He failed his first test.
He is failing all his classes, and he can't understand why this is happening. He is an advanced student.
A top student, his GPA being top five in the whole country, and yet, here, he's failing comically.
Today's test was simple.
He spent the whole of last night studying for it since the professor had specified the area they would be tested ad yet, yet when he looked at the paper this morning, all set and even lined his pens and pencils ready for it, he couldn't understand a single question.
He had studied for it, he still feels tired, and yet here he is.
Terrified.
The first year is not at all what he thought it would be. Hell, first week in and he is already feeling the crushing weight of being in a highly demanding major, but if there is anything day thrives in, it is pressure.
A good challenge to make his blood come alive, and to get that high credit score, so that he will gloat and also get validated.
He needs and lives for validation; he can admit as much. He doesn't have much to show but this, this is all he had, and he is going to study all night if that's what it takes.
But first, he needs to go to the dean and say hello, as his mother insisted yesterday in their daily calls when she checked in. She wasn't very happy to know that day still hasn't made any contact with the dean yet.
Doesn't help that his parents had dinner with the man before day came in, where he got to hear all about the top students who made it so far in their careers and now sit in the top seats in firms and all major corporations.
He still needs to check in and say he is here. As if the man can't check his report in the damn system.
Day smiles at the secretary, who shows him to the dean's mahogany door and tells him that he is ready for him.
It's stuffy. Exactly what he expected of old men seated on their desks all day and day wants to get out as soon as he steps in, but-
"Day, how are you, son?"
"I am good, how are you?" Day bows respectfully, his charming smile adorning his face. His mother once had him practice in front of the mirror until he got it right. The kind that makes his face look gentle, and his eyes sparkle, naturally.
It was his coming-out ball, and he had to win so that he would get more important suitors.
"Your mother told me all about your medical emergency. Are you feeling better now? I hope the city isn't harsh on you."
"I am good now, thank you for asking. I was distressed that I wouldn't be here on the official starting day, but thank you for understanding me. I will try to be more careful in the future."
"Oh, don't worry about that," the man laughs, and his round belly shakes.
"Here we don't admonish students for missing classes, although it's frowned upon. But it's an unspoken rule if they want to continue studying here, of course. The scores on all your tests determine if you will remain here and enjoy what the school has to offer, or you will step aside and let someone else take your place."
Day can feel his hands start to sweat. Is his place going to be taken by some other top-notch student because he is failing and can't understand a single thing?
"But some students also don't have to worry about such things, and you are among them," the dean shifts in his chair, eyes settling on Day.
"Your parents told me of your desire to attend this school. They admire your enthusiasm, although they know that it's only to pass the time. I assume your position in your family is already set."
What?
"I admire the thrill of wanting to venture into such deep waters. You came here for fun, so have it. I can relate to your parents on so many levels. I humor my son, too, when he says that he wants to try some high-adrenaline sport, too. It's good to give the kids what they want and reduce the headaches that come with telling them no-"
Are they humoring him by allowing him to come here?
So it wasn't about believing that he can do it, or that he has the brains and energy to pursue such a demanding major. Apparently, it's to keep him happy and busy before he is called home to marry Marcus.
It all makes sense. All the comments about making him loosen up, make him have fun now that he is here … day can't believe it. All his hopes and views on the matter were getting chattered in a million pieces.
He doesn't even hear what the dean says, and soon after he has bid the man goodbye, he is standing frozen just outside the office, the empty corridors giving him small solace, space, for him to fall apart before he has to step out of the doors and be faced with what a joke he is.
It's all he seems to be, lately. He is a joke to these people. His parents, his boyfriend, how he is sure is fucking the girl, he had him shake her hand and smile and talk … gods….
Everyone seems to be holding him and treating him like this fragile vase, humoring him before they fix him in the box he is apparently meant to be.
It comes so hard. The anger he has had for a very long time. It's hot, smoldering him until his ears ring.
No wonder he is failing his tests. Did that fucking tutor even help him prepare for college, or was she just there to feed him bullshit? Day is so angry, feeling so lost in it, he feels like he will burst.
Gripping the bag that carries so many textbooks reminds him that all his efforts will be seen as cute, nonsensical. Useless to all the people who should take him seriously. To the people that matter to him.
"fuck," Day whispers, eyes closed as he grits his teeth until they start to ache. Probably the first time he has cursed out loud, too.
He has been perfect all his life. Forced to be, because there is no room for imperfection. Not in front of his mother. Not in front of the mirror. He has been told to be admirable, the most beautiful, the most elegant, the most desirable, the most, most, most ….
He is tired of it all.
He did come here to find himself.
Determination settles in, and he raises his head. Fine, if that's how it is, so be it.
He is done.
His eyes fall on the beautiful, large vase of flowers that sits prettily by the door, with glass doors to enlighten the space. He feels like that vase.
Empty, just seated there, to be seen.
He doesn't blink as he walks over to it and stands there, just staring at it. Then, his hand extends, and his fingers don't tremble; not when he pushes the vase, and it shatters loudly on the floor, breaking and the flowers all splattering on the floor.
Walking away has never felt so good as he feels right now.
He pushes the doors without even a second glance at the mess he has left. His first mess, his first fit, and he is damn proud.
He was supposed to head to another class, but apparently, everyone seems to have a single mind when it comes to him.
Day giggles when he passes the gates, onto the streets.
He is going to shop, blow his parents' money, and then go home and sleep. Why worry, why stress when everything is going to be handed to you?
Why restrict and bend over backwards to a reality that'll only crush you to finer course the more you try to be the change?
He hasn't read fiction in years. All he has been allowed to read for years, since his first copy of Harry Potter was confiscated by his parents, is textbooks in preparation for college.
What a joke!
He has a black card, loaded and ready to be swiped. And this time, he is getting all the things he has always craved but stopped.
He is about to fill his shelf with erotica.
Fuck what everyone thinks. He is going to have a blast, and when he is dragged back home, at least he will have these memories to keep him warm on cold nights.