After school finally ended and I heard no word of Hound's return, I made my way down the halls, trying to find the door marked 133. I was 150, so I assumed it wasn't too far.
I tried to be casually sneaky, which made people look at me oddly. Thankfully, however, no one was walking down Hound's hall. I took out the key, still sealed in the baggy, and grinned.
I stood in front of the door, heart pounding.
Hallelujah, I preached as I fumbled to unzip the bag and pull out the golden key.
I tried to shove it into the keyhole upside down and dropped it on the floor.
"Shit." I murmured as I reached down to pick it up. I thought I heard the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor and paused. When I was sure I was alone, I picked the key up and opened the door.
Clyve's room had a very distinct smell.
Febreeze and Axe.
To cover up the smell of weed, I assumed.
I closed the door softly behind me as I looked around. Shirts were thrown carelessly across the ground and a familiar leather jacket laid across the back of a desk chair. The bed covers were messy and slumping onto the floor and an array of movies filled a small shelf nailed to the wall.
I stepped further into the room, spotting some Polaroids on the nightstand near the bed. I shrugged my bag off, letting it drop to the carpet as I moved to pick the stack up.
The first one was stained, a ring of what looked to be coffee seeped into the white end of the picture. Clyve, it read in sharpie through the stain. The image was of Clyve, his handsome face turned away from the camera as he smoked a cigarette on an old, blue couch. His cheekbones looked sharp and his eyes were hooded.
The second photograph read Kat in all caps. It was different handwriting than that of the first.
The picture was of a girl with long, black hair and heavy makeup. She was sleeping - naked it appeared, though her chest was covered in white bed sheets. Red lipstick was smeared over her cheek and the corner of her mouth as though she'd been roughly kissed.
I realized that the girl was probably Katchya Morgan, Hound's long time girlfriend according to his file.
I moved onto the third picture, and again it was the girl. This time she was staring straight at the camera and I noticed that her eyes were brown - like mine. Her makeup was cleaner in this picture, perfect eyeliner and purple lipstick. Her lips were parted, but not smiling. She wore a leather jacket that looked a lot like Hound's.
The fourth picture was of them both. Katchya had her arm curled around Clyve's neck as she pulled him close to press her lips against his cheek. He was turned away, his mouth open as though he'd been talking. Katchya was wearing sunglasses and a black sun hat, paired with a white polka-dot blouse. She seemed to be a few inches shorter than Clyve.
The fifth and last picture was again of the two of them. Clyve seemed more affectionate in this one, his arms around her waist as they kissed harshly. Her hands were pressed against his cheeks, pulling him closer. He was wearing his jacket and a pair of black jeans. She wore high-waisted shorts and another white top matched with a pair of black wedges. I found myself admiring her style, suddenly feeling like a slob in my leggings and loose t-shirt.
I set the photographs down, next to Clyve's alarm clock and an empty can of Redbull.
My gaze shifted to the window, where a lock had been placed to keep it from opening. My lips curled. Shaking my head, I ran my fingers over the movies on the shelf above his bed.
