She Kidnapped Me! |ON HOLD|

Chapter 15 - "You're So Whipped, Anders."

Anders Larzelere's PoV:

Chapter 15 - "You're So Whipped, Anders."

The morning passes by in a blur as we have the time of our lives, frustrating our dance instructor with our stupid antics as he yells at us to cooperate and stop acting like "fücking kids".

Not.

The gruesome two hour per day class arranged by the craziest chick on the planet — and the cutest, and the loveliest, and the - SHUT UP, ANDERS — the one and only Alarice had soon proven to be my most hated part of the day, and it hadn't even been 20 minutes into the class back then.

The harsh faced, dark-haired Brazilian man in his late forties, or perhaps early fifties, who knew, was not whom I had expected to be the one coaching us. And he'd gripped my hand in a handshake so strong I thought I might end up with a few cracked fingers, his face outlined with not a wrinkle looking like it had ever smiled once in his life, Mr. Audi was all about business.

And what a fucking awesome business it was.

With that superb first impression, the man had proceeded to tell us to get into position, and when both of us had looked at him cluelessly — thank God, Alarice was not some pro ball dancer, which I wouldn't be surprised if she was, because the girl was soon making me feel like not a thing was out of her reach — the instructor had rolled his eyes with such disdain, as if we were some illiterate morons who couldn't spell the freaking alphabets. I had immediately started to dislike him.

I was finding that a lot of things here are making me develop negative feelings that I'm not accustomed to, seeing as I've been a quite, yes-man almost all my life.

Add the fact that he was a dance instructor, and my dislike just rose up a few more notches, because I hated dancing with a passion.

Oh, and that was because I can't dance for shit.

Soon, the man had realized that nothing was gonna be easy about training us, and then he'd proceeded to make me feel like a worthless piece of scum as he barked orders at us and forced some basic dance movements into my thick head.

Trust me when I say he's worse than my coach back in college.

With a resigned sigh, I flop back on the couch the moment the man leaves, wiping my forehead with my fingers and surprised to that they were damp with perspiration.

Damn, the man had made him break into a frigging sweat.

Alarice plopped down next to me, sitting sideways on the couch, facing me as she leans against the side with one leg tucked under her thigh. Her elbow comes to rest on the top of the couch, cradling her head as she grins at me, arching a curious brow. "I didn't realize that dancing was that tiring," She drawls, her eyes roaming over my misty forehead, unable to stop that laugh trying to break free.

"It's not." I say petulantly, refusing to meet her eyes.

Silence stretches between us, and her unasked "Then, what?" hangs heavily in the air, making me roll my eyes and give in.

"He just reminds me a lot of my uncle in my early childhood." I start, pausing to choose my words carefully, "He was never mean or anything, just a man who liked order and discipline. He was the one who taught me almost everything I know in life. I think you might've met him in his wedding a while back, if you'd attended it that is. I couldn't make it due the arrangements being last minute."