BEDLESS (Kellic) (boyxboy)

Chapter 1

Hello everyone! Feel free to comment. I really appreciate it! Enjoy your reading :)

Warnings: Violence, language, crime, mentions of drugs and alcohol.

"Okay, ... Mr Kevin Quinn?"

Kellin flinched in his seat at the sound of paperwork being dropped onto the desk in front of him from an unreasonable height. His counselor had pronounced his name wrong, - just like everyone else does, it didn't really bother the teen that much, but still; he felt it necessary to politely correct his mistake.

"Oh, It's-"

"-Don't care! It's a stupid name." The older man scowled at him, waving an unconcerned hand about as he took a seat behind his desk.

Kellin stared at him quite shocked, mouth hanging open slightly in confusion. He had been warned of the counselor's offhanded attitude. He was also later warned that 'offhanded' was most probably a compliment, rather than the ideal way to describe him.

"...What I'm trying to tell you Kellin is that, he's the epitome of asshole." One of his friends informed earlier that day.

Kellin brushed it off though; he thought they were just laying it on thick to scare him. He doubted the correctional facility would want someone like such to mentor under-age law-breakers. It just seemed stupid to hire a person who talked to the kids like shit, unless that was in fact the point.

He was Mr. Victor Fuentes, or so his desk header informed; which was flipped upside-down on a pile of pens and pencils, the shrink for New York State Correction Center. Working every Monday to Thursday, in turn each juvenile would have to sit with him for an hour at the times they are scheduled and discuss what it was they had done. Once Mr. Fuentes can observe the child's new legal understanding and is convinced that their previous actions will not occur again, he then has the power to suggest a cut-back (or if need be an extension) on the time they serve and dismiss them from therapy. Kellin's friend Alex had told him that since Mr. Fuentes started at the center two years ago, every single person in there had served their sentence in full.

He would then come in on Fridays, but only by appointment. If during the week one of the boys felt they needed to discuss something further, or simply needed to vent their thoughts, it would be Mr. Fuentes on the receiving end of their confessions, or effortless mindless chatter. By now, the kid's were well aware not to make to latter the case for why you wished to see the counselor on a Friday. Claiming the usual; ignorant, critical and blunt attitude Mr. Fuentes possessed throughout his regular sessions unbearable enough, that if you took redundant time out from his day off to discuss your what he called 'girly problems', the only words to exit his mouth would be nothing less than degrading verbal abuse.

"So, are we going to talk or something?" Kellin asked, not sure if he should actually bother speaking at all.

"SHH!" Mr. Fuentes hushed him somewhat hatefully, flinching a bit and his face becoming slightly distressed.

Kellin retreated to silence; shock penetrating him again slightly as the man reclined his chair and laid back; seemingly trying to catch some sleep. He scanned the room subconsciously, though still managing to take in its details. The walls were made of plasterboard, oppose the concrete ones throughout the main sections of the center and painted in shades of gray and burgundy. They held lop-sized certificates of completion in courses of 'Psychoanalysis' and 'Psychological Profiling'. Psychological Profiling? The title caused Kellin to pay a little more attention to what he was looking at and he wondered what the hell was Mr. Fuentes was doing wasting his time advising teenagers, when apparently he has the ability to examine body language of those as dangerous as terrorists? He questioned over the authenticity of the documents; considering the counselor appeared half asleep, he found it hard to believe that he had even bothered to gain an education in the first place. Though Kellin knew about the things Mr. Fuentes would have learnt in such courses and he worried that maybe the man was taking notes in his head, because if his merits weren't counterfeit then they were an indicating that he was quite capable of doing exactly that.