Apt Pupil 2
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1 through F › Apt Pupil
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
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1,345
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Category:
1 through F › Apt Pupil
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
1,345
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Apt Pupil or any of the characters associated with it. They belong to Stephen King and Brian Singer. No money was made from this wiriting.
Chapter 13
Todd stormed into the residence, nostrils flaring and his fingernails already brutally digging their crescent moons into the palms of both hands. The burgundy and gold school jacket was whipped off his body and thrown onto the bed with movements so violent, in another set of circumstances would have one probably believing that the jacket had boldly insulted his mother (perhaps with one of those witty Stephen King-isms such as “your mother sucks hard ones”).
Across the room, perched upon his own bed, Chris gave no reaction. The pages on his lap turned steadily, his mouth forming words with exhilarating speed. This lack of response did nothing to improve Todd’s mood and, much like a spoiled toddler, his anger shifted targets from Pamela to Chris.
He reached out, smacking the book from Chris’ hands to the floor. Chris looked up, face already flushed with anger. He was on his feet in a second, hands balled at his sides and ready to swing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Todd, his own eyes flashing, glared at him, daring him to punch. Chris uses all of his will power to relax his fists. They almost refuse and, despite the loud protests from the rational side of his brain, they itch to blacken at least one of Todd’s pretty blue eyes. In the end, a fist does shoot out, landing on the side of Chris’ face. The complexion bursts into a flaming red patch. Chris’ own rage unleashed, he hits back, hard. The result is a full-fledged fistfight.
In minutes the assigned R.A. was in the room, whistle blowing and arms waving. The whistle let out three short ear-blasting rounds, spittle flying with the force of his blows. Someone, Todd or Chris, yells for him to shut up, but the demand was barely heard, interrupted by one last blast before the whistle fell from the student’s lips.
“I’m writing both of you up.” The words broke the silence that hadn’t really had a chance to settle, “And don’t think that I’m not serious.”
He pushed his glasses up his acne-scarred nose before scurrying toward the still open door. He stopped once, pushing his glasses again, eyes taking note of their room number. Pulling a thick pad from his back pocket, he ripped the pen from behind his ear and used it to noisily scratch the numbers down. Then, with a look of smug self-satisfaction, he continued his journey back to his own room and the pile of Playgirl magazines he snatched from his sister’s closet over Christmas break.
Behind him, Todd and Chris waited for him to leave, sharing identical looks of amusement and disgust. As soon as “Snivel” Shively left, Chris let out a short bark of laughter.
“I’m writing both of you up!” His voice took on a slightly higher pitch and he reached up, hand moving as if to push an invisible pair of eyeglasses back into place. After this movement, the illusion broke. The high-pitched mimicry giving way to another laugh, “Man, that guy is a dick.”
Todd nodded in agreement, their uneasy friendship rekindled.
Across the room, perched upon his own bed, Chris gave no reaction. The pages on his lap turned steadily, his mouth forming words with exhilarating speed. This lack of response did nothing to improve Todd’s mood and, much like a spoiled toddler, his anger shifted targets from Pamela to Chris.
He reached out, smacking the book from Chris’ hands to the floor. Chris looked up, face already flushed with anger. He was on his feet in a second, hands balled at his sides and ready to swing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Todd, his own eyes flashing, glared at him, daring him to punch. Chris uses all of his will power to relax his fists. They almost refuse and, despite the loud protests from the rational side of his brain, they itch to blacken at least one of Todd’s pretty blue eyes. In the end, a fist does shoot out, landing on the side of Chris’ face. The complexion bursts into a flaming red patch. Chris’ own rage unleashed, he hits back, hard. The result is a full-fledged fistfight.
In minutes the assigned R.A. was in the room, whistle blowing and arms waving. The whistle let out three short ear-blasting rounds, spittle flying with the force of his blows. Someone, Todd or Chris, yells for him to shut up, but the demand was barely heard, interrupted by one last blast before the whistle fell from the student’s lips.
“I’m writing both of you up.” The words broke the silence that hadn’t really had a chance to settle, “And don’t think that I’m not serious.”
He pushed his glasses up his acne-scarred nose before scurrying toward the still open door. He stopped once, pushing his glasses again, eyes taking note of their room number. Pulling a thick pad from his back pocket, he ripped the pen from behind his ear and used it to noisily scratch the numbers down. Then, with a look of smug self-satisfaction, he continued his journey back to his own room and the pile of Playgirl magazines he snatched from his sister’s closet over Christmas break.
Behind him, Todd and Chris waited for him to leave, sharing identical looks of amusement and disgust. As soon as “Snivel” Shively left, Chris let out a short bark of laughter.
“I’m writing both of you up!” His voice took on a slightly higher pitch and he reached up, hand moving as if to push an invisible pair of eyeglasses back into place. After this movement, the illusion broke. The high-pitched mimicry giving way to another laugh, “Man, that guy is a dick.”
Todd nodded in agreement, their uneasy friendship rekindled.