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ALAN JASON WRIGHT
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…the Thompson High student, Alan Wright, was brought to the ER tonight after sustaining wounds apparently caused by…Wright is the student involved in the controversial David Green Case… link
AP-Toronto 3/19/06 1:23 AM
A Thompson High School student who was involved in the controversy with teacher David Green was brought into the ER late Saturday night after suffering wounds to his face, ribs, and lower extremities. He is currently in critical condition.
Updated: 3/21/06 12:34 PM
The Thompson High student, now known as Alan Wright, has allegedly been the victim of a hate crime due to his involvement with popular Civics teacher David Green. Wright, a seventeen-year-old junior, had allegedly began a romantic affair with the married teacher; when the student ended the relationship, Mr. Green allegedly bound and kept the youth hidden in his cellar until later that night, where he was then set free. David Green is currently at trial for kidnapping, sexual assault, and possession of child pornography.
Wright's injuries are rumored to be caused by barbells stolen from the school's gym, and an investigation is currently underway.
Related articles:
TWO SENIOR HOCKEY PLAYERS CHARGED FOR HATE CRIME ON ALAN WRIGHT link
HOCKEY PLAYERS GET MAXIMUM PENALTY DESPITE PARENTS', PEERS' PLEAS link
A dark haired boy with ice-blue eyes felt his face twist into a sneer. So this was Alan Wright. He had no interest in dealing with him; he would have to spook him and get him off Venturi's case fast.
He figured he should catch the kid up with how his former flame fared. The images had been leaked a while back; he had saved them before they were taken down.
He settled into his chair, feeling his lips twitch into a smile as he began to prepare his…presentation on Green. It would be executed the next time Alan happened to start a program on his computer.
o-o-o
He had nothing. Not even a name. Alan was tired, having run out of energy drinks hours prior. His eyes burned, his back ached, and his stupid computer had crashed so many times, he was thankful he kept all of his data on an external hard drive, locked in the bottom of his closet.
Alan took a breath, winced as he felt the familiar ache in his side; his ribs and hips hadn't healed properly, and arthritis regularly set in on nights like this. He made a mental note to take some Advil after he was done.
Pulling up the GrimmSin website once again, he began his work. But, again, before his computer could even pull up the second page containing the information he needed, it emitted a short screech and fell silent. His computer was officially in heaven.
With a grimace, he shoved two turquoise pills in his mouth, chased them down with a shot of Smirnoff's, and pulled out his laptop. He had an English Lit assignment due the next day, anyway, he might as well take a break.
Question one: What meaning was Chaucer attempting to convey in this story?
Easy enough. He began to type:
Chaucer's intention was to conveVENTURI IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU ALAN WRIGHT YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE HOW FAR THE RABBIT THE RABBIT HOLE GOES
Alan looked at the screen, at first frowning, because he had been on a roll with that question, and then he sighed. Pressing backspace, he began his question once again.
Chaucer's main concern was to shed light upon the societal differences between men anTALKED TO YOUR OLD FUCK BUDDY YET? I HAVE- WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE HOW HE FARED IN PRISON?
His computer went black, and it whirred, sounding as if it were in pain, being forced to do something it didn't want to; the screen lit up again, and his breath caught in his throat.
The handsome, smiling David Green was looking back at him, just as beautiful as he had been a year and a half ago. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, an easy smile and a body to die for hidden under simple t-shirts and loose jeans. The teacher had been twenty eight then, just married with a child on the way. Alan hated himself for that, for stealing a father away from his child, and then sending him to prison.
What he hated most, though, was that Green could still make his breath catch, set his heart racing, and make his palms sweat as if what he had done to him had been nothing. A familiar lump appeared in his throat. Green had been his first—first real kiss, first real sexual encounter, first real love—and firsts were never forgotten, no matter how much he wanted to.
His nails dug into his palms—the pain raced through his skin and stabbed at the growing pain caused by his arthritis. Remembering this was not on the agenda for tonight. Not tonight. He had spent too much time reminiscing and brooding over it—and then spent too much money on drugs to forget.
HERE'S PRETTY BOY NOW
His computer pinged, and Alan remembered, what—who, really—was fucking with him. A new image grew onto the computer slowly, like a red wine stain on white.
Images, actually. Flickering, looping, endlessly, making sure he didn't miss one frame.
A sickened whimper escaped his throat. "Ohh…"
Gone was the man he had stupidly fallen for; what stared at him was a naked body, bruises forming, cuts still widening, blood still pooling beneath the skin he knew so well.
His skin was a mottled grey color, a sickly pallor. Green's head jutted at an odd angle, his neck showing telltale signs of a break.
The hazel—the warm, lively hazel that made him melt—was gone; what replaced it was a soft grey, rigor having set in a long time prior.
Alan's stomach lurched.
The mouth, withered, flaky and dry, opened, revealing a parched, milky opening. Alan wasn't sure what was missing at first, and had to fight the waves of nausea as he found himself unable to tear away from the screen.
Then it cut out, and a sentence appeared.
THIS IS HOW FAR THE RABBIT HOLE GOES
The machine shut off, and Alan, losing composure, slid to the floor and let himself grieve.
He was done. Really, his heart went out to Venturi. The kid was dealing with a sick fuck.
But a line had been crossed, and boundaries had been emphasized.
Nerds didn't help jocks.
Especially him, the freak who had been seduced and fallen in love with a teacher.
No, not just a teacher—the teacher who was next in line for coaching the hockey team full-time, who conveniently knew his game and had been touted as the reason for three victories already.
Did they know they were giving a pedophile his dream job? No, of course not.
Alan had found aliases for David Green. All for different high schools across the country. All had been listed as resigned or been fired for undisclosed reasons.
Sometimes he regretted going to the cops after David let him go. There had been a moment before he left, a moment of mutual pain and understanding.
"I'm sorry, Alan. I'm so sorry. If I could do everything over again I swear I'd…I love you. I do. If I could…"
"I know."
Alan knew nothing would be the same again, and the burning on his wrists from the rope reminding him of betrayal, reminding him he still loved him but it wasn't enough, it couldn't be enough.
And somehow, he just knew he wasn't the only one.
A gaping, black hole grew in his chest; old scars had been reopened and new pain added to them.
His hand dug under the bed, and found the beat-up box.
He fished out his bottle of benzos; he found himself taking them every day now, two, three times the dose his doctor suggested, but didn't care. His circumstances made drugs easy to get.
When they finally kicked in, his head lolled back, and his breathing slowed. His tears stopped. Vaguely he realized a low moan escaped his throat, one of satisfaction.
When the black hit, taking over his vision and sending his body through an ebony tide of calm, his last conscious movement was a smile.
The next morning he was still tapering off the drugs, so he swallowed some Adderall dry and left as early as he could, finding sanctuary in the computer lab.
He would have to tell Venturi he was done, obviously; but in this state Derek would realize something was off about him.
He logged into his account and made his way to the grading system, changing the boy's current failing grade in Drama (really Derek? Drama? he mused) as a sort of subtle apology that he was taking the easy way out.
Third period, Derek had hunted him down, and Alan was in a shitty mood, on his strange little drug-fueled rollercoaster.
He leaned against the door way, hair falling into his eyes, the same smirk on his face. But not even Derek Venturi, the hottest guy in school, could make him weak-kneed today.
"So," he began, plopping (somehow) gracefully into the seat parallel from him, "Did you find anything else out?"
Alan looked at him. The familiar sting of tears began, and he had to turn away. God, he was such a pussy. Really, Alan! He thought icily, Get ahold of yourself!
An awkward moment passed, and he spoke. "Whoever's messing with you isn't some girly freshman. This guy means business. I suggest you start with the cops."
Derek's brows furrowed in confusion. "Did something happen, Wright?"
Glassy blue eyes met his hazel ones, and Alan felt his stomach lurch again. "It doesn't matter, Venturi. I'm done, okay?"
The boy began to stand, picking up his messenger bag. Derek, easily outweighing him by both height and weight, clamped a hand on his shoulder.
"Alan."
He looked up, icily sneering at him. "Derek."
"Tell me. What the hell did he do to you?"
In that second, Alan realized two things: in a short span, Derek had grown to depend on him, and that if it had been any other circumstance, Alan would have broken down and told him.
In a strange and fucked up way, both boys trusted each other.
Alan looked at him with a dead gaze. "Just be careful, Derek."
He shoved past the hockey player, slipping out the door.
Derek watched him leave, and wondered with a sinking feeling just what the hell he was dealing with.