"The original bad boy . . . takes care of his . . . friends."
16| Suicide or Homicide
"The parade's finally over," sighs Satan before he plops down on the sidewalk next to me.
Surprisingly, this guy with a crimson colored face hung around me a lot throughout the parade. Sometimes, he took the cymbals from me and other times he'd give it back, saying we were switching shifts. Maybe it's my halo and goodness that attracted the bad guys. As I wait for Arsen to return from the crowd of kids who wanted to take a selfie with the members, I figure it won't kill me to strike a conversation with this handsome devil.
"It was absolutely amazing," I tell him.
"I've never seen you show this much enthusiasm in class," he remarks, running a hand through his slick raven black hair.
In class?
My entire body freezes at those words and the only thoughts rummaging through my mind are of this guy. I scrutinize my eyes at his face and see a hint of a smile. With his get-up, it looks awfully sinister. As if the smile isn't enough, he widens his eyes during my inspection of his features. Inhaling sharply, I scoot away involuntarily.
This is why parents say don't talk to strangers.
It's terrible enough not knowing the person, but worse when the person knows you.
"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you," I mumble, scratching my temple. Maybe I should've painted my face like I painted Arsen. Speaking of whom, where in the world is that zombie? My ulta-sensitive senses begin searching for my companion.
He must have noticed my uncomfort because he says, "Relax Valerie. It's me."
"Me who?"
"Vivan." When I show no signs of recognition, he adds, "Oh sorry. Vivian Dexter. I don't think any of us instructors told you guys our first names." The moment he says instructors, things suddenly make sense. The person conversing with me is not any satan, he's in fact, the meanest one out of the three self defense instructors in my gym class. He walks around with a straight face all the time. I doubt he even knows how to smile. Every time someone doesn't follow the rules, this guy pressure points them. When he was my partner in times Arsen didn't show up, he would pressure point me as well.
Talk about being cruel.
"Sorry, I didn't recognize you," I say quickly. I know I should be embarrassed, but in reality, I just want to know what a third degree black belt was doing in a Halloween parade dressed as the devil. "You're the last person I expected to see today."
He rolls his eyes. "It's alright. A bunch of my friends and I decided to crash the parade at the last moment. We aren't supposed to be here."
"Neither am I," I sympathize.
"I know. You have to be at least twenty one to participate in the parade," he says.
"Why?"
"There just happens to be an after--"
"Yo Cruz!" A voice cuts him off and we find Arsen headed towards us. Mr. Dexter and I stand up, realizing that all other souls are actually clearing out of this empty parking lot. Arsen comes up to me, completely ignoring the person on my right. "Do you want to go to the after party? They're serving free food and booze."
I don't know how appropriate that is to say in front of your temporary teacher.
Then again, he's not supposed to be here either.
"I think we should just go home," I say in a firm tone. Turning to my instructor, I say, "Nice meeting you, Mr. Dexter."
"Call me Vivian outside school," he says. Arsen's eyebrow raises at the speed of light as he finally looks at Vivian. Vivian looks at me questioningly. "Your boyfriend?" He hasn't identified the trouble maker yet.
"Friend," I say, blood rushing to my cheeks. Both of their eyes rest on me and I swiftly add, "We better head home, now. See you at school, Mr. D--Vivian."
Gripping Arsen's forearm tightly, I drag the zombie away from Satan and assimilate into the crowd.
He gestures me to trail behind him towards a door illuminated by the red light of an exit sign. Even though I hesitate, Arsen forces me enter inside and "live a little."
As expected, my plea of going home hasn't been heard.
Erie music and shrieky laughter surrounds us at this Halloween party. Assuming us to be one of the parade members, the people around us resume their dancing, chattering, etc. The haunting atmosphere fills me in with a different energy. Instead of running to the nearest exit, I follow Arsen all the way to the corner . . . where the festive themed food is.
"Who was that creep?" Arsen asks as he takes a handful of oreos and starts stuffing his mouth with them.
"Our gym teacher," I reply and help myself to a cupcake.
Arsen swallows and replies, "Dexter?" I nod, impressed at his sharpness. Soon, my face morphs into disapproval when he gulps a glass of suspicious liquid. "Why did you leave so rudely then? He might press down on every single pressure point in our bodies the next time we see him at school."
"You don't have to worry since you never show up for class." I point out. "I'm the one who gets stuck having him as my partner." Arsen simply gives me a sideways glance and takes another drink. As an afterthought, I say, "He smells good, though, whenever we're doing the bear hug stuff."
"And I don't?" I shrug nonchalantly. Of course, he smells amazing, however, I'd rather not clarify I go around smelling him when he's close tone. "Wait, bear hug?"
"In case someone hugs me without my consent, I need to know the counterattacks," I tell him. "And you never show up, so me and my partner-less self gets stuck with either Mr. Dexter or hooligans like you." Arsen doesn't utter a single word rather downs another glass of clear liquid. I grab a glass and sniff it. "What is this stuff?"
"H two O."
Cautiously, I sip the glass and immediately wrinkle my nose at the bittersweet aftertaste. I quickly bite down on my cupcake to eliminate the nasty taste from my mouth.
Arsen laughs, shaking his head.
All I know is that it's going to be a tough night.
¤》¤《¤
"For the sake of humankind, stop drinking every single alcoholic drink you can find!"
"Make me." He smirks and almost stumbles a step. "Okay, that was a little too much."
After dancing with everyone (including me) and temporarily going insane, Arsen's finally captured. By me. Both of us are tripping and marching towards his bike. The fishy drink was nothing other than some spirit (not literally) drink.
"Now, you noticed?" I say in disbelief.
"Shut up and enjoy the night. I d-don't do things for other people very o-of-ten." With his head slightly tilted, he leans against me. I catch a whiff of his nasty alcohol breath and flinch.
"Really?" I say slightly disgusted. "Should I feel honored?" He shrugs, his eyes anywhere but at me. "A tiny part of your icy heart still cares about me, doesn't it?" I ask softly.
"Meh." He scrunches his nose. "I j-just didn't want to . . . "
"Didn't want what?" I press.
"Didn't want to see you crying."
Our eyes lock and I'm extra aware of the fraction of a distance between our faces. He rests his head on my shoulder and I sigh in an exaggerated manner. The liquor has completely taken over him. As we reach his bike, I scratch my temple and wonder what's the next step. How am I supposed to get home?
Arsen falls over the bike.
"Why don't we hail a cab home?" I suggest. My parents would still be at work and as for friends coming and picking me up . . . it's out of the question. "You aren't in any condition to drive and I'd like to live a little longer."
"Didn't you say something about wanting to drive a bike?" He says, his head raised.
I shake my head vigorously. "Not today. Especially, not from a drunk arse."
"Don't expect me to ditch my poor baby in an empty parking lot at the death of the night," he says, hugging his bike. For a moment, I wondered if he's actually drunk or faking it. The bloodshot eyes confirm he is. "Not on Halloween either."
"Arse, you can pick it up tomorrow," I insist. "Let's get a cab--"
"It's the only thing I've left of my parents," he says in a low voice. "I ain't letting it go." I scowl at his words and observe the bike. Is it really his parents'? We were incredibly young when we hopped on his dad's bike. Is it the same one? I couldn't tell.
Let's just say, my memory isn't the sharpest.
Arsen keeps his hold on the vehicle, persistent on not using other means of transportation. He's done a lot for me tonight and I know I'd feel guilty if I leave him here. After all, I was on a mission to help him trust me, so that I could reach Skylar.
"I'm not leaving without the bike." That sentence is on repeat.
"Can't one of your friends pick us up?"
"Nah."
I want to burst into tears, but know it won't help our case. We've landed on the last option in the list.
"I guess tonight's gonna be my last night on earth," I say with fake cheerfulness.
"Why? Are you committing suicide?"
"Something like that," I respond.
"Whacha mean . . ." He trails off, following my gaze to his bike. "Suicide or homicide?"
"Well, that depends on your teaching skills."
"Worst comes to worst, w-we'll die in each other's arms."
Oh yay.
Something to look forward to.
Not!
¤》¤《¤
A/N
Short chapter, yes, I know. I'm terribly sorry. I've been busy with university paperwork this week.
How was the chapter?
Do you think they'll live?
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Thanks for the incredible support so far! Please keep doing what you're doing.
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