I Walk the Line ♤ (gxg)

chapter 6: the rooftop

After her few peaceful yet fleeting moments of silence, a low voice from behind interrupted her much-needed social vacation.

"Writing major?" The smooth, feminine voice held a familiar darkness that made the girl's ears hot.

August jumped, turning around to see the tall woman standing against the closed door of the stairway. Her arms were crossed, her stance similar to how it had been when she had leaned against the doorframe of August's bathroom that day nearly a week ago.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" August snapped, angry that she couldn't even get some alone time on the rooftop. Her anger also rooted from the fear rising inside of her—she was sick of this feeling in her gut that haunted her every waking moment.

"Hello to you too, sunshine," the woman joked, stepping closer. This time she wore a grey Cornell hoodie and black pants, but she still strutted in the same black combat boots. Her wavy, black hair blew gently in the wind, making August realize that the woman seemed even more real than when she last saw her.

"Don't fucking call me that. Don't fucking get any closer to me, you psychopath!" August yelled, pointing her pen up at the nearing woman menacingly.

"Oh my God, my worst fear—ink poisoning," the woman remarked, still walking closer, a devilish smile spreading across her cheeks.

August felt helpless as the woman blatantly disobeyed her and kept coming closer. "Do you like having eyeballs? Because this pen can do a lot more than just catastrophically poison your bloodstream, you fucking bitch."

The woman's full lips turned into a tight "O" shape, her dark eyebrows scrunching. "Ooh, that one hurt. We're on a first name basis, then?"

"No, never, now get the hell away from me!" August continued yelling, her small voice cracking as she still held the pen up as if it would do any good in protecting her. Deep down she knew it wouldn't, and she was aware of how pathetic and defenseless she looked, crumpled on the ground holding up a damn pen, in comparison to the tall woman standing over her whom she had witnessed murder a man and who had pressed a knife against her own neck.

"Hey, stop being so cruel. I want to know your name. I can't have my people keep following you around when they don't even know your name." Now right in front of August, the woman crouched down and sat a few feet away from the girl who still held the pen up, aiming between the woman's vigilant eyes.

"I'm not the cruel one here. And tell your 'people' to stop following me! I'm sick of it!" she screeched, her lips curling in anger. She had grown so tired of constantly feeling watched. The paranoia was beginning to eat away at every part of her.

"I can't do that," the woman casually said, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at the dark sky. "Happy Halloween, by the way." The woman was not bothered nor scared of August and her pen.

August didn't say anything. She held the pen up fiercely, watching as the woman turned her eyes towards the girl, looking amused at the sight in front of her. She noticed the sharpness of the dark woman's cheekbones and the olive yet fair tint of her skin. For a murderer, she was pretty.

The green eyes flickered to the open journal in August's lap that had messy writing scrawled all across the pages. "Is that your diary?"

"No," August firmly but quietly said, closing the journal and finally putting down the pen, knowing it wouldn't help her anyways.

"Can I read it?"

"No." She held the book close to her, glaring at the woman as if she were a child who was afraid their candy was going to be taken away.