𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕠

Too impatient for the elevator, you threw yourself down the stairs three steps at a time. You felt like you were flying by the time you touched down on the ground floor. On your way out the door, a quick bright light caught your eye and you turned around to see that the common room door was open, the TV on.

Slowly, you came to a halt in front of the open archway and peered inside to see nearly every girl that lived in the building sitting in front of the wide screen against the back wall. It was the same news segment that Hallie told you to turn on in your room. The same reporter was still talking into the blocky mic as a covered gurney was wheeled out of the theater behind him. You couldn't see the gritty details, but you knew from personal experience alone that there just had to be a body underneath that white sheet.

A few girls gasped, only a handful of them had noticed your presence and started to whisper amongst themselves in hushed tones. You were known around campus by many names; The Survivor, The Psycho-Lover. A few people even dared to call you Final Girl -- but never to your face. In fact, no one who knew anything about you or what happened to you ever really made an effort to make casual conversation.

As you stood, leaning against the doorframe, the second body was wheeled out on the TV. One girl in the very front doubled over and began sobbing loudly. A couple of her friends started to console her, rubbing circles into her back. She must've known one of the victims, you figured. The news said that they were Windsor students, but their names didn't ring any bells in your mind.

The whispers escalated and a few more girls turned around to look at you, eyes beady and accusing. Of course, some random person gets murdered and every person on campus points in your direction.

Not wanting to be the center of attention, you crossed your arms and turned out of the doorway before exiting the building in a flurry. Knowing when to leave was one of the many skills you had caught onto over time and you were very grateful for it at that moment.

It was a chilly day out and a cool breeze greeted you once you stepped out onto the wide wrap-around porch. Already anticipating the weird looks you were going to get from passing students, you tugged on the strings of your hoodie and tried to make yourself look as small as possible. The chances of it actually working to hide you were very slim, but the gesture still helped to block out the cold.

"There she is!"

Your head snapped up, hood falling back over your shoulders. A hoard of journalists and their cameramen came racing around the corner from where they had been half-hidden behind the bushes that surrounded the exterior of the building. Their eyes bright and nearly flaming with twisted delight, like a pack of lions who had finally cornered their prey at an empty watering hole.

You froze up at the bottom of the concrete stairs like a deer in the headlights and the press took this opportunity to swarm you, leaving empty spaces between them for you to wedge yourself through. Camera flashes went off like strobe lights, making you wince and nearly stumble back onto the pavement.

"Excuse me," you mumbled, doing your best to avoid looking directly into the black reflective lenses. You knew that even the slightest form of acknowledgment produced a mountain of new stories within the span of a few hours.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)!" One reporter yelled, shoving the fuzzy end of the microphone into your face. "Do you have an alibi for the murders that took place last night?"

"Did you know the victims?" Another chirped, though you couldn't source their face in the crowd.

"Are you at all worried about your safety on campus?"