By the time my tears began to dry and adhire my eyelids together, Mr. Sweethy was standing outside the door trying to coax me out with the whole, 'You're not in that much trouble," bullcrap. After I toned him out with Massive Attack, he sighed irretably and was getting desprate. He threatened to call my foster home, but I couldn't care less. I didn't have anything they could take from me. Nobody did. When the king-of-air finally shut up long enough fo me to remember the second verse, another coice echoed in through the foor vent. Stupid. Put lock on every door to keep out killers or whatever, but then instasll a 2x2 tinfoil vent.
This voice sounded alot younger than , and like when your parents are just done with yelling at you, viging you a stern order.
"Gretchen, you need to come out."he said.
They way he said it, I could picture him leaning on the door frame, one are up over his head. Or course, it was only some fuzzy silhuette. I didn't answer.
"Hiding in the bathroom isn't going to help. "he added.
Again, I just ignored him, setting my chin on my knees. There was some kind of mumble between the two men, and the second, younger man spoke again.
"You split open his cheek, indueced omitting, and nearly suffocated him. Not only that, but you managed to start another fight." he rattled on. I thought I heard metal scraping, but before I could tyr and listen closer, the damn guy started to yap again.
"You started two fignts and caused injury to another student, so I can't say you're not in alot of trouble." he was then inturupted by Sweethy, surely about how he just contradicted what he said minuted before. "One battery, and two on influencing outbreak."he continued as if Mr. Sweether hadn' t spoken. "Surely you don't think he's deserving stitches." said he as if he knew how I thought. Mr. Sweethy then snuffled loudly. They think I'm stupid, that I don't know what Sweethy is trying to hint at.
"I sure as hell do! Just ask the wind-bag next to you!" I called, my voice startlingly loud in the echoey bathroom. "you think his greasy, boney face didn't damage me? Heh, three bloody knuckles!"I added.
I nearly jumpted into the toilet when the stall door swung open, and there stood some guy I'e neer seen before with his hand atop the door. I normal person would of used the latch, or lack there of, and push it open that way, but this guy just opened it by pushing on the top of the door. "Either way, you're in a heap."
SO here I am, sitting halfway in the toilet, by pants soaked with blood, my hand dripping, looking like a complete moronic elementary brat, and possibly the cutest faculty drone I'd ever seen was leaning on the stall, all Abrocrombie and Fitch like, and rather dissapointed.
God I hate myself.