Inhibitions

[3] - him

The hallway lacked sounds, light, and people for that matter. Long, dark shadows hugged the lockers in my peripheral, with each step, echoing further through the building.

"Drake?" I asked, turning around. On each side of me, the hallway continued; an endless amount of possibilities.

He was standing in the middle of the hallway, face in his phone, the LED screen being the only source of light in this god forsaken place. He lifted his head up, running his hands through his dark, black hair comfortably. He quickly amusingly grinned at me before returning to his phone.

"Stop sexting some girl and watch my back, please," I huffed, quietly walking forward towards the correct classroom.

"Calm down, we're almost there. Keep your eyes on the prize, bud," Drake replied back, swiftly walking side by side next to me. He slapped me on my back, pushing me forward in front of a shut door.

Room 27. The beginning or end of my life. Get cash or get caught.

I set my jaw, nodding my head towards Drake before ducking into the classroom. It was like I became the shadows, dark and gliding across the floor towards the desk. I slung down into the chair, staring at the dull, unlit computer monitor. The buzz of the computer filled my ears, the only thing that produced an actual sound.

Here goes nothing.

I turned on the monitor, releasing a sigh, a quick burst of victory. The computer was already logged in, as Drake promised. I navigated through the browser, finding my way to Sanders' email homepage.

I expected a Sports email subscription (can't say I was wrong), emails from angry parents regarding Sanders not placing their kid in a game after multiple pleads of, "put me in coach!", and maybe an email from a sick student asking what he taught in class that day. Instead I found something else.

I quickly selected Nick's parents' email explaining the alcohol situation and dragged it into the trash folder.

"Done and done."
I readjusted the keyboard to where it was before I touched it, before a certain email caught my eye.

"No subject..."

I clicked it open, my eyes widening at the absurd length.

"Dear Mr. Sanders,

My brother has—"

I continued reading the email, the tone shifting my own mood, simultaneously as the moon shifted along the night sky. Time kept passing, but it didn't matter.

"I'm stuck... if the world would just stop for a second... just in a shitty situation...... Levi Rivers." I murmured to myself, my eyes glued to the screen.

It didn't matter that my eyes began hurting from the bright LED, or that the sketchy street light outside the window had just blown out, or that Drake was doing God knows what on his phone. I was captivated by this single girl's pleading email, wincing the night away to some coach who could care less. The last thing Sanders would do is read this and do something about it.

So I did the next best thing.

I wrote down her email on my hand.

Before I could second guess myself, I closed out the browser, deleted the log from the browser history, pushed in the chair, and left.

In and out with more or less then I had before I walked in.