cinnamon in my teeth from your kiss.
( my life with the walter boys, s1-s? )
( isaac garcia x fem! oc )
( started - 12/27/23 )
( published - 12/27/23 )
( completed - ??/??/?? )
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( ✦ ͙ ˚ / ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ )
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August Thompson could feel her lungs quaking, perhaps even pounding — threatening to spill out of her body — with every minor step she took.
The simple movement of walking through the crowded halls that consisted of the many students during the last day of school was chaotic enough, but knowing what she knew, her head was undeniably spinning rapidly.
Everything just so cynical.
While her backpack remained strapped to her back, she noticed that the weights of all her books were only dragging her down the more she ventured around, but she didn't attempt to fix that, August only held onto her stomach in hopes that the aching sensation would fade.
It wasn't that she was sick or anything, it just felt like she was. August had to keep her grip on her torso so she could at least attempt to maintain the pain that pierced through her being with every breath she took.
She never knew how much mental things could impact her physically as well.
The fact was always barbaric for her until she witnessed it. And even then it remains pathetic.
Her only goal was to gather the rest of her stuff in her locker and leave to find the Walters somewhere.
It was simple, or supposed to be, yet it was anything but that.
Once she came to a stop at her destination, she realized that the notes were something that eventually came to a stop, and not because Isaac had taken them away, people had just now found her irrelevant which she was grateful for.
But, it wasn't that everyone absolutely despised her, of course it had its limits. Besides for the Walters, she still had Grace, Kiley, and Sky. Occasionally there would be Erin and Emily who she didn't even know how she ended up becoming somewhat friends with in the first place.
Then of course there was —
"Need help?" Jackson.
August didn't bother to look over at him when she began shoving useless bits of paper from the beginning of the year into her bag, her features maintaining its careless yet assertive facade through the process, "I'm good."
