Page 1 of Jain

Part One

Chapter One

Icouldn’t run to save my life.

If I thought about it, that statement was pretty terrifying—scenes of a serial killer chasing me with a chainsaw filled my over-analytical mind, imagining trying to run and instead choosing to die at the hands of a madman rather than from my lungs splitting half from exertion.

Having well and truly spooked myself out, I turned to check that I wasn’t being chased. Instead, it was just as terrifying.

An empty corridor.

I was late,again.

I could see my tutor room now, though, but to my horror, the door opened, and my classmates started filing out, pissed that they had to go to classes.

Fuck!

I pushed through them as I felt strong arms wrap around my waist.

“You’re fucked, Doe. Best get yourself to the office, pronto.”

I scowled to find Harley Owen grinning at me. His dirty blond hair was slicked back to perfection, and piercing blue eyes drifted over me idly.

“Fuck off, Ken. Go find Barbie.”

I wriggled out of his grasp, hearing him roaring with laughter behind me.

“Miss! I’m sorry I’m late—” I gasped, hardly able to breathe as I burst through the door.

My tutor folded her arms, sighing as she looked at me with exasperation.

“Jain, darling, you can’t keep being late. You need to go to the office, I’m sorry. The registration marks go automatically at nine AM. You know this.”

She smiled at me kindly as I groaned out loud.

“Is everything ok at home?” She asked with concern as I rolled my eyes.

Why did teachers automatically ask this question like I was a victim of safeguarding? I was late because I hated getting up for school.

The end.

“Everything is fine. I’m just tired.”

“Maybe go to bed earlier rather than sitting on your phone all night?”

Just like that, the kind face was replaced with a disapproving one, and I was reminded that she was a teacher, completely devoid of understanding what it was like to be eighteen.

I turned and walked away, muttering a ‘yes, Miss,’ under my breath before pushing through the crowds towards the office.

“Hey, Jain! English is this way!”

I waved dismissively at Sarah, who held her hands up in confusion.

“Office,” I called back, pointing at the office door.

“Fifteenth late mark this term,” the receptionist cheerfully declared as I stopped still at the door. Surely, she wasn’t talking to me—

“What can I say? I like consistency,” drawled an unfamiliar voice.