Immediately, Virgil was blasted with a rush of cold air from the vent just inside the doors. He was thankful for his thick, large jacket, glad that it would keep him warm. It was almost a completely empty lobby, with only one person at the counter paying the entry fee. He stayed away from them until went to the room on the left. Walking up slowly, Virgil silently put seven dollars on the counter with his head down, his purple bangs hanging over his eyes, not wanting to interact any more than he had to with the employee. The employee was actually a curator; it said so on his name tag. Timothy Hobbes – Curator. He was tall, wearing professional black attire, and looked to be in his late twenties. Timothy frowned at him, "You feeling okay, man?" When he did nothing but nod, the curator shrugged. "Alright, if you say so."
What if he reaches over the counter and grabs you? And the security guards don't do anything? And neither do the other people here? He quickly made his way to the room on the right, as to not run into the other visitor he had seen. Unfortunately, there was a teenage guy and his father staring at the sculpture of a nude woman in there. Don't go near them, don't go near them. The teenager was shorter than average, with scruffy blonde hair and a football jersey on. His sneakers were bright orange, with atrocious red shorts to match. Those colors don't go together! Virgil's artistic mind was almost offended by his outfit. The father wore a dark blue shirt with black pants, his grayish hair cut short and pristine. They had their backs to Virgil, so he couldn't see their faces. He went to a corner of the room to look at one painting in particular. It was huge, probably eight feet wide and six feet tall. The picture was of a horse-drawn carriage with a beautiful young lady sitting inside, on a dirt road in the countryside. It was truly spectacular. This is amazing...It was a good thing he didn't have any other plans for the day; if the other paintings were this good, then he was going to be here for a while.
The individual from the bus suddenly stormed into the room, scoffing at the two men. They were dressed very androgynously, looking edgy in a way that even Virgil was impressed at. Their hair was in a green mohawk, with a lip ring and studs going all the way up and around the curve of their ears. The shoulders of their black leather jacket had tiny blunt spikes on them, and their black skinny jeans went up to their mid-abdomen. To his ever-increasing terror, they headed straight for him and crossed their arms.
"What's up with those guys?" they muttered. "Did they come here just to be perverted?"
Virgil took a few moments to respond, making sure his voice didn't come out too wobbly. "Probably. They've been staring at it for a few minutes. Don't see the merit in it myself." He subtly moved a few inches away from the edgy dresser, clinging onto control over his distress at them being so close. Of course, they didn't seem to be leaving any time soon and extended their hand in a friendly sort of manner. "I'm Cora, they/them. Do you got a name or are you secretly some terrorist who can't share their name?"
Staring at the hand for a moment, Virgil decided against shaking it even though he knew it was rude. Never touch anybody. "Virgil," he mumbled, averting his gaze. "Um, he/him. Anthropophobia." The moment he said this, they retracted their hand and their expression changed to that of awkwardness. They cleared their throat, "Oh, uh, sorry. I won't bother you if you don't want me to. You just seemed kinda cool and to be honest, my gaydar is kicking in around you."
This brought a jolt of panic striking through him. Memories spiked through his head and he took a few steps away from Cora. They looked shocked at his strong reaction, obviously wanting to approach him to help but knowing that would only make things worse. "Whoa! You okay? Did I say something wrong?"
Calm down, calm down, calm down, they're not going to hurt me. I'm not there. Five things I can see; the painting, the floor, Cora, the nude sculpture, the walls. Four things I can feel; my jacket, my shoes, the cold air conditioning, my sweat. Three things I can hear; Cora's voice, people talking in the lobby, the blood roaring in my ears. Two things I can smell; old wood and my jacket. One thing I can taste; peanut butter. His breathing slowed down to a normal pace as he brought himself back to the present. Glancing up at Cora, he shook his head. "I-I'm fine, you're good. I'm asexual, though." To be perfectly honest, there was a high chance that he wasn't asexual and that they were correct, but Virgil would never be able to trust anyone enough to be in a relationship.
YOU ARE READING
Lies #1: Panic
Horror~A Sanders Sides horror fanfic~ Virgil lives alone in Brooklyn, almost never leaving his apartment. After venturing out to an art exhibit, Virgil finds himself stuck inside the building with some tourists and a serial killer.