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I whirl around, ready to scream murder, but my gaze locks with a pair of familiar eyes.
Reddish brown and glowing.
And so pretty that all my screams die down.
Which I think shouldn’t have happened. I should still scream. I should still call for help.
Just because I know him, the stranger I’m locked in a bathroom with — this is a bathroom; I can notice that much even though I haven’t been able to look away from him — doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.
He’s a bandit.
Of course he’s dangerous.
So I gather my wits about me, ready to scream when he growls, his features set in displeasure, “The fuck are you doing here?”
Scream, Echo.
But all I do is blink, my mouth parted. Then, “What… What happened here?”
I point at his jaw.
Apart from his brightly glowing eyes, that’s the most conspicuous spot on his face. This blooming red and purple bruise on the left of his very scruffy and very sharp jaw.
Which clenches at my question.
“How’d you know he was going to be here?”
His growl is even thicker than before and I realize that his questions are probably more sensible and important than mine. More urgent and relevant to the situation at hand.
Still I can’t seem to let his bruise go.
It looks vicious. Angry.
Painful.
“Were you,” I swallow, eyeing it carefully, “like, in a fight or something?”
He could’ve been.
He’s not exactly the most level-headed guy I’ve ever met.
Back in school, I’d see him with random bruises here and there. I’d even witness how he got some of them. By getting into fights with people all around campus, which was always followed by Lucas pulling him away and then accompanying him to the principal’s office. They’d either suspend him for the day or take away his soccer privileges.
He always got them back though; he was one of the best players, and apparently it didn’t matter that he was also a loose cannon as long as he could kick a ball into the net with expertise.
“Yeah, getting real tired of people asking this question,” he replies with a frown.
“Why, who else asked this question?”
His jaw tenses even more. “You stalking him now?”
Stalking.
Yeah, I am.
But I’m not ready to answer him yet.
“Well, it’s a normal conclusion to draw. You’re always getting into fights,” I say.
