Psychopath [solangelo au]

-How to fake it-

November 14, 2017

"Shit," I muttered to myself, whipping around to face the front again. Caleb was gaining on me; I wasn't fast enough.

I was racing through the halls at lunch, as one does on a typical Tuesday afternoon, trying to get away from him and simultaneously avoid any teachers. I've been shouted at for running twice already, which was impressive on my part. If I kept this up I might be sent home; I was thinking about running home anyways.
My steps echoed off of the red and black lockers that lined the walls, my old vans slapping the linoleum like a drum. The student body must have heard the news that Caleb was after me, because their was not a soul around to watch me fly by.
My bag was still full with notebooks and textbooks, weighing me down like a pile of bricks stacked in between my shoulder blades, and my sweater was blown open. I probably looked panicked, which, you know. I should be.

Caleb was still pissed off for fighting back a couple weeks before, since I nearly broke his precious nose. He had attempted revenge a couple times before this, but teachers have always shown up out of nowhere and accidentally saved my ass.

Where were those fucking teachers now? Yelling at me to stop running, probably.

I glanced backwards again, a dangerous thing when you're sprinting so fast the world is a spinning blur, but to my relief, Caleb was gone.
My steps stuttered as I slowed to a jog, and then came to a full stop to catch my breath. My heart was in my ears, deafening me to the outside world, and my breathing was hitched. My stomach had such a bad cramp, it felt like I had been stabbed repeatedly between the ribs.
I keeled over in the empty hallway, hands on my knees and my hair over my eyes, sweating through my T-shirt until someone shouted.

I dragged my head up, neck screaming in protest, and made eye contact with one of Caleb's friends who was pointing at me from top of the hall.
The artificial hallway only had two places to run: forwards or backwards.
When I spun on the ball of my foot, Caleb had returned, stalking towards me like a hunter to its kill, an evil grin plastered on his ugly face.

My breaths were still broken, ripping jaggedly through my lungs. My legs were like half frozen jello. I was trapped.

I staggered backwards, hoping I could get to the right turn in the hall before Caleb's goon met me. 

Eyes trained on Caleb's, I took another step back—cringing when I stepped on someone's foot. An arm wrapped around my neck and held me in place to watch my funeral in slow motion, Caleb sneering as he sauntered closer.
I tried to pry the meaty arm away from my throat, but my nails were chewed down to the bed; I could barely make crescents in the teenagers skin.
Caleb took his time now that I was stuck, torturing me.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he tsked. His poorly highlighted hair was wet with sweat, fringe bunching until he plastered it back with a smooth hand. He was out off breath as well, he was just better at covering it up. And 20 times more fit than me.

"P-please can I j-just go?" I asked, short of breath that I could not catch due to the forearm on my windpipe. Maybe if I blacked out they would let me go?

"Let you go? Pfft, like I would do that after you decided to break my fucking nose," his eyes glinted wildly. I flinched into the person holding me up, "You deserve to be punished."

He pretended to look at his nails, long and in need of a trim, before closing his hand into a fist and punching me in the jaw. I whined, animal like from the back of my throat, knees giving out. He smirked.

He shook out his hand, considered it for a moment, and then threw another hit in the same spot.
Black, iridescent spots danced in my eyes. I felt myself fainting, from lack of air and pain, triggering the friend holding me to loosen his grip at the dead weight.
As the third punch was launched, I slipped out of the guys arms and ducked away from the two of them, scrambling away, backpack bouncing as I stumbled over the dirty tile floors.
Caleb nearly clocked his friend in the face, which would have been a silver lining to the fight, but he dodged at the last second, eyes wide.
They looked left and right in shock, and caught sight of me sprinting back the way I had come, rubbing my jaw with one hand and holding my backpack strap with the other. You could say I'm pretty good at multitasking.