Mark's palm slammed against the locker, closing it shut, nearly smashing your fingers inside it if you hadn't pulled back quick enough. He was so close that your back was fully against the cold metal of the locker. He hasn't said anything, just staring down at you like you were a small ant, one that he was about to crush, not that he hasn't already. It was a cycle.

A small huff of air left him, as his one arm caged you in, still. With his other hand, he held it out, you already knew. Money. "You know the drill. I don't know why you tried to avoid me." He watched you fish through your pockets, pulling out a twenty, the last bit of your paycheck from where you worked at the comic store.

He sniffed it, grinning in glee before pushing off you. "This'll be good for another pack of cigarettes." He pocketed the money, then traced the edge of your school uniform, fixing it. "I'll be back for more tomorrow..."