On The Verge

Chapter 8- Red Marker

——————Kendall——————

⠀⠀My foot tapped against the white classroom floor impatiently. Twenty minutes separated me from the lunch bell which would signal my temporary freedom. I held my phone beneath my textbook, texting Nick in secrecy. Nick was a blue eyed brown haired boy whom I had been flirtatiously texting for week in hopes that he would soon be more than a friend.

⠀⠀"Kendall Vertes, you're not fooling anyone. Put your phone away." The teacher snarled as the snickering heads of my classmates turned towards me. I shamefully dropped my phone into my bag and returned my attention to the teacher.

⠀⠀Moments later, I felt a slight vibration in my bag, which was resting upon my lap. Undoubtedly another text from Nick. Not wanting to ignore his text message and give him the impression I was ignoring him, I dug my hand deep into my bag while maintaining my focus on the teacher. While rummaging around in my bag, my fingertips swept along the smooth surface of a piece of paper.

⠀⠀My brow furrowed in confusion, I didn't remember placing a single piece of paper in my bag. Carefully withdrawing the paper, I averted my eyes from the teacher and forced them upon the piece of paper where a blood chilling sentence met my now fearful eyes.

D⃞e⃞a⃞d⃞ g⃞i⃞r⃞l⃞s⃞ c⃞a⃞n⃞'⃞t⃞       s⃞m⃞i⃞l⃞e⃞, ⃞ s⃞o⃞o⃞n⃞ y⃞o⃞u⃞ w⃞o⃞n⃞'⃞t⃞ b⃞e⃞ a⃞b⃞l⃞e⃞ t⃞o⃞ e⃞i⃞t⃞h⃞e⃞r⃞.⃞

⠀⠀My eyes clouded with terrified tears as I turned the paper over. My breath hiccuped in my throat and panicked horror washed over me. Paige's school photo was printed on the back side of the paper. She was smiling, her white teeth contrasting against the dark shirt that hung from her slim frame.

⠀⠀Anxiety began to spread throughout my bones as the reality of the situation came together like puzzle pieces inside my mind. The note— it was a threat, telling me that soon I wouldn't be able to smile for I too would be dead. The room seemed to spin around me and the pit settled itself into my stomach, giving me a sickening feeling. A layer of sweat covered my palms and tears threatened to escape the gates that were my eyelids like prisoners escaping their cells.

⠀⠀"I— I have to g-go." I stammered as I stumbled out of the room.

⠀⠀I ran down the hall, tears of fear streaming freely down my cheeks. Turning the corner, I found myself in the washroom. Locking myself in a stall, I took deep breaths, failing to calm myself down. A new wave of tears racked my body as I slid slowly down the wall into a sitting position. Burrowing my head in my knees, I shakily began to count down from ten, a calming technique which I often turned to when my panic attacks took ahold of my being like a rider grasps onto the reins of their horse.

10, 9, 8,

I felt my breathing begin to slow.

7, 6, 5,

I relaxed as my composure returned.

4,3,2,

⠀⠀The bathroom door opened and a person sulked into the room. I watched their feet in the space between the stall door and the tile floor, walking past each stall till they reached mine. The feet stopped, facing my closed stall door. Any placidity that had returned to me dissolved in that moment as I felt as if the walls were once again closing in on me.

⠀⠀The black sweatpants that belonged to the unknown person did not indicate their gender, as goes for their melanic leather shoes. The feet stayed immobile, unmoving under the stall for a breath held moment that seemed to last forever.

⠀⠀Finally, the feet turned on their heels and briskly exited the washroom, the thick wooden door slamming behind them with a thud. Once a tense calamity settled throughout the room, I forced my shaking body into a standing position. The two small steps it took to reach the stall door were anxious and unstable. As I unclasped the lock, the door swung open revealing the other side of the door which had moments ago been facing the obscure person.

⠀⠀But one small thing was evidently out of place; writing now littered the door. Sharp and disorderly writing that had been drawn onto the door in perceptible red marker.

I⃞'⃞l⃞l⃞ s⃞p⃞a⃞r⃞e⃞ y⃞o⃞u⃞ t⃞h⃞i⃞s⃞ t⃞i⃞m⃞e⃞,⃞ n⃞e⃞x⃞t⃞ t⃞i⃞m⃞e⃞ y⃞o⃞u⃞ w⃞o⃞n⃞'⃞t⃞ b⃞e⃞ s⃞o⃞ l⃞u⃞c⃞k⃞y⃞.⃞