Apt Pupil 2
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Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
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1,333
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Category:
1 through F › Apt Pupil
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
21
Views:
1,333
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 2
Todd didn’t like his roommate from the moment he first laid eyes on him. Another first year student, Chris was never going to amount to anything but another pot smoking asshole as far as Todd could see. But he hid his disgust, carefully keeping his face blank. His left eyelid ticked only as his own father was leaving.
“I have the feeling that the two of you are going to get along alright.” Dick had gushed while patting Todd’s back.
And Todd had smiled and said goodbye before unpacking any of his things. Chris’ things, on the other hand, were already unpacked. Posters, predominantly of Rambo, decorated his half of the room and disrupted the tastefully impersonalized feel that Todd’s half would adopt.
“Do you like Rambo?” Chris asked, attempting small talk.
“Sure,” Todd had replied. (I’d like to see that fucking faggot dead. I’d like to see him gutted and hanging in front of one of those disgusting gay bars).
Chris seemed to brighten. “Really? I love Rambo. He’s like, my personal hero.”
Todd nodded, still smiling. (Yeah, I bet he is. Do you jerk off while picturing his face? Does he make you hard?)
“I think that he symbolizes the state of America. I mean, there’s all this corruption, something drastic needs to be done.”
Todd tuned Chris out, nodding during appropriate pauses without really hearing anything. Chris seemed pathetically happy to have a sounding board, or more aptly put, Chris was just happy to have a friend. He raddled on about movies and music until Todd had politely excused himself.
He went to the restroom. Locking the door, he daydreamed about splitting Chris’ head open with a hatchet. Somewhere during this fantasy, Todd’s hand tucked under his waistband and found his erect penis. Encircling the shaft, Todd masturbated to the daydreamed sounds of Chris screaming.
XXX
Todd was at home, under the railroad tracks. A knife was tucked safely into the band of his jeans and hidden by his coat. In the dark, just a few feet ahead of him was a middle-aged homeless man. His hair was receding and his nose was bright red with years of alcoholism (a wino, supplied Todd’s brain).
The wing whipped Todd’s hair into his face. “Kill him,” said this wind in Dussander’s voice. Todd pushed the blond strands out of his eyes.
Todd’s hand felt for the knife and effortlessly pulled the knife free. Todd felt a measure of pride in this fact; a measure that the rest of him tried to suppress. How could he be free if Dussander still had this effect on him?
On its own, the knife raised, dragging his hand up with it. “Dussander!”
“Yes, boy?”
“Stop it. You’ll ruin everything.”
The knife plunged down and Todd felt an exploding pleasure in the way the knife easily slid through the wino’s flesh. The wino screamed but, like always, he had stopped struggling after the first couple of thrusts. Todd was lost in the sensations: burying the knife to the hilt and feeling it tear out. He didn’t need Dussander’s help anymore; he was doing just fine on his own. It wasn’t until he dropped the knife in exhaustion that he realized that somewhere during the attack, the wino had transformed…
Todd found himself staring into his roommate’s lifeless eyes.
“I have the feeling that the two of you are going to get along alright.” Dick had gushed while patting Todd’s back.
And Todd had smiled and said goodbye before unpacking any of his things. Chris’ things, on the other hand, were already unpacked. Posters, predominantly of Rambo, decorated his half of the room and disrupted the tastefully impersonalized feel that Todd’s half would adopt.
“Do you like Rambo?” Chris asked, attempting small talk.
“Sure,” Todd had replied. (I’d like to see that fucking faggot dead. I’d like to see him gutted and hanging in front of one of those disgusting gay bars).
Chris seemed to brighten. “Really? I love Rambo. He’s like, my personal hero.”
Todd nodded, still smiling. (Yeah, I bet he is. Do you jerk off while picturing his face? Does he make you hard?)
“I think that he symbolizes the state of America. I mean, there’s all this corruption, something drastic needs to be done.”
Todd tuned Chris out, nodding during appropriate pauses without really hearing anything. Chris seemed pathetically happy to have a sounding board, or more aptly put, Chris was just happy to have a friend. He raddled on about movies and music until Todd had politely excused himself.
He went to the restroom. Locking the door, he daydreamed about splitting Chris’ head open with a hatchet. Somewhere during this fantasy, Todd’s hand tucked under his waistband and found his erect penis. Encircling the shaft, Todd masturbated to the daydreamed sounds of Chris screaming.
XXX
Todd was at home, under the railroad tracks. A knife was tucked safely into the band of his jeans and hidden by his coat. In the dark, just a few feet ahead of him was a middle-aged homeless man. His hair was receding and his nose was bright red with years of alcoholism (a wino, supplied Todd’s brain).
The wing whipped Todd’s hair into his face. “Kill him,” said this wind in Dussander’s voice. Todd pushed the blond strands out of his eyes.
Todd’s hand felt for the knife and effortlessly pulled the knife free. Todd felt a measure of pride in this fact; a measure that the rest of him tried to suppress. How could he be free if Dussander still had this effect on him?
On its own, the knife raised, dragging his hand up with it. “Dussander!”
“Yes, boy?”
“Stop it. You’ll ruin everything.”
The knife plunged down and Todd felt an exploding pleasure in the way the knife easily slid through the wino’s flesh. The wino screamed but, like always, he had stopped struggling after the first couple of thrusts. Todd was lost in the sensations: burying the knife to the hilt and feeling it tear out. He didn’t need Dussander’s help anymore; he was doing just fine on his own. It wasn’t until he dropped the knife in exhaustion that he realized that somewhere during the attack, the wino had transformed…
Todd found himself staring into his roommate’s lifeless eyes.