The desert was cold, and loud, and reeked of cheap beer and skunk weed and sweat. The sweat persisted from the heat of the daylight hours, when the sun beat down hot on people wearing too much leather and not enough deodorant. At night, all that heat disappeared in favor of a persistent chill. Too dry, none of the humidity of wetter climates to keep things warm.
Michael Bell did not look like a professor. He barely looked human. He'd told himself that he wouldn't go overboard this time.
He'd gone overboard. Again.
He was always like this at festivals, at concerts. Some part of him felt like it shouldn't even count. Wasn't everyone allowed to make bad decisions at festivals? He wasn't bleeding people completely dry. He hadn't killed anyone, as far as he could tell. He was being careful enough to stop before he went too far, and healed them before they could bleed out from their injuries.
It was fine. This was fine. He'd go back to being responsible when he went home, when classes started up again. He was allowed to take a break once in a while.
Guitars and screaming continued under the starlight. He focused on a new target in the crowd. She was wearing a skimpy denim dress and a fake feathered headdress. He hated her immediately. She had green hair.
He caught her by the arm so he could catch her eyes. "This won't hurt," he told her, compelled her. "Don't scream." Then he pulled her close, and buried his teeth in her neck. Her blood ran hot over his tongue, throbbed with her heartbeat, looking for all the world like they were kissing in the dark. She didn't taste as good as he wanted her to, but she was good enough. He could feel his own heart beat faster, his pulse race. Everything tasting better, feeling better, sounding better. All his nerve endings alight and alive with effervescent joy, like he could conquer the world.
Maybe he could fuck her. If she took the goddamn stupid fucking headdress off. He wouldn't make her. He wasn't a monster. But he was objectively handsome, and maybe once she forgot he'd done this she'd want to. She seemed like someone who'd be willing to let him fuck her. Because what he wanted wasn't any kind of a two-player game; what he wanted was to do something to someone.
He pulled away from her neck when he felt her pulse weaken. Shit. Almost too late. Almost bad. But it was fine. Everything was good. He had this under control. He bit into his own hand, and shoved it into her mouth to force her to drink. The torn-open meat of her neck started to heal. He had blood dripping off his mouth, down his chin and staining his shirt. His eyes were a hideous shade of black.
He was allowed to let loose and have fun sometimes.
Michael Bell did not look like a professor. He barely looked human. He'd told himself that he wouldn't go overboard this time.
He'd gone overboard. Again.
He was always like this at festivals, at concerts. Some part of him felt like it shouldn't even count. Wasn't everyone allowed to make bad decisions at festivals? He wasn't bleeding people completely dry. He hadn't killed anyone, as far as he could tell. He was being careful enough to stop before he went too far, and healed them before they could bleed out from their injuries.
It was fine. This was fine. He'd go back to being responsible when he went home, when classes started up again. He was allowed to take a break once in a while.
Guitars and screaming continued under the starlight. He focused on a new target in the crowd. She was wearing a skimpy denim dress and a fake feathered headdress. He hated her immediately. She had green hair.
He caught her by the arm so he could catch her eyes. "This won't hurt," he told her, compelled her. "Don't scream." Then he pulled her close, and buried his teeth in her neck. Her blood ran hot over his tongue, throbbed with her heartbeat, looking for all the world like they were kissing in the dark. She didn't taste as good as he wanted her to, but she was good enough. He could feel his own heart beat faster, his pulse race. Everything tasting better, feeling better, sounding better. All his nerve endings alight and alive with effervescent joy, like he could conquer the world.
Maybe he could fuck her. If she took the goddamn stupid fucking headdress off. He wouldn't make her. He wasn't a monster. But he was objectively handsome, and maybe once she forgot he'd done this she'd want to. She seemed like someone who'd be willing to let him fuck her. Because what he wanted wasn't any kind of a two-player game; what he wanted was to do something to someone.
He pulled away from her neck when he felt her pulse weaken. Shit. Almost too late. Almost bad. But it was fine. Everything was good. He had this under control. He bit into his own hand, and shoved it into her mouth to force her to drink. The torn-open meat of her neck started to heal. He had blood dripping off his mouth, down his chin and staining his shirt. His eyes were a hideous shade of black.
He was allowed to let loose and have fun sometimes.
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After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-02-2017, 05:58 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-02-2017, 06:00 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 04-02-2017, 03:04 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-02-2017, 06:20 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 04-02-2017, 06:59 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-03-2017, 06:19 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 04-04-2017, 03:07 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-04-2017, 10:45 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 04-06-2017, 10:15 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-07-2017, 04:32 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 04-09-2017, 12:01 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 04-12-2017, 02:46 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 05-22-2017, 10:17 AM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by Tindome - 02-05-2019, 05:47 PM
RE: After School Special [Closed] - by megs - 11-17-2019, 02:43 PM