Loss of Control
“Look at that,” Terry murmurs as he pulls his fingers out dryly, “Tight little thing. Get in here, check this out.”
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK
The bit chewed into a hidden joist, and the drill froze instantly. The motor whined in high-pitched protest before stalling out, and the internal safety clutch immediately kicked in, chattering with a loud, rapid clack-clack-clack.
“Fucks sake…” Terry grumbled, “First of all, I forgot my ladder, and now this darn drill won’t budge…”
He rotated the drill in opposing directions, plaster falling off in varying-sized clumps while he pulled the bit out of the crater he had now made in the wall.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…” he muttered once more, sweat beads on his forehead leaving tracks in the grime. A hard morning of graft followed by a ‘quick job’ repairing the AC ducting in the common area on campus.
Why did we have to come to this town again?
Lamenting his decision to take a cash-in-hand job at the last minute, and one that ran the risk of running into unpaid overtime, Terry noticed a commotion further down the hall.
An average-looking kid, your stereotypical overachiever with few friends, was being cornered by what looked like a professor, pinned against the trophy case by the man’s physicality. He appeared slightly older yet greater in mass than his victim. The discussion appeared one-sided and unpleasant. Terry realised full well what was going on; the juvenile was getting rinsed by the professor.
Above the din in the corridor, Terry thought he made out some of what was being said: “You bake the chapter summary…”. What on earth did that mean, and why was the kid being given a hard time over it?
Whilst puzzling, Terry noticed the aggressor received an accidental bump from a passerby, pushing him further into his victim’s personal space. Without releasing him, the aggressor turned his head to see who was responsible. He paused. And after visibly cursing, he turned back to his prey.
This professor had overly neat dark hair. His build was athletic, probably a runner; he had a milky complexion and, when he turned his head, the most intriguing sapphire blue eyes; they almost shone. Above everything else, he stood out for those eyes.
Terry focused more on him, keeping his distance. Something something “...talk about it then,” finger pointing at the kid before setting off on his way. The kid looked defeated, brushed himself down and made his way in the opposite direction. Terry fumed, turned sharply, and managed to drop the drill; it whirred, then stopped as it hit the wall, and another chunk of plaster crashed to the ground. Only a few passersby marked this event with a glance, and a couple of nearby students giggled.
Terry was pissed. He climbed down his footstool to pick up his drill, ignoring the laughter. He squatted over the drill, revealing his furry ass crack to whoever passed by. Upon retrieving the drill, he managed to stand up fast enough to bang his elbow on the wall, sending a shudder through his bones. He jerked round and accidentally kicked the footstool in his anger, sending it straight into the wall. Another clump dropped from the crater.
“Right, that’s it!” Terry growled loudly as a handsome, muscled ginger man passed him, sharing a soft smile. “Enough”.
Buzz Buzz Buzz, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Retrieving it, his thick thumb tapped in the passcode, and his SMS notifications read:
<Steve>
<Boy secured. Booking confirmed for Sunday at 8 pm. Usual address.>
Terry vaguely recalled a conversation with Ben about this, and that he had agreed once the profile had been waved in his direction, but this memory was overshadowed by the simmering rage from what he had just witnessed.
I hate bullies, Terry thought loudly, picking up the footstool, and packed his drill away. It’s not fixing this wall, though...
That ginger guy was cute…
