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So saß ich auf diesem Stuhl im Süden Englands, anhand von einem kratzigen Seil festgebunden. Flight Lieutenant Harcourt stand über mir, zwei seiner Soldaten beobachtend in den Ecken des staubigen Dachbodens. Ein paar Mondstrahlen leuchteten durch das kleine, viereckige Fenster an der Dachschräge. Es scheint so, als hätten sie mich schon länger unter Beobachtung gehabt. 

„Sie haben jetzt genau zwei Möglichkeiten, Fräulein Vogt; entweder ergeben Sie sich dem britischen Justizministerium unter der Annahme, dass Sie Ihre Zeit in einem Gefängnis absetzen, oder Sie drehen Ihre Beschäftigung als deutsche Agentin um und arbeiten für uns” erklärte er mir in überraschend gutem Deutsch, wobei sich sein englischer Dialekt durch die Worte schlängelte.

„Was denken Sie, Lieutenant, würde eine deutsche Agentin in genau diesem Moment antworten?”, fragte ich angespannt. „Sie würde sich nicht blamieren lassen. Ich meine, stellen Sie sich mal vor, Patricia Neagle, Herz von Londons Theaterszene, stellt sich als deutscher Maulwurf heraus?“ Mein Herz, was mir seitdem ich von Harcourt und seinen Männern ‚mitgenommen‘ wurde, sank mir immer tiefer den Torso hinunter. 

Die zwei Männer, verdeckt im Schatten, schmunzeln, nachdem sie meine Miene registriert haben. Harcourt befahl einem von den beiden, mich zu entfesseln. Still sah er zu, wie ich meine Arme ausstreckte, während ein verspanntes Knacken meiner Ellenbogen durch den Raum schallte. 

Harcourts dunkelblaue Augen lauerten stets auf mir. Sein Barett war makellos auf seinem Kopf platziert, wobei eine kleine Locke hervorragt. Es waren nur ein paar Sekunden vergangen, in denen ich mich in Gedanken über Harcourt verlor, bis ich bemerkte, dass mir meine Schuhe entnommen wurden. Der kalte Holzboden traf auf meine mit nur einer dünnen Strumpfhose bedeckten Füße. Scheiße.

“Erwarten Sie den ersten Besuch in den nächsten drei Tagen. Wir werden so schnell wie möglich versuchen, Sie wieder untertauchen zu lassen, Frau Vogt.”

“Bleiben wir vorerst bei Miss Neagle, oder?"

The music boomed around you. You practically had to yell at each other in order to be comprehensible. Purple lights sprung around the giant hall you were in – another Vortex Club party. Nate said it’d be a casual meeting to discuss the next big party, but boy was he wrong – not just wrong, practically lying. You knew it blew over as soon as you saw the groups of short-skirted girls walk towards the same direction from your dorm window.

Now you two are draped over a small two-seater in the VIP section, watching the people around you party to the music. Even from afar you could filter out that dumbass jean jacket, only brought out for partying. His eyes were focused on the fling in front of him, moving her body perfectly to the beat.

“I mean, I’m not blaming him” you shrugged. “I never could move so smoothly, especially while dancing.”

“You guys break up or what?”

Beat. You couldn’t think of a better answer than a drawn out “Yup.”

You could remember the look in his eyes. Glassy. Though, neither of you had fought it. It all went far too quickly — the moment both of you snapped, a straight “I think we should see other people” tearing you apart.

But right now you couldn’t think of anything else but his hands on her waist, inching closer and closer. How could he have moved on so fast? Your breath fastens, eyebrows furrow. He glances over at you for a moment, knowing it’d make your blood boil.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“Huh?”

“You know,” your friend says, pointing at your jittering leg.

“I know. I get shaky when irritated.”

”I’m gonna go take a piss,” she continued. “You comin’?”

”I think I’ll stay here. I’ll be outside, I promise.”

As you both stand up, you begin digging through your jacket, looking for your fire. Bingo.

The warm summer night air made you want to soak under the moon, if possible, drown underneath it. You light your cigarette before staring at the golden lighter in your palm, rubbed off silver on some of its corners. Engraved were his initials in an ornate font.

Everything around you slowed down after taking a few swigs. The trees weren’t blowing so fast anymore and you could finally feel your hair not poking against your back anymore.

Another group of girls walk past you, laughing together. You could see his fling basically leading them on, all heels clacking against the asphalt around campus. One of them asked her why he wouldn’t come with them. No answer.

Nathan was never to be seen in a giant group of girls. After all, they could easily scratch his ego – you know, peer pressure and all. He’s always, obviously, been the insecure kind. He just didn’t like to show it.

You throw away the smoked down cigarette bud, putting it out with the tip of your heel.

The entrance door behind you shot open. Whoever it was, they might be pissed or in a hurry.

Nate?

Nate.

His chest heaved with intensity after recognising your figure from behind, breathing out a chuckle, giving you a slick side glance. You knew where he was headed next, and he knew too. Your thumb brushes over the cold metal lighter in your jacket pocket.

Blur.

Two weeks earlier;

The warm morning sun hit both your faces. From time to time, you’d miss inland Oregon, where summers would take around 80 degrees.

At last, you had each other to warm up. His digits brushed lazily over your curves while placing a few lazy kisses to the crook of your neck.

He could barely sleep. You noticed it in the tremble of his fingers and turning during the night. He forgot to take his pills with him.

You began to crawl out of bed, his hand lingering on yours. Your clothes were sprawled over the floor of your dorm room, causing you to walk around it like they were landmines.

“I’m gonna hit the showers real quick,“ you explained to him.

“I‘ll come with you“ he smirked.

“Ha, ha.“

A shudder shocks through your body before a cold hand lands on your shoulder. It was your friend.

“Fuck,“ you whisper, shocked by her sneaking up on you. She smiled at you in a proud, nearly encouraging manner.

Quick enough, your friend started distracting you with how she bumped into another cute guy. You know, the one who’s good to look at, but just really shouldn’t open his mouth.

Nathan wasn’t afraid of saying what he thought. Even if it stirred up a fight.

Were you really comparing him to others, as if he was some kind of superior form?

You swing the door to the second dorm floor open. You knew his fling lived with her parents here in Arcadia Bay, so they’d be in his dorm room by now, grinding onto each other — or whateverthefuck.

You and your friend go your separate ways, dividing with a long hug. “You’re strong,“ she says.

You sneak into the showers to brush off your makeup. Quiet footsteps slandered outside in the hallway, coming closer.

“If it isn’t the homewrecker,“ a young woman enters the showers. Blonde, short hair, arrogant, and most of all, insecure.

“You’re not wearing a halo above your head either,“ you shot back. “Besides, there’s no way you aren’t jealous of the fact that he’s holding another girl's hand right now.“

“So it‘s true you two broke up?“

“Duh. Haven’t you seen him with her?“

She staggered. “Uhm,- n-no-,“

“A homewrecker is someone who causes a break-up by having an affair with one of two partners in a long-term relationship; he didn’t even have the balls to tell her that he loved her before I came in,“ you explained while drying your face with a towel. "Besides, the term uses women to take the blame instead of men holding accountability for their actions."

“You broke that sweet girl‘s heart,“ Victoria began, emulating empathy.

“As if you wouldn’t do the same, Vic.“

You walked out of the room, not paying attention to closing the door quietly.

Back in your dorm, you take the lighter out of your jacket and place it on your shelf, next to all the other things he’d forget in your dorm. A book on photography by Ansel Adams, a recommendation by him to get you started on photography as a hobby. A few films he thought you’d like. Mostly horror.

You throw yourself onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then at your alarm clock. You were supposed to be friends with Victoria, Vortex Club and all. But she’s fake as fuck, the same as everybody else.

Everybody lies.

1:24 AM.

Ding.

A text.

Victoria. Of course she had to have the last laugh.

>> U‘LL BE GONE FROM TEH VORTEX SOONER OR LATER. U’VE LOST UR ONLY ENTRY TICKET BITCH

<< oh i’ll be gone dw

life is strange

nathan prescott

THE TAMPERER | nathan prescott x fem!reader

inglourious basterds

dieter hellstrom

DOUBLE CROSS | dieter hellstrom x fem!oc [GER] [also on ao3!]

misc.