Whispers

Chapter Three

3

Pain thrummed inside my head as I struggled to regain consciousness. My face felt as though I had just been hit by a hammer, the aching heat pulsing across my cheek and down the side of my nose, contrasting the chill running along the rest of my skin.

"Fucking asshole," I growled as the memory of Danny slamming his fist into my face floated to the forefront of my mind. It was no wonder why the bastard was in here in the first place. He was Grade-A scum.

Realizing I wasn't in the hallway from before I struggled to an upright position and quickly took in my surroundings. I was in a small, dark room, the smell of bleach and aerosol hung heavy in the air. Shifting around, I shoved myself back up onto my feet and felt my way to the wall, fighting the sudden wave of nausea that had come crashing over my senses. Too fast. Got up too fast. Finding a small switch on the wall I flipped on the light and a dim yellow glow illuminated the tiny space, casting shadows along the walls. Rows and rows of cleaners, brushes, and powders covered the wall behind me. In one corner a mop sat in its bucket, and a broom and its dustpan leaned beside it.

The asshole had tossed me in a supply closet.

With a small snarl, I reached for the doorknob and shoved.

It didn't move.

I twisted the knob over and over but each time it resisted. No. No. No. No. I tore at the handle, banging my fists against the door. "No! You fucking dick!" I screamed. "Let me out!" I kicked and banged. I screamed and threw myself against the door until my shoulder ached and my head was spinning. But no matter what I did it refused to budge.

The douche had locked me in.

Letting go of the doorknob I let myself sink back to the floor in defeat. Slipping back into the corner I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my head in my knees. My face was bruised, my head pounded, I was sexually harassed by some fuckwit who thought his dick could rule the world and then punched in the face because I rejected him. I was locked in a supply closet and I didn't even have a cellphone to call anybody for help. God knew what time it was, I could've been unconscious for hours. It could be passed curfew and everyone could be in their dorms, comfy and carefree. And fuck, I was freezing!

"Am I really going to have to spend the night here and wait for someone to come and find me?" I wondered out loud as I allowed myself to be enveloped in my own self-pity and depression. "Would anyone even care enough to notice I was gone?"

I sat there on the floor for long moments of dead silence, just holding myself. Thinking. Breathing. Losing hope.

There was a sound, a small jingle followed by a click. Then, with a low whine, the door swung open in front of me. Bright white light flooded my antiseptic cell as Mr. Lance stepped into the doorway. "Good evening, Miss Thompson. Do you perhaps need assistance?" he asked slowly, stepping forward and extending his hand out to me.

I stared at him, a bit dazed before taking his hand and allowing him to pull me back to my feet. The world swam before my eyes but I tried my best to steady myself and suppress the urge to vomit.

"Jesus, you're freezing." Releasing my hand Mr. Lance shucked off his jacket and wrapped it around me, helping me to slip my arms into the sleeves. The coat that had hung perfectly snug on him earlier in class felt loose on my body, but God it was so warm. A small thing I wouldn't have noticed before had I not been so cold but a small thing I now appreciated. I clutched the thick fabric tighter to my body.

"What time is it?" I asked him.

"It's a quarter to eight," he replied. "The last class ended more than two hours ago."