7 Days - Kev's pov

The first chapter of 7 days from the POV of Kev. I tried to capture the way that Kev may view things.


1. Chapter 1

There she is again, the fat one. She totters towards us, running late as usual, and tries to brush past me without a word. Jess, is that her name? I hardly keep track with anyone. 

‘Nice look,’ I say vaguely, glancing over her in a swift movement – one that I know will make her uncomfortable. Cruel, yes, I know, but she doesn't help herself. Some girls are born beautiful, but she, unfortunately, was not one of them. She creeps past me, brushing my bag. 

‘Err, did the stig just touch you?’ Marnie interjects, drawing attention back to her. I didn't even acknowledge it, she's not the first person to do it today. Shoving her cigarette uglily between her lips, Marnie puffs, smiling sickly.  

I turn towards her and allow the corners of my lips to curl up. Standing there like an injured animal, she arches her back and fails at looking confident. There are times when I pity people like her, but in front of the girls; I pity no one.

‘Haven't you got something to say to me?’ Here in our presence, she clutches her arm and shivers slightly, shifting her weight between her feet. The muscles in her leg tense, and I know she's about to leg it. Can't have that.

‘I – I don't know what you mean…’ Marnie goes to shove her, so I stick my arm out to block her- this is my battle. Seductively; I know someone has to be watching, I take a single step forward and cock my head towards the Stig. 

‘You shoved past me.’ I pout, resisting the urge to laugh at how pathetically terrified she looks. ‘I think you should say something.’ With the cigarette at my side, I allow a little ash to fall onto her scraggy shoes. I hate smoking, honestly, and I know my parents will hate me if they ever find out, but it's just easier to go along with it. It's not like I smoke often, anyway.

‘I didn't, I didn't even touch you.’ She pleas, visibly begging me to let her go. 

‘Oh yes, you do.’ Marnie pushes forward, placing herself beside me. God, I hate Marnie- almost as much as I do smoking. She doesn't seem to have a filter; an ability to stop. I throw her a challenging look and she stumbles back a step. But not before saying: ‘You pushed past us with your sweaty, stingy body.’

‘Marnie,’ I warn, glaring at her until she stalks off to Lola, who mutters something I don't quite hear. 

‘I didn't touch you,’ she quivers, taking another step back. For some reason, I don’t know why, I get annoyed by this. Is it really that difficult to apologise? Even I would apologise. Why is she being so stubborn? It's only okay to be stubborn if you're popular enough to be- no wonder she has no friends.

‘You touched me, right!’ I’m doing this for own good, I remind myself. Putting my face inches away from hers, I edge closer, allowing minimal distance between us. ‘And I don't want you anywhere near me, understood?’ I press my finger into her flat chest and shove her away, allowing my nail to dig in to her layers of fat. Gross. She nods and glares to her feet, noticing the ash for the first time. Not that she says anything, we’re practically even anyway. 

Twisting on my heels, I begin to stroll away when I hear Marnie’s arrogant (and unnecessary) comment: ‘Are you even listening to her? You owe her an-‘ she puts far too much stress on this word, like she's talking to a child. ‘Apology.’ No words can explain how dark the look Marnie receives from me is: darker than the abyss that is her soul; darker than night itself. 

‘I'm sorry.’ Jess whispers, obviously edging to get away.

‘What? I didn't quite hear that.’

‘I'm sorry. I'm sorry I touched you. I'm sorry I even dared to come near you.’ And she's snapped. The sarcasm drips from her tongue and I feel inexplicably proud of her- an easy enough feeling to shake off.

‘You can stay there until we’re inside, get it?’ 


‘Good.’ I drop my cigarette and crush it into the ground- just like that scene from Grease. As we stride past her in a clique, I shove her with my shoulder and scrape the back of her leg with my trainer, laughing as she loses her balance and topples to the ground. ‘And you should really think about losing some weight, sweetheart. Fat is never a good look, is it?’

The girls cackle and we all walk in unison to the doors.


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