Chapter 34 | Confronting the Trouble Maker
Qotc what is your favorite book series and fictional character's? Also, I want to tag SideBra because she's been one of the most supportive people for my book! <3 Go check her page out!
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After what seems like a decade the sixth hour bells rings, signaling the end of school. I quickly run out and head to my locker, eager to get out of the room that held me captive for so long. My sixth hour is History, and the class is about as entertaining as staring at a buffer sign that interrupts a video you're watching.
When I pop open my locker and start to shove my History book into the top shelf, an unknown person wraps their arms around my stomach from behind. I tense as a result, unsure if it's an actual hug or some sort of attack.
"Hey girl," greets Taylor. She pulls me into a tighter hug after I relax in relief, pressing her face against my back as she squeezes the life out of my stomach. A couple weeks ago the action would've hurt tremendously, but now the bruises on my waist are almost completely absent, so I hardly feel any pain.
"Hey Taylor," I respond, my tone edgy to lack of air from her compressing the life out of me. It might not hurt me, but I still need to breathe.
Once she hears the struggle in my voice, she immediately let's go with a short apology. As I'm released, I take multiple deep breaths, intaking the precious air back into my aching lungs.
Soon after I recover, she holds out her hand, which has a yellow notebook clutched in it's grasp.
"Sam's notebook," she explains.
I grab it from her, giving her an acknowledging nod.
"I'll have to text him thanks."
"What about me? Don't forget to thank the messenger," she half whines, though her chocolate brown eyes are lined with a luminous teasing look.
I comply to her wants, although I roll my eyes playfully as I do so.
"Thanks, Taylor."
"Anyways, do you need Sam's number?" She asks. I can barely hear her since I've turned my back to shove more homework into my backpack. However, even if I was still facing her, I would've had trouble hearing her.
The multitude of people chattering in our hallway are extra loud today, probably ramped up about the recent news.
Prom is scheduled to be sometime in the next 3 months, and the theme is up for a vote. Ever since receiving the news five minutes before school ended, all of the Juniors and Seniors have been more pumped up than usual. I've already heard gossip on who is going to take who, what they think the theme is going to be, and how they're going to do their hair, nails, makeup, etc.
I personally don't know how to feel. It's not that I don't want to go with Chance, don't get me wrong. He's the most perfect guy I could ask to be my first boyfriend and to go with to a dance. But ever since my recent incidents with the Black Hoodie, I'm hesitant to go back into the large party scene.
I'm not going to be ready to fully go back until I put an end to this psycho, and maybe even still a long while after that.
Taylor's hand suddenly snakes from behind to the front of my face, actually snapping me out of my thoughts. I must've froze in my state of mind, which lead her to do this.
I pause from my shoving, staring at the back of my locker as I recall her words. "Yeah. Wait, no. I'm in a group chat with him, I'll just get his number from there."
Taylor cocks her head in confusion, causing her long blond ponytail to violently sway to the side like a pendulum.
"Group chat?" She questions, clean cut eyebrows rising in interest.
"I'm not the one that started it. Axel added me to a group chat before that one sleepover. I kind of forgot it existed. I'll add you and Carolynn once I get home," I promise, whilst stuffing Sam's yellow composition notebook she handed me into my already overflowing backpack. She nods her head in response, jolting her already in motion ponytail.
With a huff of finality, I glide the dark blue zipper to close the open section of my bag. As I throw the humongous thing on my opposite of broad shoulders, I practically fall backwards due to its weight.
"Heavy?" She teases, an ample smirk on her features as she turns slightly to the right and showcases her paper flat backpack.
"Shut up," I grumble with a ghost of a smile of my own. In a counterattack to her teasing, as we head out of the doors to the school, I promptly reach upwards and flick her forehead.
"Ow!" She yelps, bringing a hand up to gingerly rub where my finger struck.
"Payback," I say impishly.
She doesn't respond with more than an amused grunt, though her dark colored eyes visibly glint with silent laughter as they hit the sun.
Can I just say, I love Taylor's eyes. Some might disagree and think they're a boring, dull mud brown, but I believe her eyes are more interesting than mine.
Yeah, my eyes might be of a brighter color, but when her eyes hit the sun, they turn into an extremely dainty gold hue. It adds more of a certain affect to them ―switching from brown to a bright gold in a matter of seconds. That's something light eyes can never compete with.
Unaware of my awe, Taylor looks away from me to stare at the sidewalk as she walks. With the absence of her stare, my own eyes wander around the street, drinking in every detail.
Her lips purse to the side, as if she's deciding what we should talk about. A few seconds later, her hands go to her hair to twist a single strand as she begins to speak.
"So let's talk about Prom this year. I don't know how you did it in Florida, but I usu-"
I'm aware it's rude to zone out when she's talking but my attention can't help sliding away as a certain something wipes out all of the background noises around me, and my peripheral sight seems to vanish as my eyes pinpoint on a certain object.
Or not an object, a someone.
The person walks on the sidewalk opposite from us, about half a football field ahead of us. Most of the features are obscured from the lengthy distance, but bleached buzz cut hair stands out on the person's head, screaming for my attention.
I have a strong idea on who it might be, but I dare not assume just yet. Maybe if I can get closer. . . but that's the problem. In about eleven more yards, to the right is going to be the parking lot, the one in which my mother is waiting in the car to pick me up. I want to prove to myself that it is the person I'm thinking of, but I can't let my mom see me.
If it is who I think it is anyways, she cannot know who it is I'm following. And also, if it is him, I need to follow him. I'm tired of trying to scratch up bits and pieces of information about this guy. Better to see him for myself. This also may be my only opportunity to learn more about this dude, and because of that, I'm all too willing to follow him home.
I'm a creeper, I know, but in my defense so is he.
"Hello? Come back to earth," Taylor calls, waving her hand in front of my focused face to bring me back to life.
As soon as I'm out of the trance, I risk glancing away from the boy in my line of vision and towards her. I can tell she's a bit annoyed by the way I've ignored her two times (in less than ten minutes) by the way a faint frown drags down her lips, but to my surprise, she doesn't get angry. In fact, she conceals her irritation and rearranges her features into one of concern.
"Are you okay, Kirsten? This is the second time you've zoned out like this. Are you like, tired?"
I hate to be rude and ignore yet another question, but we're nearing my mom's car. If she see's me, I'll have absolutely no chance of catching up with this guy.
"I need you to cover for me," I say urgently, stopping us from walking any further by turning her my way and putting my hands firmly on her shoulders.
"Cover for you? Why?" She asks quizzically, brown eyes studying me in suspicion.
"No time to explain. Just walk up to my car and tell my mom I'm coming over or something."
"What if she doesn't believe me because you're not with me?"
I steal a glance at the sidewalks, noting I only have seconds before the guy turns left onto another street and away from my sight. And I'm still standing here.
"Tell her I'm already in your car. I gotta go Taylor." Without giving her any chance to reply, I run to the opposite sidewalk and to a street closest to me, which is about four streets away from the one he went down. My hope is that this boy continues on the street he's on so I can possibly intersect him before I lose him.
I run full speed down half of the street, pausing as an intersection appears. Crossing my fingers that this guy didn't make any sudden turns or is going to be almost impossible to find, I run towards the street he's on.
When I'm about the length of one house away, someone suddenly appears from the street, face angled the opposite way so they're oblivious to my presence. Without wasting any time, I take a steep dive behind a trash can, landing with a huge thump on my knees. The grass muffled most of the noise, so I'm home free for the time being.
Careful to be as silent as a mouse, I shift onto my toes, cautiously peeking out from the side of the trash can. From this distance, it's now easy to make out the features of the boy, and the unique rugged face of a possibly very dangerous boy.
Damien.
*****
About five minutes into my grade A sneaking skills―and with only about five collisions with trees and trash cans―we finally arrive to what seems like his house.
The house is uninviting, to say the least. Unlike the houses surrounding it, the front porch is completely bare, not even one chair or decoration placed on it's white floor boards. The colors are mostly neutral, and not even the old car parked in the driveway contains the slightest bit of color. The house reminds me of a funeral home, which I might just be heading to if this plan goes haywire.
He thuds up the steps, bulky boots causing the old floors to creak under his weight full of muscle. I thought Sam, Axel, and Noah were muscular, but this man is the fricken Hulk. He probably has to fit in a double X sized shirt to squeeze all of the muscles into the fabric. To be quite honest, the imbalance of muscles from his arms to legs makes his figure look unattractive, yet very much intimidating.
Just as he grabs the handle of his screen door to open it, a sudden impulse washes over me. Driven only by that factor, I run out of my hunkered down position from my previous hiding spot across the street and towards him, who's heedless of my sudden approach. The perspective of this actually humors me in the back of my mind. Here I am, a tiny Junior who can't break a pen with her bare hands, charging at a Senior rock of a man who can probably break three with his right pinkie finger.
"Hey!" I yell, summoning his attention as I bound up the porch steps. I'm close enough that I can vividly see his calloused hands freeze on the door handle, his body tensing as well. It's hard for me to ignore the fear now is the time I can possible die, but I manage to swallow the brunt of it before it overcomes me.
I hate this secret weakness. I might seem like I don't fear others sometimes, like the incidents with an equally intimidating Noah and the multiple with that brat Victoria where I had snarky comebacks and gave them dauntless attitude, but that's not the case right now. I only become my inner sassy self when someone sets me off, so I'm sure not used to walking up to a shady guy ―who looks capable of many, many scary things―to interrogate him.
"Get off my property, I don't want whatever you're selling," he growls, tone laced with unforeseen irritation.
Here's my time to settle this once and for all.
"I know you know who I am, Damien," I say, matching his intrepid tone with not even the slightest giveaway of my fright. I mentally give myself a high five, boosting up my confidence to be ready to talk about the real reason I followed him.
The sound of his name gets his attention, causing him to look up from the door handle. His hard set coal pigmented eyes give me a short once over, and I struggle not to squirm underneath their weight.
He grunts like a dog, narrowing his features in evident vexation. "No, I actually don't. Nor do I care who you are. So I'm not going to say this again, get off of my property or I'm calling the police."
Well that escalated quickly.
I resume my own role of crossness, intertwining it into my voice. "You don't fool me. Now answer my questions. Why have you been doing this to me? What have I even done to you?"
"What are you blabbering on about? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want to know," he says, previous expression strengthening in appearance at my persistence to talk.
"I should be calling the police on you for stalking me and hurting my friends! You can go to jail!"
"Stalking you? I've never seen you in my life," he perseveres, continuing to act innocent. Before I get a chance to somehow squeeze the truth out of him, he opens the door to his house and steps inside.
"Now go away before I really hurt you. I mean it."
"But―" I stammer, trying to lunge at the door to prevent it from closing in the same moment.
"Good bye," he rumbles coldly, slamming the door directly in front of my face. The sound of a lock clicking sounds from the other side, but after that all I can hear is silence. I bitterly walk away from the house, disappointed on the unresolved dispute between the two of us.
I was confused before, but now, after experiencing our chat, I'm dumbstruck. Damien's reactions seemed sincere enough, but he also might've been a very good liar. I guess I can't fully remove him from my nonexistent list of suspects, but maybe I can consider it might be someone else to blame for the series of events the Black Hoodie caused.
After all, I've learned you always have to expect the unexpected.
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We are 17 in #relatable!! Whoop whoop! :D