Down Under

Chapter 5

School was a playground of emotions with wild teenagers trying to harbor their emotions. Well, with therapy perhaps a few of them could learn how to control them better but this was - for lack of better terms - a different time. It was apparent by now that if you considered the men in your college to be childish, these guys would be full on toddlers in your book. It was a group of jock looking guys that you knew hung around Stu at times. Some of them had their letterman jackets on while the others only had their practice shirts. Why a group of jocks were loitering in the library after hours was beyond you. Perhaps practice had been delayed and they enjoyed ruining other people's day.

You could hear their snide whispers from here. Crazy lunatic bitch. Yo, you think she really went through that shit? No, she probably cut herself in hopes of getting more attention. Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention back to what was important - your survival. While Sidney and Tatum were busy with their after school activities, you had busied yourself with reading any and every medical book this school had to offer. From basic cleaning practices to how to properly close up a wound, you had been taking notes like a mad man. You had considered reading the famous horror books that inspired many horror movies in hopes of getting some sort of training from them, but you could always look towards Randy to provide that knowledge on the fly.

The slow turning fall weather was taken in by open arms as well since most of your endurance training did happen outside. This training only ever consisted of long distance jogging since sprints would lead to an early death rather than growth. Tatum questioned your antics but eventually shrugged it off to normal mood swings. If gaining some leg strength meant that you could outrun the killer and leave people like these jocks to die in your place, then so be it. There were no limits to your resolve to stay alive - anything was up for grabs in hope that you could still return to your original life. Well, anything but trying to get the sympathy or affection of the killers. There was no way you would even attempt to "change" either of them since a mind set to murder is not one you would want to inspect.

There were millions of horror movies that could have been better options in comparison to this one. Preferably ones that focused much more on the humor and irony of life rather than true murder. Jennifer's body was one of the few movies you actually enjoyed that your friend showed you. Albeit, anything with a slightly lesbian undertone was a top favorite. Your underlying question would forever be - why scream? You hadn't watched the series at all after being forced to watch it. Coraline was your most recent movie so it would have been perfect sense to have ended up in that universe... but scream!?

Anger mixed with rightful fear were your only motivators to stay alive in this stupid movie. No amount of try hard jocks that had no manners would stop you from completing your destiny of being petty and bringing justice to yourself. There was no way you would let your body succumb to the hands of some shitty serial killer who had no part in his crime. Mocking comments were the background noise to your research. Page after page, the same notes on epithelial tissue and procedure started to mix together. With your mind completely enraptured in words that barely made sense until another book gave you the rundown of what you just read, you didn't notice the familiar yet feared body of a boy sitting across from you.

You did question as to why the library had suddenly grown quiet (like it should have been in the beginning), but you couldn't bother looking up to search out the reason. A rough cough finally ripped your eyes away from the drawings before you. Billy sat in front of you, leaning far too back into his chair to make it seem as though he was just casually there. The jocks stayed quite as his stare slowly dragged over to them yet again, but at least tried to make it subtle - it wasn't. He refused to make the first move in terms of conversation, preferring to flip the pages of one of the many textbooks laid out on the table, feigning interest before staring at you under his lashes. You needed his routine at this point before he turned into a maniac.