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Mark P.O.V

"And to think you then have the audacity to turn around and disobey both your parents and myself at the first opportunity you get, I honestly can't believe you Mark." Miss Fletcher barked as though Mark was actually listening. By now they'd reached the point where his aunt was using any and every word from the dictionary she could remember to describe his absolute stupidity in the fanciest most over the top way imaginable.

But to be perfectly honest he had lost the will to give a shit about a quarter of the way through.

"Your mother will be hearing about this!" She announced suddenly and Mark couldn't help but feel his heart sink down to his shoes.

There goes his family.

Nobody would care that he'd meant well. Nobody in that house would give a shit that he still loved them all more than they could ever imagine. No one would care.

They obviously didn't give a fuck about him if they were willing to disown him over something as fucking ridiculous as talking to someone they didn't like very much. It was so incredibly stupid that he couldn't even fathom why he still cared. But he did, and it sucked.

It hurt him to think that the people who raised him didn't care enough to take into account what he thought was right for him. But it didn't matter anymore, they would be rid of him soon and they could all go to fucking hell for all he cared.

Okay that was a little bit drastic. But hey, it's not like they'd care. He wouldn't be their son anymore after all.

There was a soft knock at the door which opened slowly to reveal Mark's elderly math teacher Mrs Adams, her snow white hair a cloud of fluff around her head. Don't let the hairstyle fool you though, she's still one of Mark's most hated teachers thanks to her strict discipline and stubborn attitude to basically everything.

She was standing up completely straight as though someone had gone and shoved a pole up her ass and her dark eyes were narrowed into slits as she flicked them from student to teacher. Eventually she spoke, her raspy, slightly hoarse voice giving away both her old age and her love of having a quick cigarette during her lunch break.

"The principle wants to hear Fischbach's story now, Miss Fletcher. If you are quite done." She raised a single eyebrow, wrinkles on her forehead becoming more pronounced as she did so.

His aunt gave him a stern look. "We'll talk more about this later, Mark." She said stiffly, before giving a terse nod to the elderly teacher, stalking out of the room, the clip clops of her high heels echoing around the corridor with her every step.

Mrs Adams didn't even bother to give Mark a second look, instead turning and leaving the room expecting him to follow. Which he did.

It's not like he had a choice in the matter.

The old lady lead him surprisingly quickly down the corridor and to the left where he knew the principle's office was situated. Mark bit his lip, suddenly overcome with a weird mixture of nerves and guilt, something about standing in front of the principle's office just making everything he had ever done wrong in his life stand out starkly in his memory.

It was a remarkably long list.

Mark sighed quietly before opening the door and entering the principle's office immediately noting that it was far smaller than he had expected. The room was decorated simply, nothing in the room too flamboyant or too bright. The walls were a pale cream color and held plain wooden shelves which were lined with books.

As expected there was a desk behind which sat the headmaster, Mr Kelly, a middle aged man with light brown hair and a slightly rumpled black suit paired with a light blue tie. Mark had never really spoken to the man much but he was almost certain that he didn't normally look this ruffled, his hair sticking up in random directions and his tie loosened so much that it hung around his neck like a dog collar.

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