ditto
still kicking :)
trevor callaghan
If there was one thing that you needed to understand up to this point, it was that Trevor Callaghan really, really, really fecking hated Adriane Holloway. There was a number of things that could be added to that — “I almost vomit every time I even think of her name”, “her presence makes me feel the need to get some kind of medication, just so I can endure it without snapping”, “I highly consider lying in the road anytime I must do so much as look at her, because being taken out of my misery is more pleasant than that” — but that was the basic thing.
See, Trevor had something called abysmal self-preservation skills — at least, when it came to interpersonal interactions. Correction: he did, on occasion, realize when he needed to get out of a situation because oh feck, I’m going to die if this keeps going, but it was very rarely that he did so at the correct time or in the correct space, and even more rarely that he executed enough of an evasive maneuver to actually protect himself rather than digging his hole deeper (see: the case with Nate and the your girlfriend is hot debacle).
What was worse was that that his sense of when to turn back when interacting with those who he viewed as below him(or who he wished to make feel as though they were below him) was all but obliterated. The good bit about that was that he didn’t have as much of an issue like this with his friends and more amicable acquaintances — with them, the main issue was keeping himself from digging his hole deeper after he, at some point (if a bit too late), realized that oh feck, I’m going to die if this keeps going.
The bad part was that he generally viewedor wanted to view everyone else as below him, at least to some extent. He had no fear of them — even if he should.
Adriane Holloway was this principle cranked up to the max.
In a quick motion, Adriane dropped her pen onto the desk, and she reached forward and grabbed Trevor’s wrist. He blinked, his already tense muscles tensing more as she dug her nails into his skin so fecking needlessly. He grit his teeth in anger, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows as his lip curled up.
Adriane was standing and glaring back. “Let the fuck go.”
“Why should I?” Trevor snarked.
“Let go right now,” Adriane demanded. “Grab your papers and get out and maybe I’ll let you leave this room without sending my heel through your fucking neck.”
Trevor scoffed. “That’s not physically possible.” He wasn’t a mathematician (scientist? chemist? physician?), but he’d done research for his writing. “You couldn’t get enough inertia to make the blunt end penetrate my neck,” he hissed (and yes, he was proud of that comeback). “Not with your anemic strength.”
“Or better yet,” Adriane said, “maybe I’ll just go slash the tires of that precious little van of yours, hmm?”
This made his eye twitch. He clenched his jaw tighter. “You desecrate Rachel and you’ve got another thing comin’.”
“Don’t fucking mess with me.”
Sarcastically (because again, he had no self-preservation), Trevor held up the hand that wasn’t grasping the journal to wiggle his fingers in the air at his chest, widening his eyes as if he were terrified. “You’re so spooky,” he said in a flat voice. “I’m so intimidated.”
He dropped his hand back down and tightened his grip on her book, glaring into Adriane’s eyes determinedly, like he wasn’t going to let go. There was a seriousness in his face — a look that said he wasn’t going to give her this because, look, it was fecking Adriane, and he was sick and tired of her bullshite anyway.
But then, his head gave a nag, and he suppressed a grimace at the pain, and then he sighed, “But fine.”
He let go of her paper, slinging down his arm as he moved to the opposite side of the desk. “That’s all I fecking wanted in the first place,” he muttered, stooping down to chunky manuscript. He narrowed his eyes at it, and he gave a pained noise as he noticed a couple of indentations and circles of dirt where the chair had been. “Shite.”He yanked up the manuscript in a jerky motion, and then jerked his head over at Adriane.
This is enough damage to make you liable for at least three hundred dollarsdoyouunderstandwhatyou’vedoneyou’veruinedallofmyworkyoucompleteand —
“One more thing, Holloway,” he said, his chest tight with anger and panic at the unsettling status of his manuscript. His voice gave the strong impression that he was holding back some sort of primal rage, and as he went to say the next word, he was physically shaking, with two veins in his forehead and a vein in his neck straining beneath his skin. “FfffffffffffffffffffffffffUCK.” He raised his middle finger. “You.” He forced a wide smile, giving a nod, and then he turned on his heel, dropping his hand and stomping towards the door.
When he reached it, he yanked it open, and then he yanked it to close behind him — but he reached out and stopped it with his palm before it could slam, and it bounced back. Sighing, he stepped back inside, glancing at Adriane and then back at the door. Carefully, he grabbed the doorknob and, stepping back outside, eaaaaased the door shut.
His head was fecking throbbing — slamming it would be too much on his shot nerves.
Once he’d shut the door, he sighed deeply and slumped back against it.
Jesus Christ, he really fecking despised Adriane.
See, Trevor had something called abysmal self-preservation skills — at least, when it came to interpersonal interactions. Correction: he did, on occasion, realize when he needed to get out of a situation because oh feck, I’m going to die if this keeps going, but it was very rarely that he did so at the correct time or in the correct space, and even more rarely that he executed enough of an evasive maneuver to actually protect himself rather than digging his hole deeper (see: the case with Nate and the your girlfriend is hot debacle).
What was worse was that that his sense of when to turn back when interacting with those who he viewed as below him
The bad part was that he generally viewed
Adriane Holloway was this principle cranked up to the max.
In a quick motion, Adriane dropped her pen onto the desk, and she reached forward and grabbed Trevor’s wrist. He blinked, his already tense muscles tensing more as she dug her nails into his skin so fecking needlessly. He grit his teeth in anger, narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brows as his lip curled up.
Adriane was standing and glaring back. “Let the fuck go.”
“Why should I?” Trevor snarked.
“Let go right now,” Adriane demanded. “Grab your papers and get out and maybe I’ll let you leave this room without sending my heel through your fucking neck.”
Trevor scoffed. “That’s not physically possible.” He wasn’t a mathematician (scientist? chemist? physician?), but he’d done research for his writing. “You couldn’t get enough inertia to make the blunt end penetrate my neck,” he hissed (and yes, he was proud of that comeback). “Not with your anemic strength.”
“Or better yet,” Adriane said, “maybe I’ll just go slash the tires of that precious little van of yours, hmm?”
This made his eye twitch. He clenched his jaw tighter. “You desecrate Rachel and you’ve got another thing comin’.”
“Don’t fucking mess with me.”
Sarcastically (because again, he had no self-preservation), Trevor held up the hand that wasn’t grasping the journal to wiggle his fingers in the air at his chest, widening his eyes as if he were terrified. “You’re so spooky,” he said in a flat voice. “I’m so intimidated.”
He dropped his hand back down and tightened his grip on her book, glaring into Adriane’s eyes determinedly, like he wasn’t going to let go. There was a seriousness in his face — a look that said he wasn’t going to give her this because, look, it was fecking Adriane, and he was sick and tired of her bullshite anyway.
But then, his head gave a nag, and he suppressed a grimace at the pain, and then he sighed, “But fine.”
He let go of her paper, slinging down his arm as he moved to the opposite side of the desk. “That’s all I fecking wanted in the first place,” he muttered, stooping down to chunky manuscript. He narrowed his eyes at it, and he gave a pained noise as he noticed a couple of indentations and circles of dirt where the chair had been. “Shite.”He yanked up the manuscript in a jerky motion, and then jerked his head over at Adriane.
This is enough damage to make you liable for at least three hundred dollarsdoyouunderstandwhatyou’vedoneyou’veruinedallofmyworkyoucompleteand —
“One more thing, Holloway,” he said, his chest tight with anger and panic at the unsettling status of his manuscript. His voice gave the strong impression that he was holding back some sort of primal rage, and as he went to say the next word, he was physically shaking, with two veins in his forehead and a vein in his neck straining beneath his skin. “FfffffffffffffffffffffffffUCK.” He raised his middle finger. “You.” He forced a wide smile, giving a nod, and then he turned on his heel, dropping his hand and stomping towards the door.
When he reached it, he yanked it open, and then he yanked it to close behind him — but he reached out and stopped it with his palm before it could slam, and it bounced back. Sighing, he stepped back inside, glancing at Adriane and then back at the door. Carefully, he grabbed the doorknob and, stepping back outside, eaaaaased the door shut.
His head was fecking throbbing — slamming it would be too much on his shot nerves.
Once he’d shut the door, he sighed deeply and slumped back against it.
Jesus Christ, he really fecking despised Adriane.
mood
RAGERAGERAGE
location
the school
outfit
clothes
RAGERAGERAGE
location
the school
outfit
clothes
playing...
i wanna slam my head against the wall
i wanna slam my head against the wall
by glaive
mentions
n/a
interactions
adriane
tags
Winona
n/a
interactions
adriane
tags
Winona
