*MATURE CONTENT WARNING*
"If my classroom is your playground, then your body is mine."
Dr. Zaain Kazem is a cold and routine Palestinian-Canadian professor with something to hide.
Adeola Adebayo is a sharp, international student running from a broo...
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Blood. Everywhere.
Dark, deep, red dripping blood.
The blood from the wounds on my body blend with his.
His scarlet anguish appears to seep out of me...
I wash my hands again and again but his blood appears to stain my skin.
Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat
But the memory of him, of his touch, refuses to swirl down the drain along with his DNA.
I need it all to go away, I need to be clean.
Pum. Pum. Pum. Pum.
Footsteps. Fast approaching.
Adeola! A voice calls to me. But I don't recognize it, it's too muffled. As if my head were submerged in a bone-chilling body of water. Even when they come close to me, I don't see them. They're just fog. An incomprehensible blur that I can just pass my hand right through.
Adeola! Adeola!
They touch me. They shake me. They interrogate me.
I don't want to be touched. Never again. Not after what he did.
No! Leave me alone! Leave us alone!
I can feel their hands and they feel just like his. Are they his? But, how? He's gone. The blood. I saw it, I felt it.
I won't let this happen again!
Their image darkens and I feel my lungs set on fire, my throat squeezing shut.
He's choking me.
It is him. I know it is. I know those hands as if they were mine for they know every corner of my body, every centimeter of my skin, every crack and crevice of my being, every secret of my soul.
"Adeola!" Dr. Kazem shouts. glaring down at me as I sit at my desk, "What're you doing? Class is over!"
I grasp my throat and take a deep breath in and I'm not there anymore. I'm in my desk again.
I swear it was him, I felt him.
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Authors note: Sooo I know y'all are mad confused right now. So any theories?
