Thread is now rated NC-17.

There were times when the animal part of her got the better of her, and Matty just had to get away from everyone else. This was one of those times. She had passed quietly through the hallways, guitar in hand, ignoring anyone who spoke to her. Those who knew her well enough just shrugged it off, but there were those who had flashed her hurt or confused looks, or who had looked at her as though she had greatly offended them.

Still, she ignored them. They could get their panties in a knot, for all she cared.

She had stopped once outside the doors, long enough to take a deep breath of air, and to admire the way sunset had painted the sky in a range of pink, orange and purple. She headed across the grounds and into the woods barefoot. It took several minutes for her to find a place that suited her, nice and secluded. She sat against a tree, setting her guitar across her lap as she dug her toes into the dirt. Moments later, her fingers were moving swiftly, expertly, across the strings. Her father had taught her this song when she was young. It was comforting to play now, and reminded her so much of home. She felt the tension slowly draining from her body, felt her muscles relaxing, bit by bit.

Some people had exercise, some had yoga, some had meditation. Matty had her guitar.