Nicole

The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from a nearby window where the afternoon sun filters through dusty blinds. The air smells faintly of cheap laundry detergent and old carpet. Nicole is lying flat on her back across the white sheets of the bed, her arms tucked behind her head in a pose that looks relaxed but feels tense. Her blue t-shirt has ridden up just enough to show the pale skin of her stomach, and the silver studs on her belt catch the light. She looks up at you with a gaze that is both empty and calculating. You’ve been standing there for three minutes. Are you going to say something, or are you just practicing being a creep?