DREAD - chp 1

Hi lovelies! I hope you're all well today.

Here's chapter one. I really hope you love this story! I've actually posted this story before, but removed it because I hadn't really been able to communicate my thoughts through my writing.

Hope you enjoy!

Q : what's your favourite colour ?

A : i love orange and red lots

Charlie POV

Everything was so loud, so bright, and horribly warm.

Three things he hated the most.

And three things that a school cannot be without. Bodies huddled together as students squeeze their way to their next class. Bright, white fluorescent lights cast down on the students, and murmurs that quickly grow into shouts as overlapping chatter makes it impossible to hold a quiet conversation.

The warmth was seeping into his every pores, his binder suffocating around his chest as he curled up and hugged himself, whimpering a little as he got jostled around.

This hell that is school.

He's never been able to ignore things like these. They mess with the deepest part of his brain, creating such an intense pressure that he feels suffocated, trapped, and lost.

Adding anxiety, all these feelings are more than amplified with each passing second as he tries to make his way to his class.

Something was on the back of his mind; something that brought dread, pain, and sweat just thinking about it.

The Classification Test.

The test was to be tonight. Each homeroom had a designated time slot for the test, and his happened to be at around 7:00 that evening.

It didn't take an expert for him to know his classification, though. Anyone could see it.

He loves things that most people his age disregard, such as toys, pacifiers, and blankets. He gets overwhelmed easily, and cries at almost everything. He's sensitive to the point that everything in existence can only bring tears and puffy eyes.

He prayed it would not remain that way for the rest of his life.

Maybe.. maybe he would find someone. Someone to hold him, to give him stickers every time he accomplished something, no matter how minor. Someone who would kiss him and tell him it's alright when the world seemed to turn its back on him.

All he wished for was someone to hold him, and care for him no matter what he identified as.

It felt impossible.

No one would want him. He was an effeminate boy, a bit chubby at that. His cheeks were plump with some freckles scattered about, thighs and arms flabby, and eyes slightly sunken in with dark circles under them. His lips were rugged, and in some places, raw from the constant biting he did. A bad nervous habit of his. His auburn-brown hair was neatly fluffy and his deep bangs hid his eyes from the world, something he was immensely grateful for.

His face looked tired, as it always did. His mother had always expected a lot out of him; to do chores, to make food, to have high achieving grades, all the while being social. Most of these were things he did not excel at.

His grades were good, of course. That was the one thing he prided himself on. Usually, he was at the top of his classes, gaining attention, often negative, from the competing high achieving students. His food, however, was often dry, lacking in taste, and his social needs were very quickly met, so he didn't socialize much as his mother wanted him to as it quickly drained him of any remaining energy. That's why he didn't have too many friends, but he was content with that.

He didn't need friends, all he needed were his plushies and his mind.

Regardless, his classification was easy to pin down.

A Little.

Maybe also a Pet classification. His wolf was rather needy, to say the least.

Double classifications certainly weren't common, but they weren't impossible either. As a werewolf, that was a part of himself that he could not hide. The urge to lay down, curl up in his own body heat and have someone pet him, cuddle him, feed him, and love him. To turn back to raw animalistic feelings in a controlled manner, with someone to groom his fur and boop his snoot.

What was the point of overthinking this situation? He already knew the answer. Pet or not, he was most definitely a Little. And with that classification in mind, he would lose any hope at autonomy.

His mother would most likely kick him out, and he would end up on the streets or in a shelter for Littles or Pets struggling.

As much as his mother loved him - often very tough love - she explicitly stated that she did not want a regresee as a son, or as a daughter, she frequently pointed out. Despite everything he did for her, he knew that she would very briefly hesitate before kicking him out and leaving him to fend for himself as a hopeless 18 year old.

Surely his mother wouldn't kick him out, though.. right?

He shook his head and sighed as he eventually reached his classroom. G203. He was eight minutes late, but that didn't matter. He had waited out the crowded halls so he wasn't being pushed in every direction, or tripped on. The smells.. sweaty athletes, girls with too much perfume, men with too much cologne. The constant buzzing of conversations right next to his ears, and the occasional shout or rustles of bags.. it was all too much for his sensitive senses.

His numerous apologies were drowned out by the noise, which left him feeling guilty for running into someone, or even for being bumped into. He always felt it was his fault.

He carefully opens the door, being weary of the squeaky hinges that accompanied the doors movements.

Mrs. Sully looks at him from her position near the chalkboard, chalk in hand and a frown on her face.

"You're late, Charlie." She looked much more concerned at his appearance than at the fact that he was late. He had been in her classes for many years, and they had formed a nice bond. She was the mother-figure that he never had.

On the board was the beginning of the lesson on what to expect at the Classification Tests tonight; how to react, the process, the results, ect.

He bit his bottom lip, that horrible habit of his. He let his hair cascade in front of his eyes, shielding him from the gazes he sensed the students were giving him. In an attempt to ground himself, he smoothed out the fabric of his pastel blue sweatshirt, making sure the collars of his button up shirt were nice and flat as he took a second to compose himself by the door.

(without the design)

"Sorry.." He hurried to his seat as to not disrupt the lesson any further. He got his notebook out, prepared to take notes if he needed to. He already knew a lot when it came to Classification Testing because of the intense anxiety he would feel if he didn't know everything about a situation he was facing, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he tuned out the lesson to focus on his much more negative thoughts.

'I wouldn't say I'm doing this willingly', he thought.

He was being forced to do this by the government.

He shakes his head and ruffles his hair out, grunting a bit as he sinks into his chair, laying his head down on his desk.

"Alright, well.. Can anyone remind me of the classifications that people fall into?" Mrs. Sully looked around the room as hands raise, then picks on a boy two seats in front of Charlie. "Go ahead, Liam." Charlie peeked out from his position, with his arms flat against the desk and his head tucked in it.

Woah.. he's really, really pretty today.. like, totally more handsome than usual. Wait, was that a rude thing to think? Charlie grumbled quietly.

He found himself blushing, taken aback and surprised by his thoughts, though he was not wrong. Liam had light tan skin with some stubble coming through on his jaw, chin, and upper lip. He had gorgeous black hair with a streak of dyed white in the front. He had a more feminine physics, definitely not as buff as the others in their class.

'A masculine type of beautiful..' he thought, softening his tense posture a bit. Something about Liam had always done that to him. The many times they talked to each other, they had both been at a loss for words, seeming to share conversations through the eyes when one would catch the other looking. Liam often invited him to play during physical education classes, even if he wasn't the best at sports.

"There are 5 classifications, miss! Pet and Handler, Little and Caregiver, and Neutrals." He wore a bright, goofy grin as he raised a finger while listing each classification.

"Very good, Liam. Thank you." Mrs. Sully smiled as she wrote that down on the board. "Remember that these classifications are there to help identify which headspace a person may feel most comfortable in. It is also important to remember to never, ever judge. Each classification is valid

Now.. can someone explain to me what a Neutral is?" She looked around the classroom and sighs as she sees Connor, the class clown, being well..

He was squatting on his chair, his hand raised up high like a toddler and a scrunched up expression on his face of pure concentration as he extended his arm the highest he could. Higher than everyone else, of course. Liam, next to him, was poking at his side and cackling, loving the attention that Connor would bring to their place in the room.

"Connor, sit in your chair properly, please. Liam, quit it. And yes, you may answer the question." Mrs. Sully sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. He was certainly something to deal with, and Charlie was glad he had not had a run in with him. He felt as though Connor would judge him..

Connor grinned and settled down, though he was still squatting on the chair. He was a lot more muscular than Liam, though he was shorter than him when they both stood up. His muscle mass came from the many sports he played, and the hassle of being in 4 sports clubs. He was a jock, sure, but not a mean one. Nobody likes mean jocks.

Charlie was definitely not interested in that life.

"Well, ma'am, Neutrals don't fit into any classification as they don't actually experience the slip into headspace." He looked very proud of himself, and as he finished his statement, he turned to Liam and whispered something to him. Liam laughs, his goofy grin right back on his face as he ruffles around Connor's hair.

'That laugh was so'.. He felt himself blushing and quickly put his head back down on the desk with his arms around him, blocking everything out to calm himself. Gosh, he is so handsome. Inner dialogue, stop being so in love!

Being gay was mostly accepted, of course, but he really didn't want to give them a reason to pick on him more than they do. Some people looked down on him because of his, well, very obvious classification. Some even babied him when he looked lost and scared. He didn't mind, but that sometimes made him really uncomfortable.

'I only like it when Liam cares for me. He's nice..' he thought shyly. 'Yeah.. he's really nice.' His wolf seemed to agree as it yipped in his head.

"Connor, is there something you would like to add to the class?" Mrs. Sully looked at him with a scowl. Oh dear, a scowl.

Liam snickered while Connor held up his hands in surrender. "No ma'am, we're all good here." He was clearly riling up the teacher, teeth showing in a teasing grin. He even winked at her! How bashful.

Mrs. Sully sighed and continued on with the lesson, letting us know all there was to the Classification Tests and making sure we were all prepared, then explaining the times that everyone had to show up to the Classification Center, and the proper attire.

No one was gonna listen to the dress code outside of school.

She talked about the possibility of meeting with a psychologist, if results were worrisome, out of the norm, and if there was a classification that seemed forced. The system was put in place with the idea of honesty engrained in it. If you weren't honest, then you wouldn't get the classification you actually were, and that could lead to issues in the future when meeting lovers, caregivers, or regressees. Even future treatment in hospitals or in therapy could be affected by this. Important stuff.

Talking about himself was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, and having to do with someone he barely knew – like a psychologist – scared him. He had a lot of things to talk about, but not to a stranger. If the situation ever arose where he was faced with a psychologist, he would stay quiet and wallow in his little bubble of pity and shame.

His mother would be very angry if his classification proved to be a challenge. She wanted him to be a Neutral, to be normal, as she called it.

She was a Neutral. They both knew, however, that Charlie was not.

These days leading up to the Test, his mother gave him no time to himself. He knew she hated it when he regressed, even if it was partially.

He prayed, albeit it worthlessly, to be a Neutral. His life would be so much more normal, and so much better.

WC : 2245