Disappeared [ Dylan Sprayberry Fanfic ]

Chapter 5

Dylan's POV
I didn't know it'd hurt this bad. I guess you don't think about those things, when you're actually leaving, the aftermath I mean. Because if you did, I don't think you would leave.
The thing about really missing someone is that its not just in your head, it takes over your entire body. You feel like one of those old wind-up toys, but that restless, never-ending feeling never goes away. Sometimes, it gets to where everything I do, everything I see makes me think of her. I hate the feeling of hopelessness, I begin to wonder how I got around before I met her. I can't remember.
I drag myself into a sitting position, and run a hand through my hair. I leaned my elbows against my knees and stared at the wall in front of me. It was my first day at reform school--well, not officially, it was my first day back. When I left, I didn't think i'd be coming back to this hell.

I'd been assigned the exact dorm i'd stayed in the first time around, they actually left it open for me, thought i'd come back, I guess.
That's how it was.
"Blackstone Penitentiary for the Troubled Youth, a total of 200 kids, 30 teachers(including parole officers), and you can always count on coming back with a smile." I rolled my eyes and threw the comforter off my legs and stepped onto the cold floor. The dorms were designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, made to feel more like a basement rather than a room; the walls were made out of stone concrete, and you'd be one of the "good ones" if you had a barred window. I didn't have a window. My room was pretty much empty, the same way I had left it. You had the option of making it as homey as you wanted of course, but I wanted it to stay as it was--like it was temporary. The few things in my room had already been here, a battered dresser with a broken drawer, a bed that smelled like sulfur and smoke, and a single night stand with a broken lamp on it.
There were plenty dents and holes in the wall's to make me feel comfy though.

I shuffled across the dusty cold floor towards my suitcase. My mom had sent me my clothes, which seemed like a bad case of deja vu. There was a note too; the moment I saw Bridget's name, I trashed it. It was still sitting in the caged bin in my corner, ripped in half.
I threw on the first intimidating thing I found, it was all about street cred. The first time, instantly, i'd made friends--which was bad, from a police officer's point of view. If you walked outside that door looking like a smart ass, you could almost guarantee the cops playing a game of I-Spy looking for your limbs.

I turned on the light in the bathroom, and walked over to the single sink, my footsteps echoing off of the empty wall's. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I still looked exactly the same, except for the dark circles underneath my eyes. I didn't feel the same. I felt as if half of my heart had been ripped out of my chest, and the other half got hit by a truck, again.
'C'mon Sprayberry, screw your head on right.'
'What are you afraid of? Wuss'
Insulting myself didn't make me feel better. As I glared at myself, I could've sworn my eyes had turned a pure blue, and I had just watched it. I shook my head vigorously, I'm starting to see her eyes. God, i'm so fucked up.
I looked back at myself for clarification. Same old Dylan Sprayberry. Hair too messy, blue eyes, same old scowl, my mom would say. I felt up my pockets for my cell phone, oh right--all ways to communicate with the "outside" have been confiscated. They said they threw it all down some shoot, but I knew it just sat in the boy's dorm advisor's office so he could snoop into our personal lives.

I left my dorm without locking it, passing by the white board labeled, "Special Students." Meaning, nut cases, repeat offenders, questionable murderer's on parole, and me. I had so many charges on assault and trespassing, plus a single accidental charge on arson; you'd think i'd be behind bars by now. But it pays to have a rich asshole as a father. Go figure.
I had noticed they hadn't charged me for the most important crime of all, result being death by hanging and eternal suffering in hell--breaking a heart. The judge passed right over that one. I walked down the pretty much unlit hallway, except for a couple flickering panels from like, 1999. I could hear the shuffling of other delinquents behind their closed doors as I passed. I didn't so much as flinch when I smelled the possible cigarette or weed, it was the norm. Now, it was the norm. I entered the half-assed lobby, 2 ugly leather recliners, with a puke-green center table to match. No one visited the kids here but their parole officers. I nearly shoved a tiny, sequin covered girl over, making my way to the secretary, Mrs. Amber. The pint-sized brat sent daggers at me and crossed her arms, but I didn't care. I wasn't supposed to care.
"Back again, Mr. Sprayberry?" Mrs. Amber sighed, as she handed me my schedule. I shrugged and took the papers. She was the closest thing I had to a parent during my stay here, she kept me sane, though I wouldn't have admitted it back then. Mrs. Amber was still the same, graying hair tied into a tight bun, 30 year old Harry Potter glasses with gold chains dangling off of them--and that exact grim smile she gave me as if she was expecting a cop to bust in and arrest me at any moment.
"I thought you'd need my company." I smiled as I folded up the paper and shoved it into my back pocket. She scanned over my new tattoo's suspiciously. Mrs. Amber shook her head, disappointed,
"You told me you'd changed for the better, that you were going to live with your mother--start over. What happened to that?" She looked up at me, over her thick glasses. Her huge brown eyes were like a deer's, always watching--although today, it seemed as if she'd gotten caught in head lights in the middle of the night. In a way, I guess you could say I was the head lights, she didn't expect me to return that was for sure.
"You know me," I drummed on the desk one last time,
"Can never stay out of trouble."
I raised an eyebrow at the sequined midget, and strolled by her, sending her a sideways glance that made her cheeks turn pink. I pushed the murky glass door open, and stepped out into the sunshine.