"I'm fine, I swear."
"Everything's good."
"I'm okay."
The words just slide out anytime people ask her. But in truth, quiet teen Patience Phillips is finally tired of lying....to herself, at least. Tired of the constant abuse, sick of the fear, disgu...
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I am a horrible person.
A pitiful, disgusting, and horribly manipulating excuse for a human being.
A huff of air escapes me and I plop my head into the open textbook on my desk. I can't even pay attention to what the teacher is saying. The guilt I have about this morning is eating me alive. Not even two hours ago I blackmailed one of the most dangerous people in this school. He probably deserves it for being such a jerk, but that doesn't help the massive knot in my stomach.
Exploiting someone else's vulnerabilities to achieve my own means...I should know better. Jack or no Jack. Oh god, is this the first step to me becoming some deceptive devil's spawn? And what about Dean? By now there's no doubt that he sincerely and whole heatedly hates my guts. My fingers had an itch to slap myself. I just need to suck it up, and deal. If this goes on, somebody's going to think I need serious counseling. I pull my head out of the heaping textbook on my desk and peek towards the front of the class. Speaking of the devil...
Of course, high and mighty Dean has just walked in. By the look on his face, its obvious he has something up his sleeve. Out comes a crooked smile when he notices me in the corner. Without any hesitation he walks in my direction. Just kill me now.
"Don't sit here. Don't sit here. Don't sit here. DON'T SIT HERE...", I silently chant, as if he could read my subconscious. Despite my efforts, a bag hits the ground near my feet and the desk and chair beside me creak under the pressure of extra weight. I nervously begin stabbing my pencil into my notebook, trying to take notes to avoid feeling more guilty about the presence beside me.
My ears catch the sound of a body shifting and the jingling of a chain. Three seconds later there is nothing but slow steady breathing next to me. Is he not going to mess with me? I sigh in relief at the thought of him not airing our dirty laundry in public, and glance to the left just to be sure.
All happiness immediately drops to rock bottom. Dean is intently staring at me with a stone face. Being stared at is one of the most unsettling feelings to me. Glares and dirty looks I can take, I get plenty of them at home. But having empty eyes locked in on me, just because, is enough to send me over the edge of sanity. I can't read it. Glares and dirty looks are obvious, and their intent is clear. Stares? I just don't know. And here is Dean Sawyer, with his full body turned in my direction, leaving only half a foot between us, and staring me down. Way to not air dirty laundry, Dean. Times like this, the word awkward doesn't quite cut it.
After a few minutes, that in all honestly felt like hours, my pencil snaps from me increasing its pressure into the paper.
"What are you? Some kind of creeper?!" I hiss while glaring at him. His smirk from hell reappears once again. He's doing this crap to make me uncomfortable.
"You don't like being stared at do you?" His gaze remains.
"STOP IT." I growl at him after not being able to withstand anymore.
