Sam's POV:-
"Hello?" There's loud, aggressive, upbeat, music pulsing.
"Max?"
"Who's this?" he grunts. I hear a heavy clang of metal.
"Samantha," I reply. The music fades, indicating he stepped outside.
"Don't tell me you're in my bed, draped in a negligee," he snorts.
"Dream on despo," I roll my eyes. "Where are you?"
"Gym," his reply is muffled, by a towel maybe.
"At night? I thought mornings are more effective?"
"I go in the morning too," he replies absently. "Twice a day and a run." I hear a bag zip in the background.
"Two times? Plus running?! Are you training for some assassins cult? Cause then lot of things would make sense."
"Uh huh.. Like what?" he asks amused. I can sense he's sitting down.
"Like the fact that you're such a jerk. And annoy cute, innocent, little, girls for some sadistic pleasure. And you go around pissing people off, so you can get a fight out of them. I bet you have a favorite dumpster, where you dump bodies of innocent people, on whom who practice stabbing," I muse.
"Yes, I call it my dinky-dump dumpster," he says seriously.
I burst out laughing, then I remember I didn't call him to chit-chat.
I clear my throat, "I got your friend's shirt ready. Where's your gym? I'll bring it." Somebody bellows Max in the background.
"Don't bother. I'm done here. I'll drop by in front of your building. Ring you, when I'm there." He hangs up before I could say anything.
...........................
My face has the biggest smile. I just finished my viva. I was the last student, so the teacher was tired, and she asked dumb questions, which I answered like nursery recitals. I won't be surprised if she gave me extra points. Maybe even a special mention in the list of over-achievers.
Lost in my vain thoughts I skip down the empty hallway, eager to get to my room and take a nice bubble bath. I remember how I had a chocolate left in my bag, and hunt for it.
"Shit, I'm sorry," I apologize, rubbing my head.
"You need to stop saying that," Max groans, making my jaw drop. It's like my good luck gets its periods and cramps, thrice a month.
Before I could tell him to fuck off, he holds my shoulder. "Trolley run."
The urgency in his voice made me follow him.
"Why do I have to run?" I ask scared, my mind bringing up grotesque scenes from Stranger Things.
"If you want to keep your head, shut up and follow me," he mutters, stopping in front of a classroom. "Fucking over-responsible staff," he curses rattling the locked door.
"What are they Max? Wolves? Ghosts? ...bats?" I whisper scared.
"No, it's Mr. Kestheran," he mumbles, grabbing my wrist and running forward.
"Why? What happened? Is he a metamorphmagus? Has he turned into an alligator?"
Max stops and looks at me. "Jesus, stop watching so much Netflix Trolley," he frowns. He looks at something behind me and his eyes widen. He opens a janitor's closet and ushers me in. It was a black, unused, dingy little room and all of it's space was occupied by a table with broken leg.
YOU ARE READING
Luggage Bitch
Romance"Umm.. Thanks," I mumble, kicking dust with my shoes. "What?" Max asks me. "I said, thank you," I say more clearly. "Still can't hear you... Could you repeat that?" he asks politely. "I said thank you!" I shout. "You pig," I add lowly. "Still nada...
