Simon, now alone, swallowed and reached a fist up to knock on the door. However, instead of knocking, all his hand did was push the door ajar, and it slowly swung open to reveal Dante’s room. There, perched on the open windowsill, was the person he was looking for.
Dante was crouched in the window, half inside, half outside, and had turned his head to see Simon standing outside his room. He was clothed in all black and he wore a utility belt with various weapons and tools secured to it. He even had a drawstring bag slung over one of his shoulders.
Simon almost didn’t recognize Dante without his glasses. Both teens stared at each other, frozen and motionless, unsure of what to do. The only sound between them was when Dante’s notebook slipped out of Simon’s hands and plummeted to the floor. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to both parties, Dante dropped back onto the floor of his room and began walking swiftly towards Simon.
This version of his classmate was far different from Simon’s experience with him. He approached with a sort of menace as he stalked towards him, and Simon, eyes widening and beginning to backpedal, tried to frantically think of a way to remove himself from the situation. That was nothing, however, compared to the force he felt at his back as Dante held his arm out palm up, and brought his hand back towards his shoulder, flexing at the elbow. In sync with the motion, Simon was lifted off his feet and pushed forward into the room. Then, in two swift movements, Dante swiped the air in front of him as if swatting a fly--Simon could hear the door slam shut--and put both arms out in front of him, sending Simon backwards to slam into the door with invisible muscle. Simon couldn’t move. He could barely breathe since the force of being thrown against the door knocked the wind out of him.
By now, Dante was on him and he grabbed Simon’s shirt in his fists. “Please!” Simon squeaked. This was all too much for him. He was certain he was going to die, all for witnessing something he apparently shouldn’t have. He didn’t even know Dante very well and now he was going to be killed by him. The room started to spin as realization settled and panic set in. His words were slurring and the world was fading.
Dante wasn’t sure what to do with this guy, but letting him go was something he couldn’t risk. He had only just grabbed the frightened boy when his wide eyes wrinkled shut and he leaned into Dante, jaw clenched, as he lashed violently with all the might in his slender frame. At first, Dante perceived this as physical retaliation, but as he dropped the black haired boy to the floor and he continued to convulse, he was left standing in utter confusion.
After a few seconds, Simon’s grunts and vocal sounds of struggle grew louder as he continued to shake back and forth uncontrollably, every muscle in his body taking part in the event. His groans turned to screams, and Dante, who had piled himself on top of him to prevent a crafty escape, tried to cover his victim’s mouth as well. “Shhh!” he hissed. Upon receiving no cooperation, Dante reached up onto his bed and felt around for one of his pillows. His hand found one and he quickly withdrew it from the bed and placed it over Simon’s screams, laying his upper weight onto the plush cushion. The boy under the pillow slowed in his spasms and gradually stopped struggling until he lay on Dante’s floor motionless.
Once Simon stopped moving, Dante peeled the pillow off his face to see that both his face and the pillow were drenched in blood. “Damn.” he frowned. “I really liked that pillow.”