Pseudology

Nine.

EDITED 2/8/13

“Reid! Please get up.”

The teacher’s voice wasn’t angry and strong, echoing off the cold walls of the classroom at ten minutes to twelve exactly. The voice was soft, like a rustling wind.  

Adrian stood up, his knees stiff and his knuckles going white as his already tight grip on the desk tightened. He adjusted his tie awkwardly, his hands pale and shaking.

There was a small snigger from behind him, and Adrian heard the not so quiet hiss of ‘he’s in trouble again’ before the teacher yelled not as quietly as before:

“Follow me!”

“Yes, sir.” Adrian mumbled, and hurried out of the room as quickly as he could, the teacher’s shiny shoes clanking on the limestone; Adrian had to hurry to keep up with the cloaked man, who had a stiff upper-lip and a furry moustache. He didn’t even know his name.

Adrian was incredibly glad that he’d got out of Year Nine Latin. He liked Latin but he detested his unruly class who much preferred Games (sports such as Hockey or Cricket) or Religious Education, where they did nothing but irritate the teacher who happened to be a Nun called Sister Anne. Adrian rather liked Sister Anne, but no one else did- he wasn’t really sure why, but he was sure it’d never be anything logical. They don’t think like me, Adrian thought slowly as he walked down the corridor.

The teacher paused at the headmaster’s door, the oak withered and knotted with decorative swirls.

“Stay here, Reid. The headmaster will open the door when he’s ready for you.”

“T-thank you, sir.” Adrian said, keeping his head bowed. As the teacher walked away, he let out a low breath and carefully raised a shaking hand to touch the engraved wood, his curious mind wondering what it felt like. Morton had suggested small distractions since mummy had been in hospital, and he often enjoyed touching different objects to see how they felt. His fingertips could feel the faint indents and he felt a small, curved smile creep onto his face. He liked the feel of rough versus smooth, and he pushed a small strand of curly hair from his face. He didn’t hear the faint footsteps from behind until a cold, smooth hand placed itself on his shoulder.

An intense panic flooded through his mind within seconds and the hand was hit away, skin smacking skin with a tough sound, making Morton wince.

“Brother!”

“I-I’m sorry, Morey-“

“It’s alright.” Morton adjusted the sleeve of his blazer and frowned. “Do you know what this is about? The meeting?”

“No.”

“Good, it might not be as bad as I thought then-“

The door creaked open, and Adrian’s head flickered heavily. The brothers glanced at each other and nodded. Morton, putting his right foot forward, stepped into the small, low-ceilinged office and Adrian followed.

II

“W-what do you m-mean?”

The headmaster leant back in his leather chair; his arms positioned over his chest and his weathered face a picture of guilt.

“Don’t make me say it again, boys. It was hard enough the first time.”

“You’re saying that our mother is dead. She died in hospital.” Adrian’s voice did not waver and his eyes poured into the headmaster’s, dull and stony. His name was Lumley and he was a man the brother’s rarely saw. Adrian’s mouth was a straight line but his dark curls fell into his face, obscuring his hard gaze. He moved his hands so that they were clasped behind his back and he swallowed.