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Mr. Player, You've Just Been Played

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My first story I've posted :) Hopefully it's not too bad, though :\

Also, I'm not trying to come off as a jerk, but this story isn't an advertising board. My message board isn't far off to load. I'll read your story, just be considerate.

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      A door suddenly swung open, slamming so hard against the wall beside it that I turned to the sound with a kind of shriek that sounded like a mix between a frightened cat and an angry hamster.

     The first thing I noticed when I looked to the door was that it was janitor’s closet. The second thing I noticed, after waiting a second, was a girl with dark hair tumbling out, clutching her handbag and using her free hand to rub at her tear stained face.

     I barely had enough time to peg her face as familiar before she stomped right past me, not sparing me a glance at all before she reached the corner of the hallway and disappeared from my view. I stared after her, my lips slightly parted with the words, “Are you alright?” hanging at the tip of my tongue. Seeing as how she was gone though, I closed my mouth and turned back to my locker, quickly resuming what I had been doing and pulling out my bag from the compartment before I was any more late to class than I already was.

     But then a grunt and the sound of something toppling over made me look back to the closet.

     And then he came out.

     All black hair and shimmering blue eyes, Jesse Sawyer came walking out of the janitor’s closet, casually shutting the door behind him. There was a certain look to his face that made it clear that this wasn’t the first time he’d sauntered out of a janitor’s closet twenty minutes late to class. And from personal inference, I also knew it wasn’t the first time a girl has come running out crying thanks to him.

     I found myself staring at him with hostility, shooting him looks that I would only throw at someone I truly hated. Despite that claim though, I was in no position to hate him. In fact, I've never even spoke to him. I just hated how he treated people - girls in particular, like disaposable and replaceable items.

     As he brushed his jacket off and began to walk through the hall—likely to his class, but I couldn’t be sure with his lousy attendance rate—I turned back to my locker and shut the metal door, hoisting my bag over my shoulder and kneeling down to pluck up my textbooks from the floor. As I stood up, I brushed them off and turned toward my class, thinking of a believable excuse for my tardiness while I still could.

     I fell in the hallway and couldn’t get up. I got locked in the bathroom. I was in the nurse’s office faking an illness. I tripped on a wet floor sign. No, wait, I already used that last one.

     Maybe I’d be better off telling the truth: I wasted more time than I should have in my P.E. class last period because your class is boring as hell and you're just as annoying

     "Do you need help?"

     I jerked to a stop when I noticed a figure blocking my path and absentmindedly responded with, "What the hell?" But when I glanced up at the face belonging to the person in front of me, my nerves instantly  tingled and my nose flared. I swallowed, composing myself before I said, "No. I don't."

     Tightening my grip on my bag and my books, I took a step to the left, a large step forward, and a step back to the right before I continued walking.

     Once I began to believe I was off the hook as I walked away, I heard Jesse clear his throat. It was loud, and very clear to me that it wasn't because of congestion. I slowly turned over my shoulder, having imaginary fantasies to see him writhing on the floor choking, but was midly disappointed when I only saw him staring at me.

     I had been shifting my eyes around awkwardly when he said, “You don't have to carry all of that by yourself. It won’t be a hassle for me to help.”

     He walked up to me, extending a hand for my things. I stared at him blankly and then shook my head a moment later. When I heard my own voice, I was a bit surprised that it wasn’t as cold as I imagined. “I can handle this just fine, but thanks for the offer.”

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