Overgrown Belly 

Chapter 17: Overgrown Belly 

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~~~ [START]

Their eyes were interlocked.

And Vlad, noticing how the seat next to the corpse he was looking at was empty, shivered inwardly as an unknown feeling overtook him whole.

Then his eyes, as if needing retreat, moved and noticed a seat in the far back.

Just like the one he was expected to take, it was also empty.

So, ignoring her gaze with an oncoming smile, Vlad moved past her and made his way to the back.

She frowned at his actions, noticing how faint sounds of laughter escaped his lips—laughter so little that only she could hear it.

"Sup," Vlad greeted a boy who was sharing the same desk.

The lad, clearly taken aback by Vlad's actions, only frowned in disgust, as if in mock of Vlad's face.

He hated the handsome; it was clear from his expression.

But Vlad, not being one to hold a grudge, just smiled and opened his bag as he prepared to experience the commonly hated experiences of school.

But his hearing proved too troublesome.

As the heartbeat of the teen who was sitting right next to him started beating in pace, it was fast, too fast, as if in panic.

It got so frustrating that it got Vlad to shift his gaze and place them on him, clearly stunned and curious at what the teen was experiencing.

But what he saw next was a spectacle even the devil would regret setting his eyes on.

The teen/boy sitting next to him was filled with sweat.

His breathing was increasing, and even his glasses seemed to be steaming mist.

He almost laughed.

But his laughter was pulled out of thought as he understood what the sweating teen right next to him was looking at.

Alice.

And she was approaching his table.

Her movements were slow, as if waiting for him to notice.

And her smile, her bright shining smile, was retained by her expression.

Not once, not even once, did she break eye contact.

Then she arrived, not to Vlad or next to his figure, but to the boy sitting beside him.

"Hey, John," she said, knowing his name, at which even Vlad was surprised by her words.

He was shaking—not much, but enough for Vlad to see, and maybe, maybe even Alice.

His eyes were now widely open, and his heartbeat had reached impossible speeds.

"I need a favor," she whispered, touching his shoulder, and Vlad immediately knew what she was up to.

He didn't know the reason, but he knew the trick: the art of seduction.

He had seen it too many times in movies, and now it was happening right in front of his very eyes.

Oh, how many men had fallen for it?

"Don't fall for it, John," Vlad inwardly thought, but what he was seeing was not at all convincing for his wish.

"Can you do me a favor and switch seats with me?" He now knew her objective.

And John, John was just simply too stunned to speak.

His mind had already been in a frenzy the moment Alice approached.

In seconds, John had already gotten married to the girl who stood before him, had already gotten kids, already filed for divorce, and already gotten back together again.

Oh, how men lose themselves for the 'pussy.'

Vlad already knew what he would reply.

Who wouldn't?

"Here?" he asked, eyes visibly showing hearts.

"Please," she said, moving her hand closer to his chest.

Vlad could see him shivering.

Oh, how he wanted to Vlad. But it was already too late.

"Of course!" John bolted upward, his了好 flying everywhere.

It was embarrassing.

Then he moved, pulled his chair back, and ran—literally running, not walking, but 'running.'

And Alice only laughed at his actions, as if his retreating body was too amusing.

She then moved and sat on a chair that once belonged to a 'simp,' or in Vlad's thoughts, 'wimp.'

Alice looked at Vlad with a smile playing on her lips.

"Hey," she whispered. And Vlad, always one to take offense, spoke, "You demon," shaking his head and folding his arms, mimicking the actions of a disappointed parent.

She only laughed at his actions, and he couldn't help but not keep a straight face.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked, as he finally removed the last needed book from his now-closing bag.

And Alice, still holding up her face and gazing at his figure, failed to reply.

She just looked at him for a minute, then minded her business.

He frowned at her actions, clearly confused by her lack of response.

But he noticed that she didn't stop smiling.

Even if the smile was faint, even with its small presence, to him it was still visible—and that was enough.

"Okay, Goofballs!" the teacher moved to the front, holding a large stick that stretched straight to the board. "Art is about feeling, emotion, portrayal."

He noticed how the class was beginning to pay attention.

"Wrong!" He slammed the board with his stick. "Art is not about what you feel; it's never about your problem." He moved around a bit. "It's not even about your emotions."

He stopped, let go of the stick as it dropped to the ground.

"It's about what they feel, what you make them feel." He turned his gaze as it shifted from each and every student. "It's about enhancing what the audience feels, enhancing their emotions. Make them think what you are portraying is how they feel. Only then can you be successful in this industry."

He looked at them, then rubbed his hands on his large, overgrown belly.

"It's not about giving them the emotions they don't feel. It's about giving them what they need." He smiled, perhaps noting how cool his words actually were. "That is this week's project," he raised his hands dramatically, "make me feel something!"

~~~ [END]

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