By this time, random onlookers were starting to form in groups around the two of them, and as even more people began to join in, the more Damion began to feel uneasy about the situation. The mumbles among the groups were becoming louder, with some asking if anyone saw someone attack her, and others asking if she had a breakdown of sorts. Some whipped out their phones and began to record as one man started shouting, claiming he saw Hannah throw herself down and how she was doing this purely for attention, because, according to him, "that's just what females do."
Hannah couldn't help but let her mind wander as she waited for the bus at the bus stop that dark night. Maybe she really was getting in way over her head and it was a bad idea to let this girl come into her life. As her mind flickered back to the daydream she had as she stood in that loud police station just 20 hours before, her hand slowly rose from her side and found her soft neck. She rubbed it slightly in the spot where the gash was made, making sure the skin was still intact. Maybe it was the paranoia, or maybe it was the tiredness, but she could have sworn she could still feel the glass...
The time was 8:42 p.m. The temperature outside was cool, and the sky was a soft pink with small hints of blues and yellows and oranges cascading through every ounce of space between. Cars no longer occupied the worn down roads in the area, and the children had gone inside their homes for the night. The neighborhood was quiet; peaceful, you could even say. In a brick house located at the end of the street, there was a rusty clank as the sill of a window was opened to let a flume of cigarette smoke out.
"Hand me that flask with the red tip, Zara. Quickly." Hannah demanded.
"Why can't you get it yourself?" Zara groaned.
"Because you're literally right next to it," Hannah responded, giving her a quick glance frustratedly. "Quickly, my hand is getting tired."
Zara was lying down with her ankles crossed on the leather couch that was backed by a concrete wall around 12 feet from Hannah. She peeked over the magazine and moved her feet slightly so as to see Hannah, who was, at this time, perched over her increasingly messy work table like a vulture looking down...