Things I Could Do Without (Cecil)

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Things I Could Do Without (Cecil)

Post  Harold Masterson on Wed Feb 01, 2012 7:24 pm

Harry stalked away from the house, hands fisted in the pockets of his coat. He needed to walk, needed to think. His days of his medication had been less spectacular than he thought they would be. Yes, he was glad to be himself again. He was glad to have his thoughts and wants back, glad to think like himself instead of a stuff animal whose head was full of cotton. Harry liked walking down the halls, eyeing his peers, imagining how great it would feel to put his fist into the side of their head or take a box cutter to their skin. But there was that other side as well and at the end of the day he had mixed feelings about leaving the fluffy minded existence and having to face the thoughts that the drugs had kept at bay. Everything had been fine while he was doped up. He didn’t care about thinking or feeling, he just was. Cecil meant as much to him as the next face in the room and that was fine by him. Mild irritation was all filtered through the fog when the doctor wanted him to learn to be human. He couldn’t remember the time of day let alone how to be understanding and recognize the feelings of others. So the pills ended and now he was left on his own. Harry was left to think about Highgrove and Cecil, two things that he was convinced he could do without.

Harry had only caught glimpses of Cecil since the black out, never for more than a minute in the halls or across the room during class. He hadn’t spoken a word to him during that time. It had been almost a month of this and by now the young man should be out of mind. Most people were after a day or so of Harry not properly interacting with them. Why should he dwell on people who meant so little to him? However, now that he had the clarity to think the blue eyed boy was back as if he’d always resided there. Cecil had somehow carved himself a place in Harry’s brain and it seemed that he planned to stay there. In every room, around every corner, down ever hall he hoped to catch another glimpse of the young man. He wanted to see him, wanted to walk up and say something to him. He then promptly wanted to smack himself for thinking such things. This was getting ridiculous.

And then that damn cookie group session. Harry had opted to make snicker doodles, none of which he ate, and left a couple for Cecil. It had been days since then he’d partially hoped that Cecil would find him. Maybe they could talk or…something. Harry should probably tell him that he wasn’t out to kill him anymore and that he didn’t need to hide or anything. Maybe trying to be nice to the masochist would be good for him. He could learn how to respect emotions and feelings and so on. After all, of all the people at Highgrove, Harry had ignored Cecil’s the most. He never gave a fuck if Cecil said stop or to stay away. He crossed lines and boundaries without as much as a second thought. Perhaps the distance between them was the fault of Cecil’s therapist, who didn’t seem to like him very much at all. Maybe he’d ordered Cecil be kept away. The very idea caused Harry’s otherwise blank face to become twisted with anger. That had better not be the fucking case or Harry would be breaking his good boy streak to break someone’s legs. Little did he know that if he actually went through with that idea he’d be doing the school a favor.

His wanderings brought him clear across the yard and toward the trails and trees, a great place to lose himself. What were the odds of anyone finding him back here? Harry weaved through trees and bushes, wanting to be hidden but not so much that he couldn’t see if anyone was coming. This position would give him the option to either stay back or himself known. It would greatly depend on who found him and if they were worth the risk of getting caught by security or the good doctor. After all, Harry had been heavily medicated for nearly a month it was safe to say that Harry was more than a little frustrated. Anyone who came along might find themselves victim to Harry’s needs.

Fuck but he was supposed to be good. Harry let out a low growl of a sound as his back slumped against a tree a little off one of the trails, letting himself slide down to the ground. Why couldn’t they just let him go? Or why couldn’t his mother decide that he’d been punished enough and come and get him? This place was poison to him. He wanted to be himself but he was under strict order not to. If he fucked up again there was a very good chance he wouldn’t see the outside of a seclusion cell until he was shipped off to another cell. His head thumped back against the tree, eyes staring up through the canopy toward the clouded sky. The odds seemed pretty good that it would start to rain soon but he didn’t care. Harry just wanted some time to sit and think without the possibility of some staff member stumbling upon him and lurking, expecting that he would hulk rage at any moment and kill everyone in sight.

Harold Masterson

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