In the halls of St. Gabriel's High School, Ezekiel reigns as the charismatic bad boy, charming his way through senior year with a devil-may-care attitude. Aria, on the other hand, is a loner, navigating the complexities of high school after the trag...
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The echoes of Ezekiel's sudden departure lingered in the air, a palpable tension that left me reeling in its wake. But there was no time to dwell on the encounter—not when my duties as a cashier demanded my attention, not when there were customers waiting with impatient glares and tapping feet.
With a shaky breath, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand, plastering a polite smile on my lips as I turned to the customer waiting at the counter. It was Mark, Ezekiel's best friend, his smirk etched with a cruel edge that sent a shiver down my spine.
"What's up, loser?" he greeted me with a sneer, his words dripping with contempt as he tossed a few items onto the counter with careless abandon.
I bit back a retort, swallowing my pride as I scanned the items and tallied up the total with practiced efficiency. I knew better than to provoke him, knew the dangers of engaging with someone like Mark in a battle of wits and words.
But as I rang up his purchase and offered a polite farewell, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. There was something about Mark, something dark and menacing, that made my skin crawl with apprehension.
And then, just as I thought the ordeal was over, Mark made his final request—a pack of cigarettes, his tone laced with arrogance as he leaned in close with a leering grin.
I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest as I met his gaze with a steely resolve. "You're underage," I replied firmly, shaking my head to emphasize my refusal.
But Mark's smirk only widened, his expression shifting from amusement to anger in the blink of an eye. "Can't you close one eye?" he snapped, his voice a low growl that sent a chill down my spine.
I shook my head once more, my hands trembling as I held my ground against his relentless pressure. But before I could react, before I could even begin to process the gravity of the situation, Mark slammed his hand down on the counter with a loud thud, his eyes blazing with fury.
"You better watch yourself, orphan," he spat, his words a vicious snarl that cut through the air like a knife. "You just made the wrong choice messing with me."
I recoiled, my heart pounding in my chest as fear coursed through my veins like wildfire. I had faced bullies before, had weathered their taunts and jeers with a quiet resilience born from years of hardship. But there was something about Mark's intensity, his unwavering hostility, that left me shaken to my core.
And as he stormed out of the store without paying, leaving a trail of menace in his wake, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of my stomach—a gnawing fear that whispered of danger lurking just beyond the shadows.
