Give (Tronnor)

1

Troye

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound of raindrops echo throughout the room. I glance out the window, taking note of the dark gray clouds looming just beyond the glass. Wow the weather reflects my fucking mood. Wonderful. I let out a slight chuckle at my snide remark. A frown sweeps across my face as I realize that that's the first time I've even remotely laughed in weeks.

I divert my attention away from the foggy glass down to my hands. I run my thumb over my pale, bony knuckles. Jesus Christ am I seriously that scrawny? I ask before I mentally scold myself. Shit, you shouldn't use the Lord's name in vain, Troye. Why are you so fucking stupid?

"Troye?" A woman's soft voice echoes through the room.

I slowly raise my eyes from my hands to the source of the voice. My mother, Laurelle. She's looking at me with a look that I cannot define. It's like a mix between pity and pure hatred. I shift uncomfortably in my padded seat.

"Yes mum?" I mumble softly, diverting my gaze back to my hands. I resume my previous activity of rubbing my knuckles with my thumb.

"Come here just a minute," she pleads. I let out a soft sigh and will myself to stand up. She smiles as I slowly tread over to where she is standing near the office desk. A blonde woman around the age of 40 is perched behind the desk, slowly tapping her pen on the dark oak.

"I need you to fill out some of these papers. They're part of your application," my mother says in a fake endearing tone. She passes me the metal clipboard and I sit down in the nearest chair to fill out the paperwork. My mother sits down beside me, watching me write down the information.

What is your name?

I write down the words "Troye Mellet."

How old are you?

21

What are your hobbies?

Singing, acting, writing. Kissing boys. I think to myself.

Why do you want to attend Breckinridge Academy?

I don't. My parents are forcing me to come here because they think it will "cure" my gayness. I want to build responsibility and new friendships while furthering my education and working diligently to improve my character.

I look up at my mom. She gives me a weak smile, showing me that she approves of my answer.

I finish filling out the paperwork and pass the clipboard back to my mother. While sitting I eavesdrop on the conversation between my mother and the assistant.

"When will we hear back about his status?" My mother inquires.

"It shouldn't take more than a week to go through all of the applications. We only receive about 200 a year and we allow 100 entrance into our academy," The assistant claims.

"And you're sure that you can...help my son?" My mother asks, glancing over at me. I pretend to be preoccupied with a hangnail.

"We will try our hardest to fix your son's problem," the assistant says, glancing over at me and flashing me a weak smile.