Was it your doing or his, were you the one who laid fingers on him first or did he maybe unclasp the necklace around your neck before everything started? 
                          
So many questions and not one receives an answer. So many words and yet I can't bring myself to form a whole sentence.
                          
I can't talk to you because you took him from me before I even had the chance to call him mine.
                          
And now you have the audacity to look at me, interrupting the silent conversation I had with you.
                          
My eyes are still on her, not having shifted for once and the only thing that is different now is the feeling I have in my stomach, my hand, my throat.
                          
I somehow can't breathe properly anymore, feeling like my trachea is about to shut before I have the chance to take in all the air I need. My stomach behaves like I have just eaten something bad, causing a nauseating feeling to overcome my body. And my hand?
                          
My hand is already throwing the weapon in Astoria's direction, she just doesn't know, see and feel it yet. Maybe she'll never be aware of the fact that I'm planning to erase the layer of beauty that lies on her body, but at least I can picture her screams, her tears flowing down her face.
                          
„Do you need anything?" she asks me in a low voice, eyes filled with curiosity as if she had no idea what she did to me. „You- Your parchment is ripped."
                          
I'm not nodding, not looking down, just lifting my hand slightly to drop it on a different spot - a spot that is still clean and unharmed.
                          
I'm drawing lines and circles while my eyes are waiting for the pair of hers to leave my parchment and to find me again.
                          
„Should I give you a new one?" I see how other heads are turning to look at me - us. 
                          
Astoria isn't waiting for an answer because she knows she won't get one. Instead, she simply reaches out for the pile of papers next to her, taking hold of one and handing it toward me. 
                          
Her outstretched hand is preventing the parchment from touching the wooden surface of the table, expecting me to grab it, but I don't.
                          
„Here." 
                          
I want to take hold of her whisper, crumble it into a million sharp pieces and throwing every single one into the pores of her face. 
                          
I'm not sure how many pairs of different coloured eyes are staring at me, what matters is that the brown dots in her face are mine to meet. I want to carve them out because she has seen the things she wasn't allowed to witness. Her eyes have stared into the pair of his although hey belonged to me, the were mine.
                          
„Did you already do the Arithmany homework? Because I don't really know what exactly to write down." 
                          
She doesn't need a microphone to make sure the audience hears her because she is the only one talking, whispering better said, but I'm sure everyone hears us. 
                          
Either she thinks it's funny to talk to me as if nothing has happened, as if we have been friends for ages, or she is just completely clueless, stupid even.
                          
I'm looking down at my working space, examining the non available letters on my sheet before I look up again, lips turning into a smile while my eyes are about to murder her.