Sharpie

Val’s P.O.V

The basement corridor of the fine art building smelled like mildew and regret. The class we were in wasn’t as sophisticated or tidy as others, we’d just sneaked in because we did not want any staff questioning our stay after school in case Reynolds and Jax took long to return. I think it was the most patient and anticipating that I have been especially compared to the last few days. Vienna’s heels click-clacked on the cracked floor design seeming even to crack the ground further, pounding and increasingly pounding, echoing like gunshots in silence as I could spot from the window that she had approached, how terrible and fierce her body's incoming presence made me feel. She creaked open the door like someone who’d been geared to get us busted.

Our necks turned in alert to the opening of the door, “Oh look at the fuck heads in the room, and it seems like I see new faces, she said spinning around like an evil spirit.