It was very uncomfortable in the room. It had been fine a second before, just a regular class, drawing on the math page and not paying attention to something about proportions that I didn't have the slightest grasp of. And then, suddenly, if had gotten hot, and every noise stood out like a bell chime in a silent room. It was tight and cramped, and I couldn't find a comfortable way to sit. It was very cramped. Extremely. Sweat rolled down the back of my neck. I felt the very strong urge to punch someone right in their idiot face. Every itch on my body grew bigger and more unreachable. I wanted to scream. My breath sped up. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down. It didn't work.
"You okay?" Emery, sitting next to me, asked in a hushed tone. I didn't trust myself to answer. I got up quickly, trying to leave the classroom unnoticed, and failing.
"And where do you think you're going?" The teacher said. I looked up at him, trying to put an angry glare into my eyes. It worked. I dug my nails into my palm.
"The bathroom." I said quickly, and rushed out the door. The teacher tried to call back at me, but I didn't pay attention, and ran off into the hallway. Checking to make sure no one was in the hallway, I slumped down to the floor, openly scratching myself. When I was done, I tapped at the floor, listening to the steady rhythmic beat, trying to zone out the other noises that I picked up on, the tiniest things, like the tapping of someone's foot inside the class, the teacher talking, computer keys clicking, pencils scratching, and the harsh p's, t's and s's coming from my classmates talking. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap- and then you factor out the 3- TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP- ps t s pst ts stp pts sp ts- TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP- clickclickclick clickclickclickclickclick- TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP- click scritch ptstpst and the answer is- I ran to the stairwell that no one ever used. I locked the stairwell door. I was twitching like crazy, muscles contracting against my will. I pushed a hand onto the wall in an attempt to stop it. It didn't help. I retracted the hand and punched the wall. Hard. My knuckles split open with just that one contact. I punched again, and again, until my entire hand bled, and past that. I lost all concept of time, punching the wall in that stairwell, until I crumpled down, cradling my hand. It was silent, which was a relief. If it wasn't, I would have screamed. I lay for an unknown amount of time, tapping the hand that wasn't covered in blood against the floor, calming down. God, I was lucky that no one had been around me while I freaked out, or they would be in a lot of pain. After a while, my hand stilled, and I returned to the usual level of fidgetiness, jogging my right leg unconsciously. I looked down at my watch. 2:05. The school day had ended. I got up shakily, walked down the rest of the stairwell, and went out the back door. I leaned against the side of the building, and fumbled with my phone. I flipped through the contacts, finding the name Eliot on the bright screen. Too damn bright, I turned the brightness down. I clicked call. Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hello?"
"Can you pick me up?" I rasped, voice raw.
Eliot arrived in three minutes.
If you think I displayed whatever happens to the main character wrong, you're wrong because I was basing this off my own experiences. Also, these short stories are to improve my writing, so any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcomed. Note on CONSTRUCTIVE.
