My Responsibility (Aspire Academy #1)

Chapter 1. Liam

I thought my life would be over when my mom killed herself, but, surprise, surprise, I’m still here.

I was too little to really remember it all.

I didn’t see her; it was my dad who found her in their bathroom.

I don’t even know how she did it. Now I’m still clueless, and I kinda wanna keep it that way.

My head is fucked up enough. I’ve had these dreams where I’m the one finding her, and man, they mess with my head for hours after I wake up.

It never gets easier, but over time, I’ve kinda figured out how to cope.

But here I am, standing in front of the judge, listening to my lawyer go on about why I did those stupid crimes, and I realize maybe my coping methods aren’t top-notch.

My lawyer tells the whole story about my mom, and how my dad, despite being a hardworking guy who loves me a lot, turned to booze to keep going.

He argues that, even though I’m eighteen, throwing me in some random jail wouldn’t do anything good for anybody, not for me, not for society.

He lists off my collection of issues, depression, ADHD, anxiety, eating disorders, and a whole bunch of other fun stuff. Trash-talks me as much as he can.

I just stand there in silence, squeezed into a suit that is way too tight, feeling the tie strangling me.

Despite that, when I check myself out in the mirror this morning, shaved sides, black hair, blue eyes, neck tattoos, all suited up, I feel pretty sharp.

Probably the last time I dress up before swapping for a prison uniform, so might as well look good, right?

As my lawyer keeps talking, I can’t help but think, man, I’m paying this guy to fucking destroy me when I can do that myself for free.

“Your Honor, permit me to clarify: my client is neither a mastermind nor a sophisticated criminal orchestrating a big event.”

Jeez, thanks. I bet I COULD be a sophisticated criminal orchestrating a big event if I WANTED to.

“He is, rather, an ordinary individual who has become unwittingly entangled in this unfortunate affair.”

Although I only understand 60% of my lawyer’s vocab, I know it sounds bad.

My dad isn't enjoying the family exposé either. He sits back there looking all tense, rubbing his face, breathing heavily. His thinning hair has bailed on him more over the past few days, making him look balder and more fragile. He slumps a bit, like life is just too heavy, with bags under his tired brown eyes, and his mustache going in all directions. He’s kept me out of juvie and every other institution they wanted to throw me in for all these years, except for a few visits in the psych ward, but crashing into a cop car while drunk driving?

I’m not even of legal drinking age, although this is the biggest bullshit in this country.

Even I have to admit I’ve really gone off the deep end. But man, drunk driving is a thrill, especially flirting with the danger of dying any minute. Maybe Mom and I aren’t so different after all.

Then, it’s time. I’m told to stand up as the judge is about to lay down my fate. C’mon, judge, be cool, I think, crossing my fingers behind my back like I’ve done since I was a little kid.

Deep down, I’ve always figured jail was in the cards but facing it for real sucks.

My life isn't that bad. I have my games, McDonald’s, and I like to listen to music all day in bed, jerking off and napping, then going to the skate park at night.

I have some friends who are as fucked up in the head as me, and we love to hang out.

I have weed and I'm young. Going to jail will fuck me up.

Oh, well. Kinda late to think about that.

"The Court hereby imposes upon the defendant an alternative sentence of confinement within a restricted institutional setting, subject to the possibility of supervised release upon satisfactory completion of programmatic requirements.

Said institution shall be Aspire Academy, wherein the defendant is directed to participate in therapeutic interventions and pursue educational credentials.

The defendant's eligibility for parole or commutation of sentence shall be contingent upon the successful fulfillment and exemplary performance in said program, as determined by the qualified professionals tasked with his evaluation and oversight therein. "

What?

The judge hammers down, and everyone starts wrapping up. I look over at my dad, who is furrowing his brow but nodding. Seems like everyone gets the deal but me.

"Is this like jail or the psych ward?" I ask, more to myself, as no one else listens to me. A bald cop comes up and puts his hand on my shoulder. They’re about to take me away; I know this can happen. So, technically, I’m ready, but still, my stomach does a flip, and I wave at my dad, who waves back, almost in tears.

My dad doesn't deserve a son like me and a wife like my mom. My lawyer is heading over to him to chat. The cop doesn't cuff me; he’s counting on my cooperation. I’m a little disappointed.

I was at least expecting to be cuffed, the whole kinky deal.

Maybe he’s the good cop, still believing he can help troubled youth.

I dunno, but I don’t resist. A little twink like me resisting the police wouldn’t end well.

The thought makes me chuckle.

I walk out with him to a white van marked "Penitentiary System" on the side, get in the back, where a metal grille separates me from the driver's seat.

Another guard sits with me but doesn't say a word. Clearly, they deal with way tougher cases on a daily basis. I wish I at least looked a little tougher, but I’m aware of how I look just like a boy.

Well, at least going to jail is pretty badass for a boy.

We drive for a while until we reach a place that looks a lot like a prison.

There is barbed wire on top of the walls, and a big sign says, "Aspire Academy, Therapeutic Higher Education Institution.

" Not a prison, more like a mix between a prison, a college, and a psych hospital. Did the judge say I had to get a degree, or did I imagine that? I hate studying, and as my own lawyer told the judge, my brain is too messed up for that. I finished high school online after I couldn’t stand showing up anymore.

My poor dad always tried to help, agreed to let me drop out because he thought my trauma stopped me from doing stuff.

He always looked for a fix. I always messed it up.

Maybe I’m feeling too sentimental with everything going on, but maybe a chance to stop being a screw-up is actually a good thing.

I’ve been to the police station a few times, and arriving at the academy feels pretty similar.

We go into an admin wing where I have to sign loads of papers without reading, give my fingerprints, take a pic, and then they tell me to change into the institution's uniform and leave all my personal stuff behind, even my phone. I do what I’m told like the good little boy I am, except for the whole jail thing, of course.

I’m not thrilled about the uniform: gray sweatpants, a black tee, plus a black sweatshirt on top, no hood, no pockets, with the academy's name on the front; white briefs, PJs, and some workout shorts.

Get two of each of those, plus deodorant, a toothbrush, and all of these fun things.

Luckily, they don't do any strip searches or anything, so I stash the bag of weed I’ve brought for emergencies under my sock, step into my shoes, and press down.

It could be worse; the uniform could be all orange or all drab.

I think I don’t look too bad, plus I still have my weed.

They pat me down to make sure I've left my phone and stuff behind, but I don't have to remove the shoes, so score.

They tell me to wait in the hallway outside the admin area.

Someone will come for me. No guard stays with me, though, so they are pretty confident I won't bolt. Then again, maybe this place isn’t really like a prison.

The hallway has huge windows, no bars or anything, overlooking an inner courtyard.

I realize I’m in the middle of a square-shaped block, with the courtyard in between the buildings, and I can’t see outside.

Maybe they don’t bother keeping someone with me because they know there is no escape.

At least, the inner yard has a soccer court and a big shady tree.

The walls are painted a nasty green, almost gray, but I don’t mind. Definitely better than jail.

This older man and a guy who looks about my age, or maybe just a bit older, show up.

The older man has gray hair, is lean but still kinda buff, and wears a white shirt with "Staff" written on it in big red letters.

He has green eyes and a neatly trimmed beard.

He definitely looks like a Daddy of sorts, but I control my dick.

The other dude, though, is totally, absolutely, God-tier level hot.

Way taller than me, with broad shoulders and muscles that make his black tee look a size too small, clinging to his arms and abs.

He has short, brown hair, bright green eyes, and a JAWLINE.

Not a jawline, a JAWLINE. Plus, a bunch of cute freckles on his nose and cheeks.

MAN, if we weren’t here, I’d totally hit on him and see if he'd be up for some fun.

But he probably wouldn't go for a screw-up like me. He looks like one of those straight-A students who tops every class and probably aces athletics, too. But then again, he’s here too, so maybe he isn’t as perfect as he looks.

He’s wearing khaki pants with a belt, looking all neat and put-together compared to my sweats.

Anyway, I figure I’ll see if I can get something going with him later. Make a mental note of it. I mean, I might be a thief, gay, and a stoner, but I’m also pretty damn hot, if I do say so myself.