Woot-- Last week of school. I'm graduating guys. That means more chapters, up sooner. I hope I haven't lost my few reviewers, I was really enjoying the feedback. :( I'm sorry I'm taking so long guys-- but don't lose hope, mmk? I'm still alive, I promise. :D Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Invader Zim & all its characters are copyright Jhonen Vasquez & Nickelodeon Studios.
" GET OUT!!!! "
The shriek rocked the walls, causing the boy at the sink to snap upright from his bent position over the still half-full sink of fermenting dishes. The sound of a shattering piece of room décor made him flinch, and he dropped his washy-wash sponge and the plate he was fervently working on, shutting off the tap and hurrying into the shady room at the end of the hallway.
The sight that he saw was only slightly disconcerting. A shaking and apparently enraged Dib, tangled in his own bed sheets and wielding another breakable object, and a retired guidance counselor, up from his seat and backed into a corner, hands up in the typical, "I-surrender" fashion.
" You have no right, no fucking right to be here!! " Dib's voice cracked, still hoarse from the illness he was recovering from, yet by no means lowered in volume, as the skinny boy hauled the second piece of ceramic houseware at the cowering man.
Dwicky, on the other hand, ducked quickly to avoid this second object, the vase smashing just inches from his head, raining bits of ceramic into his hair, which he meticulously dusted off quickly before responding to Dib's enraged screaming.
" Dib, please, I didn't mean to, I mean, I didn't expect, I was just watching—"
" Watching what!? Watching me sleep, you twisted boy-fucking sonofabitch!! " Yanking the sheets from his feet, Dib hauled himself to his feet, resulting in an instant dizzy-spell, sending Dib reeling backwards, then forwards. Fortunately, he caught himself.
Or, someone else did.
Naturally thinking it was the counselor again, Dib cocked back a curled fist, aimed and swung—but his hand was caught in another. Dib knew damn well Dwicky didn't have the reflexes nor the sense to deflect a blow. So, naturally, he opened his eyes and looked up... into the face of a complete stranger.
Great. More people infecting my one semi-safe haven. " And just who the fuck are you, may I ask? " Dib glowered at the stranger, of whom was not only still holding his fist in his hand, but also had his free arm looped around Dib's upper torso, supporting most of his weight.
The boy smiled, an awkward, twitchy grin. " Doncha' remember me, Dib? I used to go to skool with you. Yanno'... Keef. "
Dib's glare slowly subsided into an expression of mixed confusion and a bit of concentration. After a moment, it moved on into one of recognition-- minus the usual joy of one reunited with an old friend.
"Oh. Hi Keef. Why are you here?"
Keef grinned jovially, like a puppy who'd finally learned the difference between shitting inside and shitting outside.
"I found you Dib, in the club. Well, I didn't find you, find you. You just happened to be there when I was. Not to say you shouldn't go there--I mean, you're perfectly allowed to-- I mean, not to say I own the place--"
If he keeps this up I think I might just go back into my coma. Dib had slid back into his more familiar, monotonous expression. That changed when his eyes crawled across the room and started upon the still-cringing figure of the loathed guidance counselor. His right eye twitched-- as it had always done since he was a child, when something shocked, or surprised, or irked him.
"WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!?"
Dib's still-hoarse shriek interrupted Keef in the middle of a sentence about handing out scones to old people in a nursing home, and caused Dwicky to make a sound curiously similar to that fuzzy-headed scientist muppet's seemingly only form of speech. Glaring malevolently, the only thing keeping Dib from leaping on the skinny twat in the corner was his lack of strength and the fact that he was still wrapped up in the arms of the infinite-babbler. Shutting his eyes, Dib surged his little strength into pushing Keef away and balancing himself on his own feet, face down and fists clenched out of pure frustration at this point. Trying to conserve the finite energy he had, Dib spoke quietly, which only served to make him come off more menacing than anything else.
"I want you both, to get out of my house."
The silence that settled over the room was suffocating.
Keef moved first, slowly and awkwardly, like a kid who'd just been told he's not as cool as he thinks he is. Lifting his hand in what looked like half an idea of a wave, he quickly dropped it down again, crossing the arm over his middle and wrapping his fingers around his other elbow. Eyes downcast, Keef turned and shuffled out of the room, leaving just the panting Dib, and the counselor who at this point looked like a small insect trying its hardest to become one with the corner of the room.
Dib waited until he head the recognizable click of the front door shutting. Finally lifting his head, Dib visibly flinched when he saw the man still in the room, not out of pain, out of sheer, unadulterated fury.
"I said, get. Out."
"No."
Dibs eyes flared wide open, this was the final straw, the last break he needed for the floodgates to swing wide open and release the buildup of wrath.
"MOTHERFU--" The rest of the crude language peaked into one shrill cry of passionate rage, every negative event over the past week building up into one infuriated monster, breaking free from Dib in a savage, insatiable manner as the skinny body lunged full-force at the cornered counselor, fists flying and well-aimed.
The first blow was deflected by Dwicky's arm, as it swung instinctively up to shield himself from the enraged teenager, but Dib's second hand, wide open, landed hard on Dwicky's chest, thrusting the counselor violently back into the wall.
Feeling cloth beneath his palm, Dib's fingers clenched, and with a fierce heave, the boy hauled the cowering man from the corner of the room and sent him flying face-first onto the floor. Panting from the effort, Dib placed one foot at the left side of Dwicky--who was halfway through rolling himself over-- and swung his right leg, catching the flat of his foot perfectly with the face of the counselor and causing the man to reel backwards, his hands flying to cradle his face as blood vessels and muscles screamed their objections in the forms of bruises and a bloody nose.
Dwicky let out a brief shriek of agony, followed by sputtered pleas for Dib to cease. The teenager on the other hand, extended two open hands, only to grasp the shirt of the counselor and haul him to his feet aggressively. Without giving Dwicky a chance to even balance himself, Dib landed a malicious punch to his jaw, spinning the man a complete three-hundred sixty degrees, before he wobbled a few steps away and leaned into the wall, sliding down in a miserable pile of blood and limbs.
Still burning with anger, Dib stared at the counselor for a fleeting moment, before he started towards him again, blood-spattered fists clenched tightly.
Only the sound of a faint whimper made him hesitate.
Face still contorted in vehement wrath, Dib stilled his advance and stared once more at the pitiful mess before him. Again, a subtle sound of distress reached his straining ears. His right eye twitched again.
Whirling around, Dib shut his eyes tightly, grinding his nails into the soft flesh of his palms, fighting ruthlessly against the torrent of guilt that now threatened to wash away all traces of his previous hatred and fill every crevice of his mind with self-loathing and remorse.
It didn't work.
Suddenly wishing that he wasn't the killer standing over the victim, Dib desperately tried to think up a solution to this unanticipated rush of emotion. Nothing was getting through. Becoming agitated at his own lack of control, Dib opened his eyes and grabbed the first useful thing he spotted.
Snatching the still semi-damp washcloth, Dib flung it at the slumped counselor, the rag wilting dismally in Dwicky's lap, with no sign of being retrieved anytime soon. Dib, on the other hand, had already fled the scene, wanting to be relieved of the whole situation. Though he knew he wouldn't find one in the living room, it had to be a better place than his room, with the body of the beaten counselor on his floor.
Settling on the couch, Dib curled up on the armrest, one arm under his chin and the other resting over his head, his fingers wrapped up in his hair as his eyes focused on the entrance to the hallway, giving Dib the appearance of a cat awaiting the mouse's manifestation from its hovel.
A very thought-occupied cat.
Out of nowhere, Dib's wonderful sister materialized, scooting by in that robotic-walk, hand held video game plastered to her fingers.
"Maybe if you didn't attempt to kill everyone who comes close to you Dib, you might actually have some friends."
The comment, on normal circumstances, might've been reflected with a snort, or a drastically weak retort. As it was, Dib was too entangled in his thoughts to even realize she'd said something.
His thoughts, and his guilt.
R&R Pz&Ty. :D