Dzhan
St. Jeremy’s campus consists of several main buildings, stacked in the form of a pentagram start with their triangular form, the sharp point of each one spurring outside. They are all old, tall, gloomy, all of them looking like they came from the nightmares of the most twisted mind to ever exist. Like mine for example.
I wait in the shadows of the last building, the one where Roxanne’s department is, and let the nicotine mix with my blood so the trembling of my hands can calm at least a little. There’s a light drizzle, the small raindrops seeping through my hoodie, dampening my hair, but I ignore it. I don’t care about the cold. I’ve been cold for the entire weekend, ever since Friday night when my f*ucking mate denied my claim on her. Cold and angry. That’s what I’ve been. Restles
