A Niall Horan Love Story: Solo Mission?

Chapter 2: Surprises

"Why do you do this to yourself, Kay?"

I sat brooding in the stiff-as-a-board excuse for a chair, which was stationed in the center of Principle Skidmark’s "Office of Doom."  He had termed it his “interrogation seat,” but everyone around the school usually referred to it as the “toilet seat”. 

Believe me, there are a lot of ways to make fun of someone with a last name like “Skidmark—” I mean, c’mon. 

 Without a warning, the bright lights in the room were suddenly turned off, and the reality of darkness flooded the room. Darkness slithered up in every corner of the wall, shrieking with satanic joy whenever it found a suitable loitering site; in every invisible crook and cranny, darkness was the only visible presence.  You could almost taste how uncomfortable the silence was.

Silence.......

       More silence.......

            “You know,” I spoke aloud for the first time since my incident the previous day, “I really don’t know why we have to go through this procedure every time I come in here.” 

From what I could see, Principle DooDooButter was calmly making his way back to his twirly chair, straightening his white woman’s blouse in the process.  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying my best to follow his every move with only my eyes.  I looked like an owl, but I didn’t really care.

Once he reached his desk, he pulled out his chair, settled in and let out a breathy sigh.  “Well, I don’t understand why you constantly choose to be in here,” was his response, but before I could retort he had flicked on his lamp, and the glaring lights produced a most dramatic affect.   I squinted as the rays spanked my blue eyes, and I was determined not to bend my head in defeat.

He peered at me over the lamp, trying to gage my reaction.  “And that, Miss Hemper, is why we continue the procedure,” he stated bluntly.

I nodded my head in appreciation.  I would never admit this to him, but despite the fact that he was a total head-case to be even remotely near, I did quite admire him.  I didn’t respect him yet; rather, I admired his tactics and techniques. 

“Noice… Noice…” I murmured, but to be honest I had forgotten about the effect of those lights.

I stretched my legs out from underneath me and sighed as I slowly began to regain feeling in my lower limbs.  Granting him the honour of one of my rare sideways smiles, I jutted my chin out and put my arm over the back armrest of the chair. 

“No dog noises today?” I questioned innocently.  Usually he would press a button that released the most annoying dog barking sounds. The volume would be so high that your ears would be ringing for the rest of the day. 

“Naah,” he sighed, “Today I opted for the calming sound of silence.”

Simple, but effective.

“You see, Miss Hemper,” he began and I groaned internally, “I find it quite amusing whenever I see you trudging along the hallways from class to class, for it seems as though your feet have 15 pound…cannonballs…dangling from them, restricting your every movement.”

I stared pointedly at the very edge of his receding hairline, trying not to look into his eyes.  If I met his gaze, I knew that his words would get to me. 

Cannonballs, hmm?

“Additionally,” he continued, relentless as ever, “My skin craws at every point in which I hear you interrupt the thought processes of your teachers—whom I am paying, mind you—with more of your cussing, swearing, and damning.”