Frequencies [UNDER HEAVY EDITING]

October 15th

"Oh why don't you go to hell, you stupid thing. It's clear to see that that is where you were made."

I felt like screaming. The glaringly red locker in front of me just wouldn't fucking open. Now usually, a stuck lock wouldn't quite get me as pissed off as I was, but I had already been late this morning, annoyed by a malfunctioning microwave and my bloody alarm clock that didn't go off. So, the stupid locker that just wouldn't bloody budge was a little too much negativity at the moment.

In the last ten minutes, I had checked the code twice, making sure that each number was correct, I had pushed, pounced, pulled at the door, tried to pry it open with a hairpin, but no, it refused to cooperate. By now, I felt ready to punch a hole in the wall, along with a hole in the very next person that crossed my eyesight.

"I don't think the poor locker would like it that much if you'd start punching it." An amused voice suddenly whispered in my ear, a warm presence quickly pressing into my back uncomfortably. Instinctively, I slammed my hand backwards immediately, smashing the palm of it straight into the balls of whatever guy it was that had the guts to stand so close to me. He groaned loudly, nearly doubling over in pain and I smirked. He should've known better than to get all up in my space.

"I can decide what I do for myself, thank you very much." I nearly growled, voice hard, making very clear that I was not in a good mood, for as far as he hadn't gotten the message yet. He was still standing close and I hadn't seen him yet, but that didn't matter. Nobody could stand that close to me.

He chuckled and his breath tickled my neck. I spun around, taking a deliberate step back to avoid any contact.

As he was standing in front of me now, I gave him a quick once over. He seemed slightly familliar, sandy blonde hair messed up purposely, pulling the badboy look off. He looked like a walking cliché, but more important were the pair of icy blue eyes looking down at me.

"You," I managed to spit out, jaw clenched. What the hell was this arsehole suddenly doing here?

"Who? Me?" he replied, acting like he didn't understand me. The hint of amusement in his eyes however, had not left yet, so I knew that he knew very well what he was doing. Unfortunately for him, I wasn't in the mood to play games.

"Yes, you. Who else would I be talking to, you bloody idiot?" I spat at him, trying to get that stupid smirk off his face. " On Friday, in the club? I know you know who I am."

He tried to smile seductively - and failed terribly because all it did was piss me off even more. Who the hell did he think he was? Surely he didn't have any idea at all who he was dealing with or he wouldn't even be trying. "So you do remember me."

I rolled my eyes at him and the faux-pleased tone of his voice. There was no way I would ever be buying this fake innocence of his. Everything about him screamed player - and stupid.

Definitely stupid.

"Sadly yes, now would you kindly fuck off? I'm trying to get this fucking locker open and a conversation with you isn't worth the loss of time here."

"Let me help you," he replied, all too enthusiastically and stepped in front of me before I could even protest. He pressed a hand to the locker, tapping the lock a few times. And then, before I could even warn him, he pulled it right open, the door swinging in it's hinges.

It was the only thing I hadn't tried yet, pulling it at all my might, but that had a very solid reason. You see, my locker was kinda full. Hell, that was probably the reason it had been stuck in the first place.

Everything instantly came crashing out, right on top of both me and the guy, causing me to topple over. How the hell did he fucking manage to open my locker, for fuck's sake? Who the hell was this guy?