Tap..
Tap...
"Oh, Freya! You're back?" Ericka's voice cracked through the silence as she finally noticed another presence entering the room.
Her eyes, previously glued to the microscope, now lifted in curiosity. The moment her gaze landed on Freya, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What on earth happened to your face? Why do you look so—?"
"I am beyond pissed off!" Freya interjected, her words sharp as knives, echoing through the tense air in the room.
With a huff of frustration, she flung her backpack across the room; it landed on the couch with a thud.
Moments later, she collapsed beside it, embodying defeat.
'Bad! Bad! Bad!' The words escaped her lips in a vehement whisper, each syllable a hammer strike against the soft fabric of the couch.
She twisted and turned, her fists pounding rhythmically as if trying to beat her disappointment into submission. Never before in her life had she tasted the bitterness of defeat, but today was different.
