worse for ware exiting it. No, the establishment he had been court ordered to attend was to help him "receive the proper resources a young man like himself needs." Was by all means not much different to a juvie or boarding school. Par the funding, he surly doubted he'd find an equestrian club or choir. Not that he was very fond of horses to begin with.

The school wasn't far from his own, an hours ride. Grace had blessed him, allowing him be escorted by a "youth councillor" rather than by paddy wagon- to which was his naive assumption. Truely ignorant to the procedures of any legality, sure he watched a couple crime shows here and there—still the mind has a way of going to worst case scenario.

A DUI was no joke, sure he understood he wouldn't miraculously get a life sentence—he still couldn't shake the imagery of himself behind bars. His mother would be heartbroken.

Playing with the metal in his mouth, he sat adjacent to the counsellor. She was a stocky women, hair pulled into a bandana. Clearly briefed on the situation she made little, light-hearted conversation 'how are you today?' 'What did you like in school?' 'You always lived in the city or not?' He answered in kind, or tried to. Short and curt responses predominantly, for obvious reasons he wasn't in a talkative mood. Leave it to a youth councillor to cope though, she simply played some music to fill the silence.

He felt thankful.

"We're around ten minutes off the place now, you have anything you want to ask?" She peered at him in her peripherals, her voice was more husky than average.

Waylon just shrugged, thinking, "is there anything I need to know?"

"Not really boyo, I'd say just try to make some friends. The other boys there," she sighed, "they're a bit rough like yourself, but that's just the exterior. Keep your head up and you'll be fine, I'm sure you'll meet other people like yourself."

Waylon debated if that was a good thing or not, but he did feel a tension release in his temple. He had heard juvie was unbearable. Constantly getting jumped, contraband smuggling, the isolation from the word driving young people mad. He feared the anticipated paranoia, the loss of privacy, the shame. A bit of peace would be nice.

A friend would be too.

His stomach sank as the car slowed, the building which otherwise would speak opulence was left domineering in its stature. It's was large, old, European. If you hadn't known the context of its creation, you would assume the building held high achieving youths with a grandiose prospect on future.

Instead it held young criminals and the troubled, all to varying degrees Waylon was about to become familiar with.

He breathed deeply.

NOTE: this book contains non graphic depictions of sexual assault, depictions of drug use, violence, abuse and other sensitive topics, homophobic and transphobic language. Teens and young adults being awful as per usual 👍

I don't like to get graphic, a lot of sensitive topics are implied, or inferred.