Living With The Bad Boy

Chapter 17 || Don't Throw Off My Groove

I purse my lips together and nod my head vigorously. I don't know what he is planning, but for some reason I feel as though I can trust him - Just this one time. I am already sad enough as it is and I know he's a bad guy, but not bad enough to kick a person while they're down. I'm hoping, at least.

Blake waves a hand, signalling me to follow him - so I do. "The front door is too loud, so we have to leave through the back."

"Okay..." I mumble dubiously, my fists clenching in anguish.

I follow Blake over to the lounge room and watch him push open the window closest to the backdoor. I furrow my eyebrows and give him a weird look, "Why can't we go through the backdo-?"

"Shut up, Bronte. Don't throw off my groove," he responds in a clipped tone.

I roll my eyes, "Sorry for asking."

Blake smiles back at me and hitches himself up onto the windowsill, falling onto the other side, "It's cooler this way," he states, answering my previous question, "Now come on, jump. I'll catch you."

"Blake, we are literally no more than 3 feet off the ground, I think I can manage."

"You're throwing off my groove again.." he tuts, "Come on. Quickly now: Before the house alarm sets off."

"What?" I hiss, immediately hiking myself up onto the windowsill and falling not-so-gracefully out of the house and onto the dirty gravel, "Ow. Thanks for catching me, loser!"

Blake bursts into laughter and I frown, pushing myself off the ground, "I was just kidding!" he declares midst his laughs.

"I realised that," I scowl, brushing the dirt off my pyjamas.

"Come on now," he urges me, walking around the side of the house.

I narrow my eyes at his back and hesitate momentarily before eventually hurrying after him.

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"We're here," Blake states, steering his motor bike into a vacant car spot. My eyes consume our surroundings and my heart plummets at what was standing before us.

An old, abandoned building.

"Oh god," I cry, stepping off the bike and stepping away from him, "You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

Blake stares at me blankly for a solid moment before he begins to shake with laughter and his lips quiver. Then he starts to laugh. "I'm not going to kill you, you fucking idiot," he snickers.

"Mhm," I nod, unconvinced, "That's exactly what a murderer would say to their victim."

"... Or what a normal guy would tell someone when he gets accused of being a murderer."

I squint my eyes, "Touché."

"C'mon, you'll see what I want to show you," he says, stepping off the bike. I unclip my helmet and hand it to him, "It's 12:48am" he declares, "You won't be tired at school tomorrow?"

I smile at his concern and answer with, "I'm tired on Mondays regardless of my sleep schedule. Besides, I wouldn't have gotten much sleep anyway if I was still in bed."  And so I follow him gingerly to the building. Nervousness eats me up as we draw closer to the building. Even if Blake's intentions are pure, that doesn't change the fact that this building looks as if it's been taken right out of a horror movie.

"If we die, I blame it on you by the way," I assure him, and I hear a laugh escape Blake's mouth as he leads me around the side of the building into a secluded alleyway.