@thrill3rs ( for deena )
this has to work. sam can’t let herself think in IF THIS DOESN’T WORK, dragging a mop wet with partly her own blood across the floor of the school and trying not to stare at deena too much. but god, IF THIS DOESN’T WORK keeps coming to mind, but it’s not like she knows what she would say after that. if this doesn’t work, sorry i was such a bitch about the mixtape? great. if this doesn’t work, tell my mom ... what? tell her what? tell her i was gay and i’m sorry for dying? sam looks down at the floor when she thinks deena was about to look back at her and she clears her throat and tries to look more steady on her feet than she feels.
“uhm,” sam regrets the sound the moment she makes it, ‘cause it means she has to KEEP TALKING now instead of just working in silence laying this trap, “ - - - sorry. i don’t ... this is such a mess.” does she mean the LITERAL MESS of blood and water on the floor or the ... LESS LITERAL one of whatever it is here, between them, in the air of this hallway made spooky by the nighttime and the smell of blood and the fact there are supernatural murderers of old coming to try and fucking kill her.










