Absolution | +18

Chapter 6

Val

It's been three weeks since the day at the tattoo shop, but the memory still clings to me like a shadow I can't quite shake.

The past few days have been marked by an unsettling sensation, an inexplicable feeling that someone's watching me, even when I'm alone. It's a gnawing discomfort that lingers in the back of my mind, refusing to be ignored. I've tried to brush it off as paranoia, but it's there, persistent and unsettling, making my skin crawl whenever I think about it.

I'm lost in thought, my mind wandering as I sit in my college classroom. The rich mahogany finish of the lecture hall gives it an air of old-world sophistication, a stark contrast to the modern world outside. The smell of stale coffee and ink lingers, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood. Conversations hum quietly around me, a low murmur that blends with the rustling of papers and the occasional click of a pen.

The fluorescent lights overhead flicker intermittently, casting a harsh, sterile glow that seems out of place in such a refined setting. They illuminate the room unevenly, creating shadows that stretch across the polished wooden desks arranged in a semi-circle, giving everyone a clear view of the whiteboard at the front. That board, cluttered with the remnants of the previous lecture, stands as a reminder of the knowledge imparted and forgotten, a chaotic array of scribbles that only make sense to those who were paying attention.

Everything about this room feels meticulously curated, from the heavy wooden paneling on the walls to the ornate carvings on the doorframes. It's the kind of place that demands attention, yet today, I can't seem to focus. My thoughts drift aimlessly, the feeling of being watched still lingering at the back of my mind, impossible to shake.

The professor's voice drones on, a monotonous backdrop to my racing thoughts. The room is filled with the soft murmur of students, some frantically typing on their laptops, others scribbling notes in their notebooks. The low chatter and the tapping of keys blend together into a soothing white noise that usually helps me focus. But today, the sense of being watched seems to intensify, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the unsettling feeling gnawing at me.

"Valentina?"

The sound of my name jolts me out of my reverie, and I blink, realizing that my professor is staring directly at me. The entire class has gone quiet, their eyes now fixed on me, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I scramble to compose myself, but the sudden spotlight only makes my heart race faster.

"Uh... yes?" I stammer, feeling the heat of everyone's gaze.

The professor raises an eyebrow, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild annoyance. "I asked if you could explain the concept we're discussing today."

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort of being watched. "Sorry, I was... distracted," I admit, shifting in my seat. I cast a quick glance around the room, trying to regain my composure. "Um, the concept we're discussing is...?"

As I start to explain, my mind races to catch up with what's happening. I describe the lecture's topic as best as I can, trying to focus on the material instead of the uncomfortable feeling that still clings to me. The class resumes its normal hum as my professor nods in approval.

The classroom itself is a blend of dull greys and muted blues, with the occasional splash of color from student notebooks and personal items. The air is tinged with the faint scent of old textbooks and the occasional waft of perfume or cologne from classmates. The room's layout encourages interaction, with rows of desks facing each other in a semi-circle around the front of the room.