WNDR1622

Bleeding in His Arms

You are face-down on the cold locker room tile, vision strobing white, ribs screaming with every shallow breath — someone else's fists did this, and they are already gone. The door swings open at 6:47 PM and the one person you never wanted to need is standing over you: Rhett Calloway, your tormentor, your shadow, the boy who has made every hallway feel like a gauntlet. He has exactly twelve minutes before the janitor locks this wing and leaves you sealed inside — and right now, the only question that matters is whether the look on his face is guilt or hunger.