PYCID#: C6729F0-01

[Flynn]

[[OOC NOTE: The following posts depict a series of counseling sessions in the year 2001. The setting is Parkview Youth Centre, an entirely fictional juvenile detention center in St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada. This information cannot be utilized in any IC capacity unless a character possesses knowledge of these events through interaction with Flynn.]]

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NAME: Connors, Flynn L.
D.O.B.: 12, December 1985 AGE: 16
PYCID#: C6729F0-01
CLINICIAN: Stroh, Marissa

CHARGE(S): Pending, mandated supervision

DATE: 14, July 2001
TIME: 11:00am - 12:00pm; Note: Client terminated session


The ticking of the clock filled the silence of the room. The air was heavy, tense. An expectation of discussion hung suspended between the two occupants, but neither willing to be the first to break. It was only after a silent five minutes had passed that Marissa Stroh, youth counselor, sighed. Her eyes briefly dropped to the name at the top of the file upon her lap, pen tapping lightly against the letter ‘F’ in a rhythmic pattern. She seemed to steady herself, collect her thoughts, before once again bringing her inquisitive gaze to her client. “I appreciate that you came in today,” she offered with genuine kindness, a soft smile gracing her bow-shaped lips. She was young, only a few years into her licensure, but the devotion she had for the adolescents in her care was obvious by the way their faces adorned her walls in those rare moments of joy within the centre. Their accomplishments after their release were no less prevalent.

It was suffocating, in a sense.

“Don’t suppose I’d get out of here if I didn’t?” came the reply, the teenager’s eyebrows lifting in question as he eyed the woman across from him.

Marissa smiled, her eyes no less kind than they had been before. “No, unfortunately, you would not.”

Flynn spread his arms out, shrugging, “So...It would be great if we could just get on with it.” He knew he was being uncooperative. Unnecessarily rude to a woman who had done absolutely nothing to him, but he wasn’t feeling particularly pleasant today. They could all know about it, too. It was a waste of time, this ‘counseling’ thing they insisted be part of his program. That he ‘talk about his feelings’ or some stupid **** like that. He’d stopped listening as soon as the recommendation left the judge’s mouth.

“Do you know why you’re here, Flynn?” she asked, sitting back in her chair across from him, one leg draping elegantly over the other. Her notepad sat precariously on her lap, but was otherwise ignored as she kept her unwavering stare on him.

“Here, as in, here in the centre? Or, in your office?” he asked, only allowing a second of silence before continuing. “As it so happens, I have an answer for both. Why am I in Parkview? Because I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and a gun happened to be involved. Why am I in your office? Because you all want me to be a good little damaged boy who keeps his head down and his nose clean.”

Marissa gave no response to his words, only watching him with a quiet curiosity. Once again, silence fell over them. Rolling his eyes heavenward, Flynn slumped further in his chair, legs stretched out across the floor to overlap at the ankle. She seemed to sense his resistance and for a long moment, she merely observed. When she finally spoke, her voice had softened. “We don’t have to talk about the charges you’re facing if you’d prefer. I understand that, due to the circumstance, you could face adult time.”

Fury settled deep within the teen’s chest, his nose wrinkling at her words. Every muscle in his body tensed at the implication, his tone growing hard even as he refused to shift his gaze from the ceiling. “That’s ********, and they know it. Everyone knows I had no idea Torres and Chubs were armed. And I didn’t lay a hand on those people, they said as much to the police.” Arms crossed over his chest, the defiance of the action seen with perfect clarity. “Like I said, wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You’re right, they did support your claims with their retelling of that night. But, for now, you’re being held on possible accessory charges to a very serious crime and so you have to be here. My suggestion is that we don’t play games with each other. I stay honest and open-minded with you, so long as you provide me with the same respect,” she immediately replied with a small nod of acknowledgement. When she received no immediate reply, she prompted further. “Fair?”

“...yeah, fine. Whatever.” he finally uttered, shoulders slumping fractionally at the defeat.

Humming in acceptance of his answer, Marissa shifted her position so that she was leaning against her knees, placing her in closer proximity to the teen. “Let’s talk about things at home. How do you get along with your mother?”

A snort immediately followed the question, his head tipping to a shoulder. “She's certainly no Mother of the Year. She hardly deserves that title. Simply giving birth isn’t enough to make you a mother.”

“What title does she deserve?”

“I don’t really think you would appreciate the answer to that question. For the sake of not playing games, let’s just say it isn’t very flattering,” he sneered, only just flicking his attention to her before returning to the wall to his left. It was funny, really, how easily Madeline lied about her attempts to straighten out her son. The sob story she spun about how out-of-control he was and that being a single mother trying to raise a man was just so, so hard. Pity, pity.

Nonplussed, Marissa continued. “I see. And your father?”

“Haven’t seen the man in years. He could be locked up or dead in a ditch somewhere for all I know.”

“And...what about friends? A girlfriend, perhaps?” Flynn’s focus shifted, the intensity of his gaze falling on his counselor like a thunderstorm at the peak of its strength.“You seem upset by the question. Have I touched on a sensitive topic?”

The intensity never left the teen’s expression as he glanced away, no longer allowing Marissa the chance to read into his expressions. She didn’t deserve the satisfaction of getting under his skin with her questions. “Nah, we’re good. No desire for a girlfriend. And I have friends, sure. Just not the kind I’m encouraged to spend time with. Bad influences, I hear.” Sarcasm began to leak into his tone, leaving no doubt as to his thoughts on their opinions.

“Perhaps they are, perhaps not. Their influence is only as powerful as you allow it to be,” Marissa responded with ease, only to earn another roll of Flynn’s eyes.

“Is this the part where you tell me all about peer pressure?” he questioned, shifting in his seat until he was upright. “How wanting to ‘fit in’ can lead to bad decision-making?”

“That depends. Do you believe you had an error in judgement?”

Flynn stilled, his fingers tightening around the wooden arms of his chair, knuckles turning pale. “I ended up in here, didn’t I? I’d say that constitutes as a bad decision.”

“Most of you that come through my office tell me you’re here because you got caught. Not that you made a bad decision,” she said with a tip of her chin, her pen once again tapping lightly against the pad of paper. “That’s a level of accountability that I don’t often see…”

He could only watch her as she seemed to ponder her own thoughts, no doubt making connections that he wouldn’t appreciate. It made his skin itch, his hands growing cold as a sense of unease creeped up between his shoulder blades. He needed out. Out. Out. Out. “Yeah, I’m real mature for my age, or something. Can I leave now?” he asked through clenched teeth, unable to find her eyes as he attempted to massage warmth back into his fingers.

The counselor observed him a moment before glancing up at the clock on the wall. Turning back to Flynn, she slowly nodding her head, “You’re free to go, Flynn. But, if you’d don’t mind, I’d like to ask you one more question?”

Flynn shot to his feet, pacing back toward the counselor’s door, eyebrows high in question. “Mhm?”

“You said your mother doesn’t deserve the title. You must believe she isn’t much a caretaker. So, who does take care of you? Who do you turn to when you need someone?”

The teen actually laughed then. However, it lacked joy. Amusement. Instead, it was a broken sound, cut off like the whimper of a wounded dog. “No one. I take care of myself.” Without another word, he turned and left the office, the door slamming shut behind him. Marissa didn’t chase him, demand that he return to her office to finish the conversation. In fact, the door remained firmly closed behind him.

In a rush, the nervous energy urging him to flee subsided and he dropped against the heavy door with a sigh. His hands were still cool as he rubbed at his face to erase any evidence to his moment of weakness, further loosening that knot of dread that had formed from the conversation.

“Hey, Connors!”

“**** off, Rowland.” he growled, the palms of his hands pressing against his eyes.

“Touchy...Stroh manage to break you down on the first visit?” Rowland sneered, taking a few steps back when Flynn’s hands dropped to glare at the other boy. They were roommates, but their reasons for being there were vastly different. Rowland had a history of drug possession and sales, and as a repeat offender, he’d be at Parkview for a few years, still. He was only 15. When he received no answer, he only smirked. “The boys and I are headed out for rec. Thinking of starting up a basketball game. You in?”

Flynn glanced at the wooden door over his shoulder, chewing on his lip in contemplation. “Sure, let’s just go…” he muttered, trailing along behind Rowland with a heavy weight situated dead center in his chest.

[Flynn]

NAME: Connors, Flynn L.
D.O.B.: 12, December 1985 AGE: 16
PYCID#: C6729F0-01
CLINICIAN: Stroh, Marissa

CHARGE(S): Pending, mandated supervision

DATE: 2, August 2001
TIME: 11:30am - 12:00pm, Note: Client was late for appointment



“There’s been a lot of talk at school...they’re saying you’ve been expelled. Is it true?”

A soft sigh was the initial response to the question, followed by the rustling of the dark green jumpsuit as Flynn shifted in the plastic-backed chair. “That’s what I’m told.” His tone conveyed nothing, not a hint of his festering disappointment. Sure, it hadn’t been his first disciplinary problem in the course of the last few years, but he’d have liked the chance to finish his education when this whole thing blew over. And it would blow over. Now, that looked a little more like wishful thinking rather than a potential reality. The red head across from him opened her mouth to speak, the beginnings of his name on her lips as if to lecture him. Or worse, pity him. Raising a hand between them, he silenced her. “Don’t. School is the least of my problems.”

The girl across him frowned and glanced around the room, the other tables filled with teens and their various visitors. Her red hair fell as a curtain between them and Flynn found himself staring silently at it, vaguely aware of the faint berry scent of her shampoo. ”You could be so much better than this...” she finally whispered, voice soft yet challenging as blue hues narrowed.

Before he had a chance to reply, there a tapping at his shoulder. Without a glance, he knew. Something in the air or the way his skin prickled at her approach. Sure enough as he glanced back, Flynn was greeted with the sight of Ms. Stroh, hand poised to tap him again if necessary. “You were late today and a little birdie told me you had gotten a visitor. I assume you simply lost track of time.” The young blonde woman’s attention shifted to the girl seated with him and she smiled. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I must end your visit short. Mr. Connors has a prior obligation. If you’ll excuse us?”

There wouldn’t have been a point in arguing and so the teen stood, shooting the redhead an apologetic shrug. “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” he muttered softly as he turned to follow behind Stroh, hands buried deep in his pockets.

“You aren’t one to usually accept visitors…” she mused aloud, but with obvious intention behind the words. And yet, there was no question tacked on at the end, no inquiry as to who the girl was. Just a statement of her observations. Still, Flynn’s nose twitched, lips threatening to curl in annoyance, because he had no doubt as to what she might have been assuming.

“Jarah,” he grunted, keeping his gaze on his shoes as they scuffed against the polished title. “Her name is Jarah.”

Stroh nodded her head, as if she had already possessed that knowledge and was merely agreeing with him. “Have you known her long?”

Flynn shrugged, lifting his head to quietly track his fellow detention centre inhabitants as they passed them from the halls. “We had a few classes together freshman year and got along well enough. She’s...a good person.” A better person than she liked to admit, and maybe that was part of the reason she even hung out around him. The warped notion that she could save him. Maybe even from himself.

“A friend?”

Shooting Stroh a look, nose wrinkled, the boy nodded. “Sure, I guess you could call us friends. And before you ask, no. She is not and has never been my girlfriend.” The blonde smiled and merely shrugged. She gave no indication that she had intended to ask such a thing, but accepted the information without judgement. As they arrived at her office, she unlocked the door and gestured him inside. Flynn dropped into the same seat as he always did, arms folding across his chest in natural defiance. Stroh circled around to her own chair and got comfortable, bringing the familiar file and notepad to her lap as she studied the teen. “The other day…” she began, clearly reflecting on her prior conclusions armed with new information. “...you mentioned no one taking care of you. And each time you believe me to be directly questioning your romantic relationships, you become agitated.”

Teeth pressed hard into the flesh of his lower lip, eyes narrowing on the woman’s face as he considered her words for a long, silent second. She still hadn’t asked a question, but he felt compelled to provide an answer. As if on its own accord, his mouth began to form words, “Not caring about me means never having to care about other people. I have no expectations, no promises to hold them to. No disappointments.” It took everything he had not to spew more, to not give in to her gentle prodding and questioning that was no doubt a tactic at getting her young charges to admit to their feelings.

“Have you experienced a lot of broken promises and disappointments?” she quietly returned, gesturing vaguely with her hand in the air between them, inviting him to provide further information.
Flynn’s expression twisted further, an anxious hand carting through his hair, making him appear disheveled and out of sorts. And maybe he was. There was the sensation of floating, lacking an anchor to keep him grounded and calm and that just left feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable. Neither of which sat well with him. “You’re fishing,” he finally muttered, surprisingly focused on the hem of his sleeve. “You want me to tell you all about what a sad and miserable childhood I had.”

“Did you? Have a sad and miserable childhood?”

“Do I look like the most well-adjusted sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met?” he shot back, meeting her gaze with a challenge of his own.

Stroh took the question in stride, apparently sensing a victory in getting those protective walls to give way just enough to push. “You seem remarkably well-read, intelligent. When you don’t carry around your anger like a shield, you’re particularly charming. You may rebel against it, but accept the responsibility of what that rebellious nature has accomplished. In fact, you admit to not only me, but yourself, that you’ve made bad decisions, which suggests a desire to do better.” She paused then, allowing a moment for the words to sink in as Flynn was left to stare, eyes wide. Whether it was in fear or surprise that someone saw anything worthwhile in him, he couldn’t have said. He couldn’t have said anything, anyway. For once, he was speechless. “The only one holding you back, Flynn, is you.”

He sat, quietly and without comment for a long moment, his thoughts a whirlwind of activity and knotted conclusions that he struggled to make sense of. Finally, as he felt the ability to speak return to him, he replied, “You can’t do that. You can’t just...casually throw out there that I’m ‘too good’ for all of this.”” A grand gesture around the room followed his words, eyes narrowing in frustration. “Because like it or not, this is exactly where I’m at. I’m here, I’m in it. This is my reality.” A spark of anger surged within him, threatening to send him into a fit of fists. Even if the only thing he got to hit were the walls.

Stroh’s gaze softened, her lips downturning. ”Have you considered that it doesn’t have to be? This too shall pass, Mr. Connors. You have a chance to get out of here with no charges, to have your freedom and endless possibilities. You could go anywhere, do anything. You just need to want that for yourself…”

At her words, Flynn shook his head, immediately diverting his gaze to something different, something safer than her intrusive stare that saw more of him than anyone else ever had. There were no words that could have possibly described his thoughts and emotions. His mind felt like it had gone through a meat grinder, leaving only a pile of mush to sort through. His chest was once again heavy, heart thundering so loudly that he could practically hear it. And Stroh never once pushed him, easily sitting with the silence and his emotional rollercoaster.

“Flynn?” she finally said, tilting her head just so until she could find his eyes as he glanced up. “Why don’t we wrap up for today? Think about what I’ve said and when we meet next, we’ll discuss what you’ve come up with. How does that sound?”

The teen nodded, standing from him chair without a word. As he circled around to the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at the woman through furrowed ‘brows. ”How do you imagine something different when this is all you’ve ever known?” Rather than wait for a response, he forced a small, but strained, smile and left. The door closed behind him with a soft ‘thud’ but he didn’t stick around this time to see if Stroh would stop him. He knew she wouldn’t. She would do exactly as she said...she always did.

It was different. It was nice.

[Flynn]

NAME: Connors, Flynn L.
D.O.B.: 12, December 1985 AGE: 16
PYCID#: C6729F0-01
CLINICIAN: Stroh, Marissa

CHARGE(S): Pending, mandated supervision

DATE: 19, August 2001
TIME: 9:15am, Note: Unscheduled, client initiated contact

In the quiet of the centre library there was the ever present sound of shuffling papers and turning pages from the few occupants, but other than that the room remained silent. The early morning sun was just breaking through the windows, sending streams through the dimly lit room. The smell of old, tattered pages permeated the air and created an illusion of safety and peace in a place where calm was far from the norm, and in the two weeks, Flynn had found himself spending an increasing amount of time among the shelves. He’d decided to make it a challenge of sorts, ‘how many of these can I get through before they let me out of here?’ It was a useful strategy in that it filled his time with something more productive than following along with Rowland and his crowd of asshats for lack of anything better to do. Sure, they’d made a few comments at meals about Flynn’s sudden absence from their group, but otherwise did not ask questions. Not that it would have mattered any. He had no qualms with telling them where he spent his days. It was just none of their business.

Truth of the matter was, Stroh had done it. She had managed to plant that tiny little seed in the back of his head. She had brought a small voice out from the fog of his angry, cockshit attitude to ask the question, ‘’But, what if..?’ And he couldn’t answer that question, because he just didn’t know the answer. In all of sixteen years, thinking about his future was on the bottom of the priority list, right next to ‘Give Mom the benefit of the doubt.’ Now, he wished he had considered it. Even just a little. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, or the outside looking in with no knowledge of who this person was and what they liked.

It was an uncomfortable feeling.

Hence, his time in the library where the books offered him endless possibilities and in the past week, he’d probably learned more about himself than ever before. Such as the fact that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at romance novels, every time. Poetry had its merits, but dammit if he couldn’t rhyme words for **** to write his own. Hidden among the shelves, he’d found a few well-worn classics and had since accepted he preferred them. Most of them provided a challenge or dilemma that made him think, left him with questions. And he’d also learned that mysteries weren’t nearly as interesting if you could could figure it all out before anything was revealed...and it had sparked an idea. An entirely insane one that couldn’t possibly pan out, because he was here…

Right?

Flynn was on his feet before he was even aware of the fact that he was moving, slapping the book closed with more force than intended. It earned him a glare from the woman situated at the desk and he shrugged apologetically before setting it back on the shelf and heading for the hall. The office he needed was only a few away and the cracked door told of the occupant’s presence, as well as the soft light shining through to illuminate the floor.

Without a knock to announce his presence, he barged into the space, the door banging against the wall behind it. ”What if I wanted to be a lawyer?”

Stroh nearly jumped out of her skin at his entrance, her head whipping up from the hunched position over his desk, eyes wide in shock and her mouth slightly agape. It took only a second for her to collect herself and realize there was no danger before she took a small breath and slowly set her pen down on the papers spread out before her.. ”Good morning to you, too, Mr. Connors.” She quirked a perfectly shaped ‘brow in his direction, clearly indicating her distaste for his actions and in now way acknowledged that she had even heard the question he’d asked.

The teen rolled his eyes and waved a hand, ”Okay, okay. Morning. Ms. Stroh. Do you have a minute, I’d very much like to speak with you. Thank you ever so.” At the end of his sarcastic greeted, he mimicked the woman’s questioning ‘brow.

The woman’s lips twitched downward, ”If it wasn’t nine o’clock in the morning, Flynn, I’d say you could try that greeting again. But, since I have yet to have a whole cup of coffee, why you don’t you just have a seat and tell me what it is that you needed to speak about so urgently.” She rose a hand and gestured to the chair across from the desk, waiting. As he dropped down into the chair, she seemed to appraise him again before nodding, ”Now, you mentioned something about a lawyer?”

Flynn shook his head, ”I asked you ‘what if I wanted to be a lawyer?’ You had told me that I could do anything, what if that is what I wanted to do?”

Stroh’s head tipped ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing into that inquisitive little stare of hers, as if she could somehow read the very thoughts in his head. ”I get the impression you’re looking for validation that it’s possible for you to achieve something like that.”

That wasn’t an answer. Flynn’s impatience spiked, his nose twitching just so as if he had purposely kept himself from wrinkling it. ”Well, is it? I’m facing charges, I could be going to prison…” His tone, as hard it was was, wasn’t enough to mask the slight uncertainty. The lingering hope that she’d tell himself different. Something he could use.

She smiled then, that small genuine one she reserved for moments when someone seemed to come to some wonderful conclusion, a better outcome than she had hoped. ”The wonder of your situation, Flynn, is that you may be facing these charges, but you haven’t been convicted of them. If you beat them, and you seem rather confident that you will, then this doesn’t have to hold you back. In fact, you might even find that, should that be a path you want to pursue, that your history only makes you better at it.”

Flynn stared at the woman in front for a long, quiet moment. His chest rose slowly as he tried to slowly digest the words she was saying. ‘..you haven’t been convicted of them...if you beat them…’ ran through his head over and over again with a dizzying effect before finally settling on one absolute must before any of that could be a reality. His eyes lowered to the floor for a second, recalling vague information he had been offered upon his news of his expulsion. Something about tutoring or equivalency… ”So...you’re telling me...that my history of arrests doesn’t have to count against me?” he asked, voice quiet and thoughtful.

”Once you turn 18, those records are sealed.”

Lifting his head, he found Stroh’s eyes still on him, watching carefully. Finally, he offered her a smile of his own. Possibly one of the first she had ever seen on his face, if her subtle shift in expression was anything to go by. ”Thank you, and I’m sorry for barging in….” he offered, already standing from the chair and slowly backing out of the room, his hand blindly searching for the knob of the office door. ”I have to go take care of something.” he finished, whipped around and out the door before she could have responded.

He had to go see someone about an education.

[Flynn]

NAME: Connors, Flynn L.
D.O.B.: 12, December 1985 AGE: 16
PYCID#: C6729F0-01
CLINICIAN: Stroh, Marissa

CHARGE(S): Pending, mandated supervision

DATE: 15, November 2001
TIME: 2:17pm - 2:45pm, Note(s): Trial upcoming; physical altercation with former roommate; withdrawal, resistant to discussion

___________________________________________________________________________

The commons area was crowded. More so than usual and Flynn just got the sense of a bad day in the making. He’d woken up with his stomach in knots, checking another day off his calendar only to stare at the bright red circle now several squares away. And each day it got closer, the more restless he became. Others seemed to sense it, too. Privacy was only a concept to be considered in this place. The upcoming date was no secret and his fellow occupants seemed to sense the shift in his mood. What had Jarah called it the other day? His personal dark cloud. Apparently it threatened an instantaneous lightning strike if approached.

Good.

Thankfully, the ledge under the window was clear of bodies and he’d come armed with a book in hand. As he settled back against the windowsill he glanced around the room for a quick inventory. Their “overseers” took up their usual positions around the room, watchingful for trouble amongst their charges. Various groups spread out to take up the space around the television and tables, playing games and talking. It was always the same. If’s Jarah’s assessment was correct, he might just get lucky enough to be left alone. She, herself, hadn’t been around for a visit in about two weeks and that dark cloud had likely only grown darker and more menacing as the days passed.

The group closest to him happened to consist of Rowland and his band of merry idiots and his muted green gaze landed on them last. They were jeering over something, laughing at a joke Rowland made. No doubt at the expense of someone else. That’s when their eyes met, the other teen’s attention shifting to Flynn, a wicked smile forming. “Oh here we go…” Flynn muttered, sensing the impending clash. Their barely civil relationship had deteriorated drastically over the last month, leaving them at constant odds. Mostly by Rowland’s design, but that didn’t matter so much to the staff. They could care less who started it. Parkview’s program director, a stern man by the name of Jachimiak, had settled them both into Stoh’s office the other day and informed them their rooming assignments had been changed, effective immediately. Clearly, they were not capable of getting along enough to remain roommates. But today? Today was just not the day for this.

Lowering his attention to the book in his lap, he allowed himself a chance to avoid the conflict. He couldn’t afford bad behavior this close to the trial. There were already notes in his disciplinary folder that would no doubt be mentioned in the courtroom. It spoke to his self-control, after all. Bunch of crock that it was. As the minutes passed and nothing happened, he began to relax, allowing his focus to drift to the words on the pages.

The door slammed and his attention broke. Something must have been happening with the other block out in the rec area, because the overseers all stepped from the room, talking through their radios just outside the door. The shadow fell across his lap but a moment later and his eyes fell closed. Luck wasn’t on his side, it seemed. And of course there Rowland stood as his gaze lifted, blank and unimpressed with the teen’s stance of bravado. His chest puffed out, hands in fists at his sides. There was a nasty sneer on his face that suggested something crude and disrespectful was about to come out of his mouth. And just loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. ”So, Connors…that trial of yours is coming up. What do you think your view will be like from your next cell?”

The room went silent, expressions ranging from shocked to amused to fearful. No one had dared mention it to him. Not until now, anyway. But Flynn merely smirked as furious embers sparked beneath his skin. He slowly shut the cover of his book with a scrap of paper saving his place and tipped his head to the side, offering no words. And even Rowland knew to be cautious. A flicker of doubt passed over his face, but it was gone only a second later. Even still, he didn’t follow up with his comments and there was a moment of tense staring.

Don’t stop on account of my feelings. You clearly had something to say. So say it.” It wasn’t a request as he leaned forward, the challenge rang clear in his tone.

Rowland’s pug-like little face scrunched like he swallowed something sour. “Your feelings won’t matter when you’re sprawled out across a cot as Big Bubba’s little *****.”

The words hadn’t even fully let his mouth before Flynn lunged, his fist making contact with Rowland’s face, a sickening crunch echoing in the silence. The other teen stumbled and sprawled to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. But Flynn wasn’t finished, straddling the teen’s body as he made attempts to swing at every available stretch that he could. The hollars and cries of the other boys around them soon filled the room, egging on the fight with no concern for either party involved. Not one to be outdone in front of others, Rowland’s arm pulled back and landed against Flynn’s jaw. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he teeth were forced into his cheek, but he hardly flinched, intent on causing as much harm to Rowland as possible in what available time he had before they were broken apart. If the grunts and gasps beneath him were any indication, he wasn’t far off from just that.

All too soon, the group of boys was parted as the overseers rushed in, immediately placing their hands on both teens as they attempted to break up the scene. Flynn felt himself being pulled upwards and his struggles to escape it died, knowing well enough that resisting now would only result in further, more severe consequences. ”You’ll ******* love it, too, won’t you?” Rowland sneered through a face bathed in red as he sat up on the floor, his eyes blazing with fury and hatred.

”Bite me.” Flynn snapped, no sooner gathering all the blood and saliva from within his mouth to spit at the boy, the muted red staining his dark green jumpsuit at the collar. Before anything further could be said, he was yanked backward, the unyielding grip guiding him from the common area. They might have said something, but the roaring his ears prevented anything from registering. Instead, he watched as Rowland was pulled to his feet, gingerly touching his nose. And he felt no shame at the wince of pain he witnessed.

The last thing he saw before being forced around the corner was Ms. Stroh’s face; the disappointment written there plain as day before it vanished as she turned to address the room, directing them back to their previous activities. There was nothing more to see, after all.

****.
_______________________

”Flynn?”

He blinked, his attention shifting back to Stroh with a nod. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and he immediately looked away again, unwilling to let it make the weight deep within his chest feel any heavier. The split across his lip throbbed, a large bruise taking shape into a fierce blackish blue. The ice pack lay abandoned on the table at this side, melting with each passing second. His mouth still tasted of blood and his hand pulsed with a dull pain shooting across his knuckles. It had been nearly an hour and he’d already received the riot act from the director and his lawyer, thanks to entirely unnecessary phone call. As soon as Jachimiak deemed it through, the teen was ordered to Ms. Stroh’s office. Immediately, Connors.

“Flynn, I won’t ask how you’re doing. I think that’s pretty clear,” she continued, voice gentle and unassuming. It grated on his nerves in the worst way, his fingers twitching the rising need to lash out. To scream. Hit something. Hit someone. Again. Her endless supply of understanding was just more than he could take. “Would you like to talk about any of it?”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

She got that look then. The one that spoke to her displeasure with his decision; with furrowed brows and a twist of her lips into the slightest frown. But no further questions on the topic followed, allowing him that respect. Instead, the room fell into silence. It was suffocating, that deep set pressure within his chest intensifying. It felt too small. Even still, he never made eye contact and refused to speak. There was nothing to say.

But it must have been audible, that first crack, as everything just felt like too much. Just a little too much. Too much like the floor was about to collapse beneath his chair. Quite without his say-so, his chest deflated and a gasp of air left his lungs. It could have been the beginnings of a sob, but no tears came as he fought back that rising fear in his chest. The heavy truth that everything depended on the trial. It didn’t matter that his own lawyer was confident in the outcome, offered assurances. They were ****, of course. He didn’t know what would happen anymore than Flynn did.

“You need to channel your anger into something that can be productive for you, something healthy,” Stoh sighed, leveling Flynn with a stare he struggled not to flinch away from. It was too knowing, too...patient. “It’s not going to take the anger away, but that’s how you learn to cope with it.”

Stroh quietly observed for a moment, sensing his withdrawal. Or maybe his emotional upheaval was written clear across his face.. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “You know...they say anger has the tendency to be a secondary emotion, in that it comes second to another. The uncomfortable ones. The painful ones. But,. anger, anger feels like power, it feels like control. Problem is, it is so often the opposite and results in even harsher consequences.” She paused, expecting a response, no doubt. Still, she received no reply from the teen, every fiber within his being tensed against the onslaught of emotion that threatened to take hold. “Maybe it’s time to stop running from them.”

****.
_____________________________________________________

[[Year: 2010 - age 25]]

The smack of gloved hands meeting a weighted bag reverberated against concrete walls, echoing in each direction throughout the otherwise silent space. The small top windows allowed the last rays of sun to shine in and illuminate just enough to see by, but it honestly could have been pitch black. It wouldn’t have made a difference then, and it wouldn’t once the sun fully set and only the dimness of the street lights above kept it from being just that. Flynn didn’t need much, just enough to see the outline of his target, at least. Vigorous workouts, training, and muscle memory would account for the rest. ‘You need to channel your anger into something that can be productive for you, something healthy.’ she’d said. Years later, and the woman’s voice still rang through his head, but it had faded over time. At first, they had felt like rules. Routines that needed to be kept for his own sanity...and his freedom. Now, they were more quiet reminders on hard days. Days when everything just sort of...catches up.

Days like today.

Rather than lose attention to the echoes and sounds of the streets above, music blasted through his headphones, drowning out the noise. His focus trained to the beats in his ears, his arms moving in time with the song, throwing every withheld moment of anger out against the punching bag. It was freeing in a way, but damn did he wish it was someone’s face. Like Jeremy’s slimy little-...

A body appeared to his side, a shadow eliminating the last rays of light he’d had left in that particular area of the room. Flynn’s movements slowed briefly to glance over. A bulky man stood close by, an easy smile on his face with a mop of dark brown hair brushing over his eyes as he watched. His shirt was stretched tightly across his chest, accentuating the definition of muscle across his upper torso and shoulders. His posture was relaxed and confident, but with obvious intention in his placement. Without being addressed, the man raised his arms and gestured to the mitts he had on hand, a silent offer.

Flynn paused, taking a small step back from the bag to catch his breath and hook his headphones with the glove to pull them down from his ears. Repositioning himself, he nodded at the man on his ready and set into the new technique he’d been working on for the last several days. Neither of them spoke, but Flynn refused to give the man the satisfaction of being the first to break this silence. And in the end, he’d finished his usual routine, stepping back with a slight bounce on his toes to cool off before the man finally said, “Connors, right?”

His eyes narrowed fractionally, fairly certain very few people that utilized the space knew his name, but he didn’t deny what was the truth. There would have been little point. “Who’s asking?” he asked, voice clipped and short from his labored breathing.

The man smiled. The kind of smile Flynn himself used at bars with women. It was the type that spoke of charm, charisma. The type of smile that suggested he got what he wanted. Flynn wanted to punch it right off his attractive face, simply for the arrogance of it. And wasn’t that something? “Interested parties,” came his answer, delivered without hesitation, as if that settled that.

Flynn’s lips twitched, a dull sort of amusement lining his features. “If you can’t offer so much as a name, then you can tell your...interested parties that I’m not.” And he wasn’t. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him, potentially offering some coaching and training with that signature line ‘you got talent, kid.’ Truth was, he needed a hobby. And this one just happened to be one he could be passionate about without losing focus on his other goals. Like finishing his education to practice law and move out of this godforsaken place.

A chuckle from the man followed and he shook his head, voice lowered, “They aren’t exactly the type you talk about in a public forum. But, let’s just say that they’d had their eye on you for a little while now. Your hobbies are of...particular interest, however. Hence, why I’m here. Questions?” He paused for a second, then smiled once more. “I’m Kyson, by the way.”

No immediate response came to mind and Flynn could only look at the man for a moment as his thoughts raced to catch up what he’d been told. Such as the fact that he may, or may not, have a stalker. Potentially more than one, and potentially those that have some kind of influence to need such...secrecy. Not to mention the knowledge they seemed to possess regarding how he spent the rest of his time. And it immediately raised the question as to why? And what for?

Kyson laughed, softly, before releasing a sigh. “Ah. There it is. That...interest you were lacking before.”

Flynn’s expression twisted into a scowl. It wasn’t often someone read him so easily. The last one who managed it still plagued his thoughts with obnoxiously positive insights. Of course, this one didn’t exactly give off optimism...more like confidence. An abundance of it. A man just asking to be knocked from the high horse he rode in on. “What do you want?”

”Well, that’s an easy one. You.” Kyson replied with a simple shrug of his shoulders. ”Just...hear them out.”