Tyranny

Psych

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Anaïs

" You have to believe me, Anaïs."

I stared at her empty seat. She wasn't here. Again. I rolled my eyes, dismissing the alarm bells ringing in my head. I tried to focus on the task at hand: my psychology essay. It was due in today and I had to come up with an excuse before Mr. St James comes round to my end of the class.

As I looked at her seat, in front of mine diagonally, I thought of the last time we spoke. About a week ago.

" Ms Da Silva, if you could refrain from day dreaming long enough to hand me your homework, it would be much appreciated."

I didn't look at him. Mr. St James had a habit of being a prick. He wasn't your usual psychology teacher. He was relatively young, we'd all assumed that he was in his mid 20s to early 30s. He was easy on the eyes but his displeasingly dark personality had engulfed whatever good that you could find in him. Which was little regardless.

" Ms Da Silva?" He all but yelled, raising his voice steadily.

" I don't have it."

" And why is that?"

" I forgot it."

" Well don't forget the detention you have. Here. 3 o'clock, sharp."

I didn't bother answering. He was a d**k anyways, arguing with him will be the death of me.

I continued to glance every so often until the end of the lesson. Once the bell rang I got up and walked out of the class disregarding the devil incarnate. I rolled my eyes as I felt nonexistent daggers stabbing the back of my head as I walked out.

One lesson left. Just one lesson till I find that crazy b***h and get to ask why the f**k she was mad at me.

...

I sat there in my psychology classroom staring at my hands. He had the nerve to demand that I was on time and was yet nowhere to be found. Just as the thought of leaving crossed my mind, the devil himself decided to make an appearance.

" How are you, Ms Da Silva?"

I had to hold myself back from letting out a slew of cuss words. The little bi-

" Ms Da Silva, you're quite the day dreamer, I'm sure you've been informed that having manners is a desirable quality."

Desirable my ass. Who the hell did he think he was?

" I'm here for a detention, not small talk."

He raised his eyebrow in mocking amusement.

Jerk face.

" Speaking of which, is there a reason you didn't do it?"

" I didn't have time."

" Ah, well I've sent an email to your mother, informing her that you'll be spending every Thursday evening with me, making sure that all your assignments are completed," he stated smirking like he'd just been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

I stood up in anger.

" You can't do that!"

" I think I can."

" I have a life."

" As do I."

" Let's be real you don't, you read psychology textbooks for fun and you pick on a student a decade, or more, younger than you."

" Excuse me?"

" You're excused. You're deluded if you think I'm staying to do extra psychology, of all things," I grabbed my bag, shaking my head and made my way to the door.

" And where do you think you're going?"

" Last time I checked it's half past, not my fault you came late to your own detention.”

With that I walked out the door and went home.

...

It had been a few hours and I was scrolling through my i********: while laying in bed. The notification bell rang and I saw that I'd been emailed. Clicking on it, confused, it was from an anonymous sender. Just four words. It read:

Anaïs? It's Katrina. Help.

I froze in shock. Then relaxed. You've got to be kidding me. She really thought that I would fall for that bullshit? I put my phone on the desk and turned to the other side of my pillow, quickly drifting off into a deep dark slumber.

...

I was back in school before I knew it. Sitting in my first period psychology class while day dreaming. I felt the vibration of my phone through my breast pocket and pulled it out.

A message.

From an unsaved number.

It was a video. I clicked it and soon realised I had to turn my brightness up. I played it from the beginning only to be met with a terrifying sight.

It was me. Asleep. Last night. A dark figure, back facing the camera. Shielded by a black hoodie and what I presumed to be a mask of some sort. Stroking my hair. Touching my face. My phone slipped from my hands, hitting the tiled floor and shattered.

How the hell did they get into my room? And more importantly who the hell was that?

Then it hit me like a truck.

I fell asleep with my window open.

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