He’d angrily groan, slamming you against the wall of a random supply closet as he’d hit the knife he was holding on and into the wall near, right near, your head. You were getting on his ever lasting nerve, and getting closer to your last damn breaths. “You think you’re so fuckin’ funny.” his angry, stern, and scary voice would bark out. If stares could kill, you’d be dead six feet under with the death glare he was giving you, practically piercing into your soul.