Misery | Duncney ⚘

𝟭 | Bane of My Existence

˗ˏˋ PRESENT DAY ˎˊ˗

BLAINLEY TOOK A LONG SIP of coffee and let it scorch her asophagus as she stared at the unmoving teenage girl in front of her. 

She was as still as a statue, the only sign of the girl's physical presence being the light breathing echoing across the expanse of the room. Raven locks of hair cascaded down lean shoulders as her slit coal eyes stared back piercingly, red almond-shaped nails tapping a sporadic rhythm onto the wooden surface of the table.

Heather, was her name. Heather Chen Wilson, to be precise; suspect number one. 

Suspect wouldn't be the right word. After all, Heather hadn't murdered anyone, and Blainley was certainly no detective. 

They were two different people with diferring lives, the only aspect resonating being the school they were all-too-familiar with, McLean High School, and the deceased girl who attended it shy of a couple years ago, Courtney Alvares. 

But that still doesn't answer the question of why they're both sitting on opposite sides of the mahogany table, letting the tension transpire between them become so palpable it could be cut with a knife. 

It was because of the latter of resonating aspects between the two ladies—the presence of a Type-A overachieving brunette who caught all the nerds' envious stares the moment she set foot on campus.

In other words, Courtney fucking Alvares. 

Death took her by the arms at the frail age of seventeen, cutting her lifespan short in a way no one could come close to fathoming. It was unruly and bleak how an ambitious and headstrong girl, whose soul was brimmed with potential, could reduce to nothing but a passing memory. 

The blonde-haired lady cleared her throat as she gently set down her coffee, signaling Heather to break out of her endless spiral of thoughts— hence ceasing the thrumming on the table. 

"So, Heather, it's nice to meet you. I'm Blainley," she introduced herself with a courteous nod. 

Sparing herself from any formalities, Heather merely nodded and replied, "I know. Wife of the principal, Chris McLean." 

"Ah, yes. That's me. Now you must be wondering why I called you here."

"Precisely," the raven-haired girl let out with a scoff. "I graduated high school a year ago."

"Oh, no, that's not why you're here." Blainley laughed curtly. "I want to discuss something more serious... if that's okay with you, of course." 

Heather didn't like the direction this was taking. She had a feeling it was about her again.

Sick of her name being associated with her ex-best friend, she gulped. Courtney's death was still a ripe scar for many, and Heather didn't think she was ready to rip off the bandaid just yet, not after salt was poured onto her wounds multiple times. 

Although the business-minded lady put formalities on the table under the guise of common courtesy, she wasn't neccessarily going to take 'no' for an answer. Heather saw right through that.

But curiousity ate away at Blainley's brain, and she yearned to satiate herself like an animal that couldn't be contained. It was a game to her, and she was certain to be the chosen player. Little did she know the girl sitting in front of her was as cunning, if not more. 

"Shoot," Heather replied, squaring her shoulders and subtly leaning back in an effort to appear more intimidating. Her eyes bore through Blainley's in a faux presentation of confidence.