Venin

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Heavy footsteps ran clumsily through the large corridor of the Bradford mansion, leading to the rooms. The silence that never went away bothered the petite dark haired girl more than the possibility of not waking up to see the light of day ever again.
An old white door appeared in the young girl’s eyesight, making her smile with a hint of hope in her eyes; the escape was possible now. The large piece of yellow paper glued to the door that held the name ‘Jasmine’ told her she was in the right part of the house.
Running as fast as she could manage wearing high heels, the young girl reached for the doorknob and twisted it, her heart beating faster than ever before whilst the hope in her heart got bigger; until she saw nothing was happening.
“Please God, please!” She begged, a few tears forming in her beautiful grey eyes as she twisted the doorknob hurriedly, hoping something would happen eventually. “Please!” The girl finally shouted.
Slow and steady footsteps filled her ears as she continued to twist the doorknob, her eyes now scanning the halls that surrounded her, searching for an escape; it didn’t take long for her to realize she was trapped.
“Don’t cry, little Jasmine…” A husky yet extremely calm voice spoke to her. “It will go quickly. I will be gentle.”

**

Drops of sweat covered her entire figure as she stood up in a flash, her eyes scanning the room to assure her that she was in a safe environment. No sound could be heard other than her alarm clock buzzing on top of the nightstand, alerting her that it was time to get ready.

“Third time this week…” she mumbled annoyingly to herself, putting her legs off the now sweat covered bed and getting up slowly, making her way to her own bathroom.

Since the visit she had made to her grandparents back in New York, Jasmine hadn’t been able to sleep correctly. Of course, there was no reasonable explanation for this, but it made the brunette agitated.
The sun was annoyingly shining through her small bathroom window, making her groan; Jasmine had never been a morning person, even when she was only three years old, her mother had told her once.
She walked to the counter on her bathroom, scanning through her makeup and beauty products displayed on it, beginning to think about what she would wear that day.

Jasmine was a simple nineteen year old. She was originally from Cheshire, Holmes Chapel, but had moved to the big city of New York to pursue her Art studies. Of course, everyone back home told her that doing such a thing would be of no good use in the future, but comments like that had never been a problem to the petite brunette.

She was now on her third year at Columbia University School of Arts, majoring in Visual Arts for that matter. It was the degree of her dream, where she spent the days learning how to let her creativity take the best of her.

Finishing getting ready, the girl looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her plump lips were stained with red lipstick, making them desirable; her figure was covered with dark tight jeans, a pair of high boots covering half of them, matching the outfit with a purple top and a dark blazer. An artist should dress like one, and nothing gave her more pleasure than to combine patterns, colours and gradients in her clothes.

Jasmine glanced at the clock, noticing she had only twenty minutes to leave her flat and arrive to her first class of the morning. Grabbing her bag and keys, the young girl left the flat and building humming a catchy song that she had randomly listened to on the radio. The cold air of the city caught her off guard as soon as she stepped foot on the streets, making her tighten her jacket around her small frame and walk looking down.

Suddenly, something started to ring on her pocket. She took one hand out of the strong grip she had on the jacket and reached for her phone, answering the call without noticing whom it was.

“Hello?” The young girl sang.

“Where the fuck are you, Jas? The class starts in ten minutes and you know the weirdo will probably slaughter you if you arrive late to class.” The squealing and annoyed voice of her classmate Olivia could be heard throughout the entire street with the tone she was using.

Jasmine did nothing but sigh as she turned around in a corner, looking up and seeing the enormous building right in front of her eyes. It wouldn’t take her more than eight minutes to arrive; yet her heart pounded with fear of what might happen if she did get late.

“I’m here, don’t worry. I’ll see you in a second.” Without waiting for a reply, Jasmine hung up the phone and started to run towards the building, earning a few confused and shocked looks from the people around her walking to their jobs. She ran for three minutes before finally stopping inside the building, catching her breath as she walked slowly to class, trying to send a message that she was just fine.

As soon as her feet stopped in front of the light wooden door that would allow her to enter her classroom, the teacher arrived. Jasmine could swear the air got suddenly colder and everyone stopped breathing as he walked by. He was one of the scariest men ever.

“Good morning, students.” His voice finally broke the awkward and fearful silence installed as he rotated the doorknob and opened the door; for a split of a second, Jasmine remembered her dream and cringed. Something was too familiar, and she didn’t like it. Of course, it was just a dream, her mind kept telling her, but her entire body reacted in a different way. There was something wrong about that man, something that the others couldn’t see.

“Good morning, Mister Howell.”