SOUL

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It's a strange joke but I laugh, because we both know it's not real and he's only doing the laughing so I won't get hurt. He's nice that way.

But nice doesn't play in the way of trust.

The ice-cold feeling of distrust creeps into the corners of my chest as I heave in oxygen slowly to calm myself. I'm feeling it again—I'm feeling it again, and this isn't good.

I see his smile transform into something short of conniving, and my heart drops to my stomach.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he goes all casually, and my hands are getting clammy, my eyes start to squint, and I'm breaking out in cold sweat. As he turns to leave, it's like he's bring my soul with him, slowly draining me and I'm forced to call out—

"Wait!" He stops and looks at me with a curious look—but he's reading through me, I just know it—and I'm forced to sputter out a sentence, "What's—your next class?" He smiles at me.

"Math." Then he turns to leave, but he doesn't leave me.

He doesn't leave me at all.