Problems

|| Chapter 11 ||

"I suggest more coffee." Everyone looked up at Alex, who was blearily watching the rest of the group. Laf queasily nudged his cup back. "No more for me, mon ami," he muttered. "I have had enough to last a duree de vie, a lifetime."

The group laughed, and Alex smiled tiredly. "It's getting late," John said, and stood up. "I'm going to go back to my room. Alex?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm going to stay here for a bit. Just a little longer and then I'll go home." John nodded and started to pick up his stuff, stuffing papers into books and making a stack of notes. The sisters and Laf started to do the same, trying not to disturb Hercules, who was still snoring.

Finally, while Alex was still staring at his notes, the rest of the group left, including a stumbling Herc. It was about nine at night, and most of the students had gone back to their dorms, probably putting their books underneath their pillows to hopefully gain futher knowledge through diffusion.

Alex put away his Political Sciences book and flipped open his History one; he was hoping that maybe studying a different subject might make him pay more attention.

Alas, that was the not the case, and pretty soon he felt like he was eating carboard: it was tasteless, boring, and utterly inedible.

Alex looked at his phone and sighed. It was around ten thirty, and he should probably head back. Maybe he could try to study a little more back at his dorm before bed, it was certainly putting him to sleep here.

Drawing his coat tighter around himself, Alex hunched his back against the freezing air outside of the library. It was about twenty degrees, a sudden cold spell had hit about a week ago, and even though he had moved to the States a little over three years earlier, Alex still wasn't used to it being this cold. He came from an island where it was usually seventy and sunny, not the Artic.

Footsteps sounded in the dark behind him, and he instictively knew who it was.

"What the hell do you want, Jefferson?"

"Aw, c'mon Hammie, we just want to talk!" Alex turned around and saw a smirking Jefferson, with the two goons he knew to be Samuel Seabury and George King.

"Just let me go back to my dorm, okay? I just want to go home," Alex sighed, and Jefferson pouted. "Alex. Poor, poor Alexander. You see, I just can't do that." He dropped the exagerated frown, his face going cold. "Grab him."

Alex dropped his books, but it was no use. Between two juniors in college and a small freshman that barely tipped the scale at one hundred pounds soaking wet, there wasn't much of a scuffle.

Blood was running down his chin and the streetlight was blinking above him, shining like a diamond against the dark, cloudy sky. Jefferson's face loomed above his, going in and out of focus, and he said something that Alex couldn't quite make out over the ringing in his ears.

The next thing he knew was that he was being dragged somewhere, and his senses jumped alive when the burning smell of chlorine hit his nose.

Oh no.

"Okay, Hamilton, here's the thing. You need to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut. So I'm going to help you with that and fill it with something. Like, oh, I don't know, water?" Jefferson grinned at Seabury and King. "Go ahead, boys."

If you didn't know it, dear reader, water is quite cold in November, especially in twenty something degree weather. Even if it's in a heated pool, I wouldn't recommend it.

Not to mention, Alex is still absolutely terrified of water when he doesn't expect it...

Let's observe.