Group Project Final Correction

The door shut behind him with a click that felt louder than it should have.

Just him. And them.

Three girls. All seated already -- across the narrow conference table. Folders in front of them. Bottled water. Perfect posture. Like they were waiting on a presentation he forgot to prepare.

He didn't speak.

Didn't sit.

Didn't blink.

The tallest one -- Naomi -- tapped a pen against her notepad twice before leaning forward.

-- So. Ethan.

-- Where. Were. You?

No anger in her voice. Just rhythm. Like a metronome of judgment.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. Then:

-- I had... stuff. Family stuff. I tried texting--

-- Lie, -- said Jasmine.

She didn't even look at him. Just scribbled something and underlined it.

-- You said you'd finish slides two through five, -- added Mia.

-- You sent us a meme instead.

Ethan swallowed.

-- I thought we had more time.

Naomi exhaled through her nose.

-- You thought wrong.

He tried a laugh.

-- Look, I'll fix it. I'll do the whole next project, okay? You can even--

-- Sit, -- said Jasmine.

His legs obeyed before his brain did.

The seat was cold.

Mia reached into her backpack. Pulled out a single yellow folder. Slid it across the table.

-- That's a printout of your texts, by the way.

Naomi followed it with her own:

-- This one's our chat history. Timestamped.

Jasmine:

-- And this is our revised presentation.

-- Without your slides.

He stared at the pile. Then back at them.

Naomi smiled. Small. Flat.

-- We don't want an apology.

-- We want balance.

Mia stood up first.

Walked around the table. Calm steps.

Then Naomi.

Then Jasmine.

They closed in like clock hands moving to midnight.

Ethan shifted in his chair.

-- Guys, come on. This is stupid. It's just a group project--

Mia leaned down.

-- We presented without you.

Naomi:

-- We answered questions without you.

Jasmine:

-- And now...

A pause.

-- You feel without us.

She didn't wait for a response.

Her knee came up fast. Sharp. Direct.

THUMP.

He gasped -- eyes wide -- body doubling forward in reflex.

Jasmine stepped back like it was a gym move. Mia caught his shoulder before he could fully bend. Held him steady.

Naomi crouched to eye level.

-- Now we talk.

Her voice was gentle. Terrifyingly gentle.

-- You're going to hold them.

He blinked.

-- What?

-- Your balls, Ethan. With both hands. Right now.

He didn't move.

Mia grabbed his wrist, brought it down.

Naomi did the other.

Between them, they forced his palms down -- cupping -- until he was holding himself.

-- Tighter, -- said Jasmine from behind.

He flinched.

-- Like you're guarding your last excuse.

His hands trembled.

Then:

Mia struck.

Palm-first. Quick and loud.

The impact rippled up his arms.

He yelped. Eyes shut. Legs kicked once.

Naomi didn't react.

-- Say it.

-- What--

Another slap. Jasmine this time.

-- Say what this is for.

His throat was dry.

-- F-for... skipping?

Naomi shook her head.

-- Wrong. That one was for lying.

Jasmine again.

-- The next is for laziness.

Mia took position.

-- This one's for leaving us to clean your mess.

He tried to pull away.

Didn't work.

CRACK.

His whole body jerked. Hands still in place. His own grip turned against him.

He made a sound that wasn't quite a scream. Wasn't quite a sob.

They let it settle.

Then Jasmine leaned in and whispered:

-- You're going to remember this when your next group asks what you bring to the table.

He couldn't answer.

Could barely breathe.

Naomi looked at the wall clock.

-- Five more minutes until dismissal.

Mia nodded.

-- Just enough time for the finale.

He didn't know what that meant.

Not yet.

But their calm expressions told him--

Whatever was coming next?

Was already planned.

His legs shook.

They hadn't hit him again -- not yet -- but his body was still catching up. Skin hot. Breath shallow. Hands trembling from holding himself the way they made him.

Naomi took a step back and stretched her arms like she'd just finished a workout.

-- Not bad.

Jasmine checked her phone.

-- We've got two minutes.

Mia opened her backpack again.

Ethan didn't look. He just sat hunched, gripping his own sore body, sweat dripping from his jaw.

-- Can I go now? Please. I get it. I'll redo the slides, I swear--

Mia interrupted.

-- Don't worry. We're not keeping you.

She pulled out a thin black shoelace.

Ethan blinked.

-- What is that?

Naomi didn't answer.

Instead, she moved to the door.

Opened it just slightly.

Enough to reveal the brass handle on the outside.

-- Stand up.

He didn't.

Jasmine walked over and helped.

By the arm.

By force.

He stood, wobbly, legs close, eyes still wide.

-- Turn, -- Mia ordered.

He obeyed.

Facing the door now. Back to the girls.

He flinched when Naomi stepped behind him.

-- Shorts.

His head shook.

-- Please--

But his hands moved anyway.

Down.

They fell around his knees with a sad shuffle.

-- Underwear too.

A choked breath. Then he obeyed again.

The air felt cold on his thighs. His bruised dignity barely holding him upright.

Mia crouched and took the shoelace.

One end wrapped tight -- around what little he had left to protect.

Knot. Tighten. Loop again.

Jasmine helped thread the rest of the lace through the crack of the open door -- out to the hallway side -- then looped it around the outer handle.

They pulled the door shut.

Click.

The string tightened.

Ethan gasped. The tension wasn't full yet -- but it was there.

Waiting.

Waiting to be triggered.

-- You're tied to the hallway, -- Naomi said. Calmly.

-- If someone so much as jiggles the handle...

Jasmine smiled.

-- You get yanked.

He swallowed.

-- You're insane.

Mia adjusted her skirt and shouldered her bag.

-- And you're attached to public property.

Naomi leaned in one last time.

Whispered:

-- You should really learn to participate.

Then they turned.

Walked out the opposite door.

He heard their steps echo down the hall.

Then:

Silence.

Then:

Click.

The main door handle moved slightly.

Not fully.

Just a curious twist.

The shoelace pulled.

A spark of pressure. He jolted.

-- AHH--!

Then voices.

Someone outside.

-- Huh? Why won't it open?

Another twist.

Harder.

The lace yanked.

Sharp pain. Blunt. Rising fast.

Ethan fell forward against the door, hands slamming into the wood.

He whimpered.

Behind him, the lace hummed with tension.

Another voice -- female, maybe a teacher:

-- Try the other door. That one sticks.

Footsteps retreat.

Silence.

Then--

Laughter.

Faint.

Echoed.

But from the other end of the hall.

Naomi's voice.

-- Told you he'd react like that.

Jasmine, laughing harder.

-- Worth every slide.

He stayed there.

Still half-naked.

Still tied.

Still burning.

Still alone.

Until someone else -- someone new -- grabbed the handle again.

And twisted.

the crackle of air

(Written and edited by AlexisVriting)