The Original Bad Boy

5| Tickets To Nightmare?

"The original bad boy hates being underestimated."

5| Tickets To Nightmare?

Arsen stands in front me, his eyes intently positioned on his phone as he texts.

Not caring a single bit about my feelings, he already cleared it to the entire class how much he regretted selecting a partnership with me. Frankly, no one even cares. All of us girls are stuck with the infamous troublemakers of the school.

Entirely crestfallen, I wait for the first lesson to begin, even though I fear touching any part of my partner's wet body. He really should have avoided the water balloon fighting in the cafeteria, today.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Dexter, the mean one, begins, "we'll start with a very basic technique, today and focus on complex ones in the upcoming classes. Watch our demonstration, first, and then practice this with your partners."

Him and Mrs. Johnson explain and show how to break free of a grip on your wrist without getting in trouble. Mr. Dexter holds the woman's wrist and she raises the lock as high as she could before stepping under it and twisting his arm behind him. We all stare in sheer amazement--including some guys.

"See, now, you can simply push him and ta da," Mrs. Johnson smiles, shoving her assistant who stumbles a step forward.

"Your turn to try," Mr. Dexter declares.

Unlike the hooligans in the class, all of us girls hesitate. In fact, I share an unusual eye lock with Arsen before he steps forward and catches my wrist. As much as we stay away from each other usually, it's no longer happening.

Focusing on the task at hand, I mimic the first step of bringing up the arms so I can step under and then end up behind Arsen. Instead of allowing my escape, Arsen steps forward, blocking the foot space. Our bodies are mere inches away. His eyes bore into mine in a challenging manner, irking me to the point where I simply wish to kick him where it'll definitely hurt him.

No, it's not the heart.

"Let go," I warn. "You're not following the protocol."

Then again, does he ever?

He rolls his eyes. "Try harder. In a real life situation, your attacker won't stand at a two feet distance." My nostrils flare in anger as my face turns icy. "Out of all the people in the class, you actually have your attacker in front of your eyes, little Miss Cruz," he points out. Hearing those words bring back unwanted memories of that unusually gruesome evening. My dear head and that dead man named Lionell suffered.

"Who's Skylar Johnson?"

For some reason, his face genuinely shows a moment of incredulity before he masks it with seriousness.

"Why are you so concerned about someone you don't even know?" He looks away while waiting for an answer.

Keeping my eyes on his nonchalant face, I answer, "I've first-handed experience of giving up worrying about someone and witnessed quite a malicious result." The statement actually attains me his attention. Of course, I indirectly reffered to him. Unable to read his expression, I add, "I don't want another guilt on my conscience, Arsen."

His grips loosen ever so slightly, though he stands still, wearing nothing but plain blankness.

Devising a plan in my mind, I stomp on his foot, before continuing the grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him. To my luck, Mr. Hudson passes by us at the right time and props up his thumb in approval.

"You can stop enjoying touching me, now," Arsen says.

Having the upper hand, I grasp tighter and twist his arm a little by using both of my hands.