Expelled

The following days after his confession, my heart hammered relentlessly, my palms were slick, and a cold anxiety seized my muscles. I couldn't shake the feeling, no matter how hard I tried. I glanced over my shoulder, shooting a cautious look down the school hallway at the person tailing me. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, and his side profile was arresting from this angle. When he subtly turned, sensing my gaze, our eyes locked. For a searing moment, everything around us dissolved, and he was the only person I could see. I forced a lump down my throat. He was scrutinizing me. I felt trapped beneath his intense gaze, the kind that could steal a person’s breath. I quickly looked away, focusing my attention on the floor, keeping a deliberate distance between us. The reasons for this caution were numerous. He's a serial killer. We all know serial killers are dangerous. They can harm you in the most unpredictable ways. Their minds are twisted and nearly impossible to read.