Fresh out of juvi and wearing his familiar scowl, Brent seems to be searching for something as he steps towards you, his massive leather boots quaking the ground beneath you. He wanders around, scoping the corner of room, the smell of hot leather wafting past you as he stomps. It's not only Brent's old, worn black boots that seem to have heated up during this warm weather; the school bully wipes his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his trashy leather jacket.
You're cold all over with fear. Has Brent seen you? If so, why hasn't he scooped you up yet? You're terrified of what the badboy will do if he finds you, but you're also too afraid to run -- Your legs won't seem to move -- and you're terrified of potentially being left here overnight and becoming feed for rats and roaches. You force yourself to step closer to the young man's size 13 boots, waving your arms around, feeling more ridiculous and humiliated than you ever have in your entire life.
Brent hears a tiny buzzing sound and glances down, squinting in disbelief. "What the fuck??" He murmurs. As his fuzzy jaw barely moves, the sounds of his voice you hear are mammoth bellows.
You struggle to understand the giant's words, and to roar your explanation back at him. "THIS IS ALL A HORRIBLE FREAK ACCIDENT! I NEED HELP!!"
The greasy giant smiles sarcastically, sneering down at you. "And you thought you'd get that from me.. Pretty boy?" Your stomach feels like it's filled with ice right now. "I guess it's my job to watch out for pretty little rich boys like you?"
"N-NO!! PLEASE, YOU DON'T UNDER-!!"
"Well I've got news for you, pipsqueak. I don't think this town's gonna notice another little snot-nosed bitch missing." And with that, Brent..
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