iDamien x Christophe
-Chapter 1-
"Him" /i
"Ugh." Was my response as I slipped my way coolly into the science room. We're dissecting cats today. Pluh! Stupid Americans. I've dissected thousands of cats while I lived in France. I even dismantled a bomb encased in the intestines of some worthless fool driving a taxi cab while I was on my way to pick up bread for my equally as worthless family. They're so needy. Hell! Everyone in needy in the world.
I make my way past the nauseating aroma as I pass several students already busily working on their fluff ball, four-legged critters. Scoffing as I pass by the fellows who actually care about doing well on this idiotic project, I settle down at an empty table that has not been tainted by the filthy blood of those bitch cats.
I don't care for my grades, if that isn't already obvious. Why should I? I already have a good paying job, so why bother trying to make a good impression when I have no one to impress? Stealing someone's jacket off the back of a seat, I fluff it to perfection and settle my head upon it. Being awake for 76 hours straight really does a number on a person. I really need some sleep.
Dazing off and ignoring others around me is the easy part. It's difficult, though, to keep yourself focused like that for that long when you're as tired as I am. Just as I'm about to drift off into a blissful slumber, a giggle from across the room disturbs my peace. It's those damn bitches Stanley Marsh and Kyle Broflovski. Marsh, being the big, strong, tough jock he is is threatening to wipe the kitty blood on his hands on Kyle. Wipe the blood where on him exactly? Who really gives a fuck? I just send a glare their way, basically telling them to knock it off. Stan notices and they quiet down.
Content once again, I attempt to settle down, but before I have the chance to, I hear slight cries of protest in the air. Snapping my look in the opposite direction, I see Craig ordering Tweek to get down and dirty and cut open the cat's stomach. Yuck.
Although I'm easily annoyed by everyone that inhabits this room at the moment, I can't help but feel a pang of envy as I see all the couples in the class working together. Wendy and Token, Clyde and Bebe, Kevin and Red. Even the gay couples seem happy together. Gay! Such as Stan and Kyle, Craig and Tweek, Kenny and Butters, even the handicapped Jimmy and Timmy are together. I've never really had anyone to love and call my own. Hell, I probably never will. Damn...I need a smoke.
Not seeing the point in staying any longer, I just walk out into the hall, through they double doors, and down the steps to my car. I drive to the community park only to realize that no one is there. Good. I sit down on one of the swings and pull out a cigarette and my green flame lighter. Igniting my escape, I take a deep drag on the stick, and begin to feel my stress level lowering every few seconds.
~...~
Closing my eyes and slightly tilting my head backward, I let my mind wander back to the topic of significant others. What type of person do I even like? Blonde, brunette, redhead, raven? Blue, green, brown, or maybe even hazel eyes? What about height? Weight? Figure? Or even interests? Maybe if I can make it past the obnoxious noise that escapes their lips, I'd be able to answer those questions. I don't even know what I'm sexually attracted to!
After a deep sigh, I take another drag. It's a possibility that I'm trying too hard. Who knows, maybe the girl, or guy for that matter, might just be the next person I look at. Slightly opening my left eye, I see a fat little boy eating a cookie. He looks to be about 2 or 3 years old, and looks vaguely similar to that shit-head Eric Theodore Cartman. I hold back my obvious disgust as he runs away to his mother, his chub flinging from side to side. Great, now I want to vomit.
Okay, so that didn't work. Maybe if I plan out my interests, it'll make this easier. Alright, so, what hair type am I fond of? Black. Okay, that was easy. Eyes. Hmm, not very many choices there, but maybe I can get my bitch to wear red contacts or something. That would be cool. After seeing that little fatty, I'd prefer their weight to be average, or even better, very skinny. Meh, a proportionate figure would be nice too. Okay so black hair, red eyes, and skinny. Check, check and check.
They had better not bitch at me for smoking, or about my 'oh so dangerous' profession either. Yes, spy work is very dangerous if you don't believe me. They second they mention that it's not safe or it's too dangerous, they're getting a face full of my boot. So, acceptance of smoking and my job.
I hate complainers too. They should just go out and fix their own damn problems by themselves. Don't bitch to me and expect me to clean up your mess. Piece of shit.
Wow, I never realized I was so picky. I look at my watch and see that I've been sitting there for the past 3 hours now. It's 4 in the afternoon, and I don't really want to go home yet. Hell, I never want to go home! I sigh mentally and throw they butt of my cigarette into the sand box. The fat kid can eat it for all I care. It's not my fucking problem. I guess I'll just walk around till I get hungry.
~...~
After turning aimlessly left and right for a few hours, it gets dark. I start heading to a diner to get myself something to submit to the groaning and aching in my organs. I sit down at a table for two, and order something...I'm too dazed to remember what I even ordered! Shrugging if off, I decide I'll just surprise myself.
Bored after a few minutes, I captivate my attention with the salt and pepper shakers. That is, until I feel someone staring at me. Fuck. It's that little fat child from the park. I jerk my head at him and throw a threatening glare his way. He doesn't even flinch, just turns back around when the food arrives at his table. What a little piggy.
I hear the little tinkling noise that announces one's presence at the diner. I look up with little or no interest, but freeze in a millisecond. Black hair, red eyes, skinny, and a cigarette packet sticking out of his pant pocket. Stunning.
It gets even better as he walks toward a table a little ways down from mine, and he sits in my line of vision. A petite waitress walks cheerily up to him, and all he does is snarl and throw her the most disgusted look. She walks away with wide eyes, and he just chuckle to himself. I never believed in love at first sight, but from what I see and just witnessed, I know that he's perfect. I just know it.
He has something on his wrist. A silver bracelet. It has something engraved into it. My line of work requires that I have all my senses keen, and stronger than the average person. Squinting I can barely make out a "D". Moving onto the next letter I seen an "A" then "M."
After concluding what's engraved, I look down and see coffee neatly sitting in front of me. Taking hold of the cup I smile crookedly to myself and take a sip.
'Hello Damien. Nice to meet you.' I think mentally. At least I hope his name is Damien. It's a pretty cool name...