Playing King ~ Mormor

Counselling

Monday soon rolled around, and that morning Jim sat alone at the breakfast table, a slice of heavily-buttered toast gripped tightly in one hand as he tugged irritably at his school blazer with the other. The Irish boy had school straight after his counselling sessions so to his disgust, Carol had made him dress into his uniform beforehand - a horribly posh private school uniform, complete with blazer, shorts, jumper, and a tie, with the golden school crest displaying brightly. Jim was smarter than the rest of the children in the home and had won a scholarship at the local private school. The dark-haired boy took a bite of toast just as some of the older kids approached him, gazing down on him, almost like an exhibit in a zoo.
"Where are you off to this morning then freak?" The first, a rather tall and intimidating boy named Carl Powers demanded, turning to the two others boy and laughing loudly.
"Well you see Carl I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Jim explained, un-phased, as he spun around on his chair to face the trio.
"Although I'm going to do that anyway so I suppose it doesn't matter."

The smile immediately dropped from Carl's face as he rounded on the smaller boy, scooping him up by his shirt and slamming his against the wall, causing Jim to wince in pain, his plate of food clattering to the ground.
"What did you say to me?" He hissed, his face pressed right up against the Irish boy's.
Jim smirked for a moment before quickly shaking his head.
"My my Carl," he complained in his thick accent.
"You really need a mint, your breath is very unpleasant."
The punch was no surprise to Jim. The older boy swung his fist towards the boy's face as it smashed straight into his nose, a spurt of blood dribbling down his face and his cheek. He let out a small cry of agony as he slumped down against the wall as the three boys quickly scattered. Normally, Jim would have immediately retaliated - when these things had happened before he would threaten them, sometimes even with knives; however today was different, he just let it slip away.He made his way sulkily over to the sink and began to wash the now-dry blood from his face and nose before slipping on a hoodie and grabbing his school-bag from the hallway. His first counselling session began at 9am and it was a twenty minute journey. This morning he was trusted to walk alone to the clinic, and if he misbehaved then there would be, as Carol had put it, "severe consequences". The Irish boy opened the front door cautiously, as not to attract any unwanted noise, as he made his way outside onto the pavement and glanced around for a nearby taxi rank. Luckily, after a few minutes he found one tucked away by the local park and got into the back seat, reluctantly giving the address as he gazed out of the window.

The clinic was surprising empty as Jim arrived a few minutes early, the only other people outside were a tall skinny boy with wild curly-hair accompanied by a rather larger, older-looking boy, both in a heated argument. He hastily pushed past them both as he headed through the double doors and down the hallway, looking around for his counselling room. Eventually, he found it; it was a large room with a circle of leather chairs complete with a clean, white rug in the centre. Unsure what to do, he quickly to a seat on the nearest chair as the rest of the teenagers began to flock inside. The last to arrive was a rather tall, muscular boy, with a mop of blonde hair and sharp, blue eyes. He took a seat opposite from Jim, bowing his head almost uncomfortably as their counsellor, a slender, tall man in a baggy jumper with strawberry blonde hair arrived, taking a seat in the middle as he glanced around at all of the new faces.

"Okay so good morning everyone," he began, facing the bored crowd hopefully.
"My name's Mark, and I'm going to be your counsellor for the next few months.."
the Irish boy wasn't listening to any of this however, he was fixed on the blonde boy in front of him, who was slumped back against his chair with his arms now folded.
"Now, to start why don't we all take turns to introduce ourselves, okay who wants to start?"
For a few minutes, Mark went around the room as different people all took their turns standing up and giving some background info about themselves. Some were drug addicts, smokers, whilst others had different problems, like OCD and bipolar disorder. One of the last to go was the curly-haired boy that Jim had seen arguing outside. He was stick thin and rather lanky, with a pale complex and bright green eyes.
"Sherlock Holmes," he muttered moodily, getting slowly to his feet and folding his arms.
"I'm only here because my idiot brother forced me to go."
There were a few chuckles from around the room as Mark cleared his throat.
"And why are you here?"
Sherlock bit his lip before scowling slightly.
"I have an eating disorder," he huffed impatiently as he quickly took a seat, his face growing red with embarrassment. The counsellor nodded before turning his attention to the Irish boy.
"And the final two."

Jim sunk slightly in his chair for a moment as he watched as the sea of eyes all turned to face him. Slowly, he got to his feet.
"I'm Jim Moriarty," he declared loudly, glaring around at the intrigued crowd.
"And I'm here because of my psychopathic behaviour and suicidal tendencies."
Many of the other teenagers gave a small, dismissive nod as Jim sat back down, and he could've sworn that the blonde boy gave a disapproving tut. However, it was finally his own turn and carefully he got to his feet, staring at his shoes as he spoke.
"Sebastian Moran," he addressed the others, his voice deep yet quiet.
"And I have anger issues."

Sebastian Moran, Jim would remember that name.