Anger Management PV Scott Alexander Closed

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"Wh-where are you g-going?"
"Nowhere, Alan."
"N-nowhere?"
"Out! Ok? To the grounds."
"Oh. A-alright. When will you be b-back?"
"How should I know."
"Right... B-be careful."
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He wouldn't have recognised himself. Not in the mirror, not by the voice with which he spoke to Alan before he left their dormitory, and not by the feeling in his chest. Nothing about Scott, felt like Scott today. And for someone who'd always been at least a bit happy with themselves, this was very unfortunate.

Instead, he felt like someone else. Someone both older and younger than him. Somebody who knew annoyingly little, and yet uncomfortably much... Twitchy, erratic and infinitely done with this school year.

He felt fourteen.

And in this confusion, Scott had left the castle behind him. He'd been quick about his steps, and with flailing arms he'd entered the small, bright wood closer to the lake than the grounds' cabin... Twigs and branches would break under his heavy steps, and ones still alive would graze his face as he rushed past them through thickets.

Scott had been on many walks through the grounds during his time at school. He knew perfectly well this wasn't the best way to get anywhere.

As he got to a particular spinney, a piece of more open ground where a tree had fallen and kept any large vegetation from growing since some time ago, Scott stopped. Only now, faced as he was by the quiet of the grove and the mocking beauty of the nature around him, did the boy realise he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He'd been rude, that was true, but also truthful when he'd spoken to Alan: he was going nowhere. And he'd gone nowhere with his mind so full of raging memories that he could barely contain himself anymore.

I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave...

Releasing the breath he'd been holding with a dissatisfied grunt Scott reached towards the ground, grabbing whatever lay closest and heaving it into the air before him without aiming at anything in particular. And the rock flew. And it felt good... He could see it. He could point to where it landed. He knew where it came from.

It's for your own good.

He grabbed another. He was standing on top of a lot of small stones, it seemed, and as the last one had hit a tree right on Scott aimed to hit it once more. It had made a noise. One of the absolute worst things about his anger right now was that it didn't make any noise. All good things make noises.

Go write to your mummy about it, why won't you? Stop bothering everyone.

And another. Feeling his breath force its way up and down his throat quicker and quicker and beyond his own control, Scott jerked his arm forwards and let the rock fly out of his hand as far as it could. With every throw, it was as if his hand was convincing him he'd be tossing something else away, too- something far more nasty. But it remained.

"Y'know, for a tall person, you have a really bad aim. I don't think you'd ever make it to the NBA."

The boy didn't turn around, nor did he jump at the sound of the girl's voice from behind him. Instead, he simply froze where he stood, about to reach down for another rock but stopping himself before his knees bent.

He couldn't see the girl, partly because she was behind him and partly because his eyes had shut in exhasepration, but by the sound of it she was making her way closer to him over the twigs on the ground- emerging from between the thicker line of trees and entering the grove. Scott did not want her here. And the familiarity of the Scottish accent didn't particularly help...

This wasn't the first time she'd teased him, was it?

"You don't seem like the violent type, though. What'd that tree do to you? Huh?"

At these words, Scott caught a glimpse of a small, round stone flying passed his head landing over his pile after hitting a branch of the tree before him.

"Okay, at least I can use being short as an excuse. Here,"

A determined tap on his shoulder made the dishevelled boy spin around on the spot and face Marla furiously.

Scott had only caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror after their last lesson of the day, before he'd left Alan in that rude fashion in the dormitory. He knew how he looked. He knew that his cheeks were flushed, that his shirt was wrinkly from the way he'd thrown his robes off him in the previous heat, and that his hair stood on end.

Well, it stood on end by Scott's usual standards. A strand was loose.

The short brunette before him was holding her hand out, and in it lay a pair of gloves. They were his own gloves, his old black dragon skin ones, but staring at them now it must've been obvious to her that Scott was too dazed to recognise them...

"So, what's the deal with you? Someone take your... Hat?"

Still staring into her hand, Scott said nothing yet. He was breathing heavily, but if he wasn't then he'd have locked his mouth shut.

He'd been rude enough to Alan. And it had scared him.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in my two years here ever actually like, upset. So if you are and I'm not crazy, it has to be pretty rough."

Not listening. Staying quiet. But is was difficult, wasn't it? Because the mean little Scotswoman was onto something. The something that was making this all so much more difficult for him: the newness of these feelings... The fact that he knew nothing about them, the fact that he had no idea what to do with them, and the fact that this wasn't the person people knew him to be.

"You kinda have to go to the right of where you're aiming to hit it, at least in my experience as a chaser. Try it."

But right then, as if the girl taking a small step next to him to demonstrate her own throw had flipped a switch within the poor boy's head, he grabbed his gloves from her free hand and yelled:

"Don't! Alright? Don't! Don't tell me how to do things, don't try and teach me how to do things, and for the love of God don't do it with that accent."

He'd had enough of it, and from enough people.

Ami was telling him he was a coward, that he was naive, and that he wasn't handling his own brother right. Meanwhile his brother was telling him he was spoiled, that he was worthless, and that he couldn't even handle himself right if he tried.

So Scott didn't feel like trying anymore. He'd come this far, hadn't he? He'd managed to make friends, just the way he was. He'd managed to get O's, just the way he was.

The rocks may not be hitting the tree, but they were flying.

"Because I don't need you to, alright? I don't need anyone to! You could've been the chaser for the goddamn Ballycastle Bats, for all I care- throw your own rocks."