A teenage girl leaned back in the desk chair located in her room, blowing a collection of cigarette smoke out of her mouth as she tapped the paper "wand" in her fingers, the ashes falling onto a frog-shaped soap dish coated with old, chunky bar-soap remains on the floor. She let out a sigh and sat back up right, putting the cigarette back into her mouth and holding it with her front teeth as her hands flew to the keyboard on her desk. It was time for her to check up on her little "friend".
The girl coughed as she typed, ashes from the cigarette falling into the tips of her purple and black teased hair. She pushed a finger onto the bridge of her black, thick-framed glasses and push them up, gently bumping her lip ring and the round piercing on the other side of her lips in the process.
She tapped the enter key and her webpage quickly changed to the Facebook timeline of a highschool Chess Club member.
She took a puff of her cigarette and rose her fingers to her mouth to remove it to exhale.
"Max Wellington." Oh, how cute the pictures Max posted on his Facebook were. If only he'd upload more photos more often. She could stare at them for hours. Infact, she already did.
She leaned forward to the monitor and blew smoke out the corner of her mouth, the smoke welling up in her eyes and causing her to close the stinging blue orbs.
She huffed. According to her notebook, Max had logged off of Facebook last night at 8:03 PM and hadn't been online since- She'd been watching. Waiting for him to log back on.
..Though she'd never built up the courage to talk to him even on Chat. Hell, they weren't even
"Friends". But it didn't matter. His profile was public.
She could view it all she wanted.
She scrolled down on his Timeline.
Who was this "Kathleen Simpson" girl and why had she made so many posts on his Timeline lined with hearts? Why hadn't she noticed before? Why did he like those posts of her's?
10:30 PM, 10:33 PM, 10:35 PM would have been the times she made the posts.
That would have meant that he had been online recently, to like those posts. As in she'd made a mistake. She'd made two mistakes because she'd missed the posts.
Would she have to go to his house and check on him? Again?
She got up and went to grab her coat.
Her fears about what happened a fear years ago came rushing back.
A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to protect her man, afterall.