Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 35 | Not anymore

JAMES WAITED IN THE parking lot, the cold October air biting at his skin through the cracked window of his car. He watched the students file out of the building, a steady stream of chatter and laughter spilling into the emptying lot. His eyes scanned the faces, barely registering the passing cars or the muffled shouts of farewells. There was only one face he was looking for, one person he needed to see.

Ethan.

He spotted him easily, the broad-shouldered jock sauntering out with a group of his friends. The way they moved, their boisterous laughter cutting through the air, their carefree expressions—it disgusted him. The image of them throwing insults at him, laughing at his tears, flickered through James' mind like an old film reel. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white. The faces blurred in and out of focus as James honed in on Ethan, separating him from the rest of the crowd. The others were just noise, background characters. But Ethan, he was different. He was one of the worst ones.

The voices in James' head whispered, louder now, more persistent. They urged him to take action, to stop waiting. Do it now. Start with him. He deserves it.

James didn't blink, didn't breathe, as he watched Ethan break away from the group. The other jocks headed toward their cars, but Ethan made his way toward the back exit, the one leading out to the path near the woods. He always walked home, James had learned that weeks ago. He lived only a few blocks away from school, and the walk gave him a perfect opportunity to stalk his prey unnoticed.

Ethan shoved his hands into the pockets of his varsity jacket, completely unaware that James was watching. Unaware that today would be different.

James waited until the last of Ethan's friends had left, the parking lot finally quiet, and then he started his car. The engine rumbled softly, almost as if it understood the need for stealth. He pulled out of the lot, trailing a safe distance behind Ethan, watching him in the rearview mirror as he walked down the cracked sidewalk, headphones on, completely oblivious to the danger lurking behind him.

The streets of Elmwood Heights were quiet, the chill in the air driving most people indoors. The houses lining the street seemed asleep, the windows dark, save for the occasional flicker of a TV or the glow of a kitchen light. James kept his distance, his heart thudding dully in his chest as he followed Ethan's every step, his eyes never leaving the figure in the distance. The tension in his body was palpable, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce. He had to stay calm, stay collected. He couldn't rush this.

The street narrowed as they moved into a more residential area, the sidewalks bordered by skeletal trees stripped bare by the autumn winds. Ethan's house wasn't far now. James knew the way by heart—he had memorized it on earlier drives, stalking from afar. He had replayed this moment in his head over and over, each time more vivid, more real.

But this time was different. This time, it wasn't a fantasy.

Ethan turned down a side street, his walk relaxed, casual. He was heading toward home, completely unaware of the car creeping behind him. James' hands felt clammy on the steering wheel, but his mind was sharp, laser-focused. He knew exactly where Ethan's house was, the layout of the street, the trees that cast shadows over the sidewalk. He knew that once Ethan reached his house, no one would hear him scream. His parents worked late, and the nearest neighbors were a couple of streets over.

It was perfect.

James felt his heart thud in his chest with a rhythmic certainty, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. His breathing was shallow, the adrenaline flooding his veins making everything sharper—clearer. His mind raced through the scenarios, each one more vivid than the last. How easy it would be, how quick. A knife? Or perhaps his hands. He imagined feeling Ethan's throat beneath his fingers, the life draining from his eyes.

James turned onto the same street Ethan was on, keeping his distance but close enough to see him clearly. Ethan walked up the path to his house, his back to James as he approached the door, fishing out his keys. This was it.

The car came to a soft stop a few houses down, the engine going quiet. James sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the pull of it, the dark urge gnawing at him, whispering in his ear. Do it. Do it now.

His breath came faster, shorter. His hand instinctively reached for the door handle, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. He needed to be calm, methodical.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air slapping against his skin like an icy reminder of what was about to happen. Each step felt heavy, each one carrying him closer to the edge of something he could never come back from. But he didn't care. Not anymore. Not after what they had done to him.

The world around him seemed to fade away, the sound of distant traffic and the rustling of leaves becoming nothing more than a dull hum in the background. All that mattered now was Ethan—the way he stood at the door, completely unaware of the fate about to befall him. James could see him fumbling with the keys, cursing under his breath as the door seemed to resist his attempts to unlock it.

James approached silently, his footsteps barely making a sound on the cold pavement. He felt like a shadow, moving with purpose, with intent. The air seemed to grow heavier, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him, but he didn't falter. His eyes never left Ethan's back, the image of his tormentor so clear, so fragile.

Finally, Ethan unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it slightly ajar behind him. James slowed his pace, his heart pounding in his ears. This was it. His moment. The voices in his head screamed for him to act, to take control, to do what needed to be done.

He reached the front of Ethan's house, standing at the door now, his hand brushing the wood as he pushed it open wider. The warmth of the house hit him, the scent of Ethan's cologne lingering in the air, along with the faint smell of sweat and leather from his jacket. James stood there for a moment, his pulse racing, his mind swirling with the possibilities. He could hear Ethan moving around inside, oblivious to the danger that had followed him home.

James' hand tightened around the handle of his bag, where he had carefully packed what he needed. His fingers brushed against the cool metal inside, and a cold smile played on his lips.

This was the beginning.

He stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him, shutting out the outside world. All that remained now was the silence between them, the sound of Ethan's footsteps echoing through the house as he moved deeper inside.

James followed.

Each step he took brought him closer to his prey, closer to the revenge he had craved for so long. His breath was shallow, his vision tunneling in on Ethan's figure ahead of him. Everything else melted away—the school, the laughter, the mocking voices—it all became nothing more than distant echoes in his mind.

All that mattered now was this moment.

Ethan was going to pay.

James' heart thundered in his chest as he reached the end of the hallway, standing just a few feet behind Ethan. His fingers twitched, his mind alive with anticipation, with the dark satisfaction of what he was about to do.

But he didn't feel fear.

Not anymore.

He was ready.