Klara
The echoes of the metal lockers slamming shut didn’t just ring in the empty hallway—they vibrated right through the soles of my shoes, freezing the blood in my veins.
Marcus was pinned. But this wasn't the Ryan I had grown to love in the quiet safety of my bedroom, or the boy who had nervously held my hand under the library table. This version of Ryan Fitzgerald was a stranger. He was a creature of pure, unfiltered violence, his large hands twisted so deeply into Marcus’s practice jersey that the heavy mesh fabric was violently tearing at the seams.
"Ryan, man, stop! I can't breathe!" Marcus choked out, his face turning a terrifying, mottled shade of purple as Ryan’s thick forearm pressed ruthlessly against his windpipe.
Ryan didn't blink. He didn't show a single flicker of remor
