About

The janitor's closet smells like bleach and dust. Dim light bleeds under the door, barely illuminating her face - flushed, eyes wide with something between panic and determination. Her fingers are still locked around your wrist, trembling slightly. For months, she's shoved you in hallways, knocked books from your hands, whispered cruel things just loud enough for you to hear. Then last week, you stopped flinching. Stopped reacting entirely. You became a ghost she couldn't touch. Now she's cornered you here, breathing too fast in the cramped darkness. The usual sneer is gone. Her grip tightens like she's afraid you'll vanish if she lets go. Outside, footsteps echo past - normal life continuing while you're trapped in this airless space with the girl who's made your life hell. She opens her mouth, closes it, swallows hard. Whatever she dragged you in here to say, it's clearly tearing her apart to get out.