No Idea What I'm Doing

Chapter 1

Simon's last thought before blacking out was, 'What the fuck am I doing?' It's not the first time he has blacked out, and it's not the first time he has asked himself this question. And it is most certainly not going to be the last for either of those events.

Simon woke up laying on the couch he was vaguely familiar with. His foster parents were in front of him, along with his counselor. Simon tried to sit up, but there was a sharp pain coming from his lower stomach.

"Simon," he heard his foster mom say. "I think we need to talk."

"What is there to talk about?" Simon asked, still lying down because of his lack of a way to sit up. "Did I get suspended again? Expelled? What others schools are we looking at this time?"

"Simon, why must you insist on getting into all of these fights at school?" she responded, her voice very soft, and soothing.

"I don't want to talk about this right now. Can you please just tell me what my punishment is so I can move on with my life?" Simon said, becoming increasingly annoyed.

"I'm afraid we can't keep you anymore, Simon," his foster mother said with regret in her voice.

Simon wasn't surprised at all. He didn't care about the pain anymore; he got up from where he was and started screaming. "So that's it? After I finally find somewhere I feel welcome you guys throw me out, just like everyone else. You aren't any different from any of my other foster families. Why did I ever trust you?" His rage filled the entire house.

She started crying and his foster dad got up and met him with a stern voice. "Now you listen here, boy. We have been nothing but good to you, but you can't keep getting into fights like this. Your counselor and I both think it's best if we send you off to Watford. We think it's best for you if you get what you need from people specially trained to handle people like you."

"People like me? As in, what? Troublemakers, hooligans," Simon put so much malice on his words. "The mentally ill? Is that what you think of me? Mentally ill?"

"Now, Simon,"

"You know what, I don't care anymore. Just tell me when to be ready and I'll go pack my bags." He stormed out of the room, leaving a thick tension in the air. His foster mother was still sobbing into her hands. His foster father stood there, stunned, not knowing what to say.

"It will be fine, I promise." Simon's counselor spoke up. "This is what he needs. This is good for him."

***

The car drove off behind Baz. It's Baz's freshman year and he gets to go to the special school. Not just any school, no. This is Watford. This is a school for the worst of the worst. It's like an insane asylum, but with more useless classes. Partly because his mother use to be the headmaster of the school, but mostly because he witnessed the murder of said mother, and has done some regretful actions on his bad days. It wasn't Baz's fault; when he was 5, he was in his mother's office with her and well, apparently someone wanted her dead, for some reason. The case was never really closed. Nothing was ever really figured out. It was something you could file under downright magic. But Baz was there, and was most certainly not magic.

He was sitting on the floor, right next to his mother's desk. They were talking, having fun. It was a good day; Baz has just lost his first tooth and was excited to put it under his pillow for the tooth fairy. At first he started crying, because he didn't want to lose all of his teeth, but his mother told him how cool the tooth fairy was.

"You just put the tooth under the pillow, and in the morning, you get a special gift in replace of the tooth. Isn't that fantastic, Tyrannus?" Her voice was so soothing, she would say Baz's name like it was the world. "Your name is just perfect," she would say, "A perfect name, for the perfect boy." That's why Baz hates his name, because it was the last word she ever said.