Ava
There’s only one word I can use to describe the sinking feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, twisting in my gut, sharp and unrelenting, as it grips tighter around the muscle before releasing it and finding its way upwards to my chest where it sinks it’s vicious claws into the beating organ that resides behind my ribcage.
Dread.
Dread is the only word I can use to describe the feeling that surges through me at the sight of Nikolai leaning against a black BMW in my school's parking lot. One of his hands is shoved into the pockets of the dark leather jacket he's wearing, the other loosely holding a cigarette. He takes a drag from it, and I watch as faint puffs of grey smoke curl upwards before hitting the dark lenses of the sunglasses on his face and disappearing into the aft
