Paper Airplanes (DISCONTINUED)

Quatre

"U-um, hi?" I say, although it came out as more of a question rather than a statement. A small smirk plays on his lips, his entire being completely aware of my nervousness towards him. "I-is there anything you wanted?" I stutter. I really need to stop with the stuttering. His smirk widens.
"I think you know what I'm here for." He says. I think back to this morning, how I was felt up by his douchebag of a friend, and how he stole my camera, and lastly, worst of all, how he bloody threatened me in the hallway. Then to top it all of I was pestered by his other douchebag friends in class and almost gotten in trouble.
"Yeah well your douchebag friend already stole my camera so I think you got what you wanted." I say, my voice laced with anger. Damn, I say douchebag way too much. He chuckles. HE CHUCKLES?! What the hell is so funny?
"I actually came to return your camera." He says, holding the camera out with his right hand, the left tucked away in the front pocket of his dark jeans. I stare at it in astonishment. I thought that maybe he would have kept it. Not return it.
"You're giving it back?" I ask raising an eyebrow, adding emphasis to my confusion.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I? I've got what I needed." Of course, he deleted the bloody picture. "So, I've got a question a question to ask you." He says, all forms of amusement leaving his face, bringing back the nervousness within me.
"Y-yeah?" Oh come on! Enough with the freaking stuttering.
"Yeah."
"So, what did you want to ask me?" I feel like I know the answer.
"Thursday evening, in the alleyway," here it is. "what did you see?" He asks. I'd say I barely noticed him advancing on me, but that would be a lie. His figure towered over me, his eyes boring into my soul.
"I didn't see anything on Thursday."
"Good answer love," his arm is bent, resting over my head against the lockers. "but that's not the answer I was looking for."
"So what are you looking for?" I can play dumb.
"You know what." He growls, his glare turning colder.
"Well... if you must know, I saw you beating up that defenseless guy." I say nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders.
"He wasn't defenseless, he fucking owes me mon- wait, why am I explaining myself to you? Anyways, whatever you think you saw, you didn't see."
"That's what I said."
"Stop being such a little smart arse"
"How am I being a smart arse? All I did was say what I said before-"
"Oh God, shut up."
"Well that was very rude of you."
"You talk a lot, ya know?"
"Yeah well your an arsehole, did you know that?"
"Oh for the love of God just go fuck each other and call it a day. You sound like a married couple." Sharon says as she walks past, scaring the life out of the both of us.
"I swear she is the most horrible person in the world." I mutter to myself.
"Not really. She's the chillest teacher I've ever met. Her body is a plus as well, but its not as good as yours." He says, biting his lip as his eyes roam my body. I scoff and place my right hand on my hip, completely unamused by his idiocy. There isn't really much to see here. His eyes land on my chests. I had forgotten that I'd previously nipped the front of the neckline with a pair of scissors -I felt as if the shirt were choking me- and the nip travelled downwards over time, after being worn and washed so many times, exposing my breasts a bit. His face turns into a contorted expression, one that was unreadable, and as soon as it had come, it vanished and was replaced with a cold stare. I folded my arms over my chests feeling weird and out of place.
"Would you stop staring at my breasts."
"Love, if I wanted your breasts, I would be holding handfuls right now. Trust me. Now answer this question, where did you get this necklace?" I look down, confused until I spot the small silver paper airplane that hung from its matching silver chain.
"Oh this? I f- wait, why do you need to know? Why would I tell you about this chain when I don't even know your name?"
"Its Harry. Now tell me, where did you get this necklace?" Harry. It suits him well. He stares at me waiting for an answer. I feel small under his stare, and my voice comes out small. I sound weak and fragile, like a child, and I don't like it.
"I found it at the park in my old hometown. Why?" His stare is so hard, so intense. I feel like a thirteen year old being pressured into smoking tree for the first time. I feel as if he will crush me at any moment, that he will pummel me into the ground with only those green eyes of his.
"Because it's mine."