Day 8: J - Mouth Shut
His fist collided with the wall beside my head.
“Listen, bitch. Forget what you saw or next time my fist won’t miss.” His words were low and dangerous. After seeing what he had done to the girl before me, I would have been stupid to think it was an empty threat.
It was strange to think that this was someone who had captured the hearts of every seventeen-year-old in our school. I could see the allure. The dark curly hair, light green eyes, a dimpled right cheek and something enticing about the way his lips formed around his words. But what no one mentioned was that when you got up close, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, a wicked twitch laced into his smirk.
He inched his face closer to mine, pushing his lips so close that the slight stubble on his chin pricked my ear.
“Got it?” He whispered. He smelled like rain and cigarettes. It overwhelmed my senses, clouding my brain.
“Yes,” I whispered back. Instant shame flooded my face. How many girls had he done this to before? How many would he keep pulling into this web of secrecy where they were held there by vicious threats? In a moment of panic, I became one in the same.
“Good,” he bit back, and gave me one more hard look before stalking off out of the girl’s washroom.
As soon as he left, I crumpled to the floor, taking deep breaths to pull myself together. The petite brunette’s sobs rang in my ears as the image of his hand slapping aside her cheek looped in my head.
A chorus of giggles sounded from outside the washroom and I wondered what witty catch phrase he must have rehearsed and preformed for them to turn to puddles around his feet. Creating the perfect image of who he wanted everyone to see.
“Listen, bitch. Forget what you saw or next time my fist won’t miss.” His words were low and dangerous. After seeing what he had done to the girl before me, I would have been stupid to think it was an empty threat.
It was strange to think that this was someone who had captured the hearts of every seventeen-year-old in our school. I could see the allure. The dark curly hair, light green eyes, a dimpled right cheek and something enticing about the way his lips formed around his words. But what no one mentioned was that when you got up close, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, a wicked twitch laced into his smirk.
He inched his face closer to mine, pushing his lips so close that the slight stubble on his chin pricked my ear.
“Got it?” He whispered. He smelled like rain and cigarettes. It overwhelmed my senses, clouding my brain.
“Yes,” I whispered back. Instant shame flooded my face. How many girls had he done this to before? How many would he keep pulling into this web of secrecy where they were held there by vicious threats? In a moment of panic, I became one in the same.
“Good,” he bit back, and gave me one more hard look before stalking off out of the girl’s washroom.
As soon as he left, I crumpled to the floor, taking deep breaths to pull myself together. The petite brunette’s sobs rang in my ears as the image of his hand slapping aside her cheek looped in my head.
A chorus of giggles sounded from outside the washroom and I wondered what witty catch phrase he must have rehearsed and preformed for them to turn to puddles around his feet. Creating the perfect image of who he wanted everyone to see.
The door opened, and the giggling floated in with two blonde seniors. They stopped for a moment, taking in my state, looked at each other and carried on. No evidence of shock graced their faces.
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Prompt: A misunderstanding because of a bad first impression.
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