My first instinct was to chase after Elsa, to console her, to explain that this was all a big mistake, but instead I sluggishly, yet ambitiously, move into the dense crowd. The woman calls after to me, but I shake my head, ignoring her frantic pleas. The taste of her lips are still on mine, and I wipe them off with the back of my hand, silently cursing myself. I still feel light-headed from the drug's after effects; my vision swims with slight blurriness but I blink it away, trying my best to focus on the path ahead of me.
Right now I awaken from the drugged trance; right now I bubble with anger for the main cause of this whole ordeal. I meander through the swarm of dancing bodies that reek of alcohol and musky cologne. My hands find arms and shoulders, pushing them out of my way as I push through. Mutters and shouts of protest are flung my way, but I am not fazed, I don't care. Limbs poke annoyingly at me as I struggle to get past a clump of woman, their soft chatter turning into grumbles of displeasure.
My eyes scan around the space before me, and I turn my body in a full rotation to get a glimpse of everything surrounding me. My head pounds with a numb pain, filling my eyesight with a dizzying haze and changing it to a narrow tunnel vision, limiting what I see clearly or not. I press the heel of my hand into my forehead and grit my teeth, desperately hoping that it would dim down the whirling bewilderment that had forced itself upon me. Even through the midst of my throbbing headache and giddy setup, I managed to continue clumsily walking forward. To my absolute luck and advantage, my eyes land perfectly, and with pure clarity, on the main cause of this whole ordeal: Marcus.
He stands in the cramp corner of the club that was rid of many patrons, holding a dark amber-tinted beer bottle and talking with another man. Their heads were bent closely forward as if they were exchanging secrets in hushed voices. I know that is Marcus, I just know it. The gloomy atmosphere with the occasional flicker of a colorful strobe light did not compel me to think otherwise. My hands clenched into fists to the point where my knuckles deepened with pain; venomous hatred coursed through my veins that ignited a special feeling within me that has not been aroused for a long time: the smoldering devastation of pure, sweet rage. The blood roared in my ears, muffling the distracting noises around me and ultimately making it easier to focus as I quickly pace over to my target.
Marcus remains engrossed in his conversation with the other man; his face was expressionless, eyes trained on the man and lips tightened. After a moment, he blossomed into a wide grin and threw back his head to guffaw, followed by bringing his hand holding the beer bottle up his mouth to take a sip. He was completely unaware of my upcoming presence as I neared him, and the same went for the stranger he was conversing with.
As I got closer to him, I unexpectedly opened my lips and shouted out, "You bastard!" My voice still had the hint of a slur to it due to my influence under the drug, but I clearly was loud and prominent over the loud music. Marcus and the man both snapped their gazes onto me; their eyes were widened and faces – especially Marcus' – suddenly drained pale. I grinned as the two men's expressions turned terrified – it was not only because they appeared to be scared of me, but because I began to feel myself being reeled back into reality. I have seemed to conquer the woozy effects of the drug, despite the fact that I will most likely be cursed by an aching head for the rest of the night. Aside from that, I was content that I now had self-control gifted back to me – as well as the ability to pummel Marcus into a bloody mess, and perhaps his friend too, if he so decides to resist and not flee.
I stepped up to Marcus, grabbing the collar of his fancy heather gray dress shirt, and shoved him against the wall. He grunted as I summed up all of the strength that I could conjure up and pulled him inches off the wall, but only to be thrown back the second time. My muscles were on fire, contracting as I pressed my hardened knuckles into his throat. He swatted and pried at my grip, but it did no justice for him; I was much stronger than he was.
The man, whom I assumed was Marcus' friend or associate, gasped and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly back away. I tore my stare away from Marcus' misty eyes, and turned my head to glare at the man. His face constricted into a white canvas painted over with dark shades of fear, and he swiveled around, running off and crashing into people to get away. Marcus opened his mouth as if to either call for him to come back or chastise him for being a coward, but I struck him across the cheek, not hard enough to draw blood or crush cartilage but just enough to keep him quiet.
"You lying fucker," I couldn't help but smile as I shook my head in disbelief. "You just had to mess with me, huh? Why me, out of all these people? You don't know the hell you just got yourself into."
"Jack! Please, just listen to me," Marcus pleaded, his voice shaky with tears and frightened innocence.
"No, I will not listen to you. After all you've cause – " I paused, closing my eyes briefly and allowing the memory of Elsa, wretched and teary, watching me as I kissed another girl out of complete oblivion and foolishness. I sighed incoherently, dreading the consequences and realism that I will have to face once I escape the nightclub. I reopened my eyes, meeting Marcus' hazel orbs that were coated in sheer timidity. "You will never be forgiven," I hissed in his face. "You know what? I'm debating whether or not to pound your pretty face in. Or – ooh – maybe I should scar your most important aspect." I gestured with my knee to his crouch and he whimpered.
"No! P-please…please just listen to me," Marcus showed no deception in his paled face, but instead I found verity. He was telling the truth, and he was being a damn pussy about it too. I rolled my eyes, slightly relaxing my harsh grasp on him and surrendering to his words. I gave him a curt nod as if it was the queue for him to start talking again.
"Listen, I was blackmailed," he gulped and his eyes flickered around.
"Blackmailed?" I echoed, incredulous.
"Yeah, I was forced into drugging you and sabotaging your relationship with Elsa. I'm sorry, Jack, I really am. I didn't want to do it." He confessed.
I still couldn't believe what I was hearing; my mind was floating in a haze of unanswered questions and aversion. He had to be lying. "Who? Who blackmailed you?" I pressed on, digging my fingers into his shoulders. He sniveled lowly under his breath, but said nothing more.
"I can't tell you… He'd kill me if I did." Marcus cringed.
My face softened, replaced by a cocoon of vagueness. "Tell me, or I swear you will not be able to walk properly in the next few weeks when I'm done with you." I tried to have my tone come out as forceful and threatening, and that's exactly how it unfolded.
"Okay, okay, I'll confess!" Marcus says, his lips trembling and eyes ablaze with fear. "Connor Black…or Pitch, as you would call him. He put me up to this. Please don't hurt me!"
I froze, my blood turning to ice and my heart scrambling into my throat, rendering me speechless. Pitch was behind all of this? I shouldn't be surprised, yet I was – terrified too. It was no doubt the shadowy man would go through all this – hiring, along with the act of blackmailing, a simpleton to play the innocent and do all of his dirty work. I found it cowardly, pitiful. Why didn't Pitch carry out his revenge himself? There was a possible answer to: he was expelled from the academy like I had guessed, and he was lurking somewhere in the city, exacting his devious scheme to get back at me.
My hands loosened, eventually letting go, from Marcus' shirt. The collar and the surrounding fabric around it were stiffen and wrinkled in all angles. Most people would immediately brush off their clothing or fix the crinkles, but Marcus remained as still as a statue, his eyes glued onto mine, not daring to waver off. His lips were set in a thin line, brown hair becoming disheveled from its confinement in slick gel; he knew I was going to be shocked by the news of Pitch's payback plan, and he was slowly evolving into a more confident, brash person rather than his timid self that was definite a moment ago.
"So…" I began, my voice soft and fragile. "This was all Pitch's handiwork, huh?"
"Yes," Marcus nods. "Can you please let me go now?"
"No," I retort. "You're going to tell me exactly where this sly bastard is hiding, okay? Don't you dare refuse; my threat still stands."
"O-okay," Marcus sinks back to his former shell of cowardly terror.
"Actually, before you do that, tell me: how do you and Pitch know each other? Or did he just pick you out of that sea of repulsive douchebags to carry out his plan?" I say, my teeth grinding together.
"N-no… well, Pitch and I know each other; we have for a while now. I wouldn't say we were the best of friends because he was rude and spewed snide remarks at me occasionally. But we stayed associates, and he eventually started to warm up to me, I guess. We first met in a café in downtown New York. He looked lonely, so I went on over and decided to strike up a conversation. At first he came off as obscene and distant, but I managed to get him talking to me and that's where we are today," Marcus paused, looking at me.
"Is that it?" I mutter.
"Well…" He bites his lower lip and diverts his gaze up to the ceiling. "There is one more thing that would conclude this as a whole, but you may not like it."
"What? Tell me." I urged, knitting my brow into a scowl.
"Pitch is… apart of a gang; he's the leader." Marcus says, and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead, slicking the brown strands that have fallen down. I stare at him, unable to comprehend his very words. I knew Pitch was no good, but now he's the leader of a gang? Gangs are notorious for causing trouble and mischief, but a few – and I emphasize on few – actually do nothing outrageous.
"A gang, you say?" I press my lips together and look to the dark floor, my eyes tracing over a strip of neon orange duct tape. "Are you a member too?"
"Not exactly," Marcus responds. "But I do prove to be a close ally."
"How many people make up this gang?"
"Only a handful. The reason why you don't hear about them is because they don't really do much crime or violation. They're like silent assassins, except they don't kill people."
"Do you they have a purpose?"
"Honestly, I don't think so. They're just there, hiding within the city." Marcus says.
"Interesting," I say with a lick of sarcasm splintering my tone.
"I know you're going to ask me this so I'll tell you anyways," Marcus eyes me. "I don't know where they reside. And Pitch? I have no idea where he is either."
"Are you lying to me?" I glare at him and he sucks in a shaky breath.
"No! After Pitch assigned me this task, I haven't seen him since. That was merely a week ago."
"Okay. By the way, you mentioned Pitch blackmailed you into doing it. What exactly did he threaten?" I say.
"Uh," Marcus looks away, bashful. "I'd rather not say."
"Fine." I grumble and back away from him, raking a hand through my hair which is slightly damp with sweat. His shoulders relax from extreme tension and he takes a step forward as if he plans to bolt away. "Don't you dare move," I point a finger at him and he freezes in place. "If you ever see Pitch again, tell him that I will get back at him for what he has done. As for you," I shoot a glare at Marcus. "I have not forgiven you, even if it wasn't your idea to do this. I'll let you off with a warning: if I ever see you around again, you're dead, you hear me?"
Marcus nods briskly, his hands clenched and shaking at his sides. I give him one final dirty look before turning on my heels and rushing out of the club. I don't look around for Anna and Kristoff, or any other of my friends who have come. They're probably lost somewhere deep in the crowds, engaged in dancing or distracted by the banging music. I find the exit without having to get through any more people and clamber up the staircase, my breathing increasing with each heavy step I take.
The illusion of the drug has worn off, but my head was still pounding with a nagging ache. As I reach the outside, wintry air collides with my face, essentially cooling down my warm skin obtained from the intoxication and mass of many bodies. There was no line waiting to get into the club and the bouncer was gone, most likely on break. I felt relieved that there was no one in sight to see me like this, distressed and a complete wreck.
I make a break toward the parking lot where my car was. As I pass the buildings to my left, my breath breaching from my mouth as cloudy puffs, I stick a hand into my pocket. My fingers touch the metallic covering of my car keys. Elsa couldn't have taken the car back to the academy, nor would she possibly walk in this cold. There was a sense of dread boiling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't safe for a young girl to be walking alone in the heart of such a massive, crime-riddled city.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! I had the temptation to repeatedly hit myself, but I held back the urge. I knew I shouldn't have gone to this club, I knew I shouldn't have gone near Marcus, but I did anyways. And here I am now, caught in a sticky web of dejection and heartache and lies. But what Marcus had said still rang in my head. It wasn't most of his fault, but I should remain angry with him. He did agree and fulfill Pitch's desire to see me break down. I'll get back at both of them – mainly Pitch – but for now, I had to get to Elsa.
I made it to the parking lot which has been slightly emptied out, with the expectation of a few cars parked in place. My eyes dart to my precious blue Mustang that was still in the same place where I saw it. That was good, I suppose. Elsa didn't manage to somehow hotwire and steal it to get the hell away from me. But where could she possibly be? My first thought was to the academy; it was where she resided and slept and mostly hung about anyways, so I elected to go there first.
When I arrived back to the school grounds, the campus was under the spell of tranquility and silence like it was during the late times of every night. I parked my car in my reserved spot and ran through the opened golden gates that welcome anyone into the academy. Streetlamps dotted the outlines of the cobblestone pathway, illuminating the nighttime darkness with an aura of bright golden rays. Very few students of all ages stirred at this time, and the ones that I did encounter along the way paid no attention to me as I hurried past.
Despite the cold air that had the smell of impending snowflakes – a scent I thoroughly loved – I was sweating under my thin shirt and leather jacket. The jacket did not bestow much warmth or protection against the crisp weather, and yet sweat still masked my back and around my lower abdomen. It must be all this running; it must be the violent whirlwind of nervousness and angst that was swirling within me.
I scurried up the staircase leading to the Crystal dormitory and I burst through the twin doorway. The lobby and lounge were mostly vacant; residents were beginning to shuffle into the elevator and up the stairs to get to their rooms. Clarisse sat at the front desk, staring at the screen of her laptop. Her eyes lifted up from underneath the reading glasses that fitted her face boldly and she arched an eyebrow quizzically at me.
"Jack? Are you okay?" she asks, but I was already running toward the stairway, shoving open the wooden door and running up the stairs. I reached the third floor in a matter of seconds and hastily began walking down the long carpeted stretch. Girls were filing into their dorms, and some pajama-cladded ones were making their way to the bathrooms, a colorful toiletry kit or towel clutched in a hand. A few girls stared at me, wondering why in the world a boy was here and ruining their privacy. I ignored them, my mind trained on only one and only thought.
Elsa's room came into view and I placed both hands, palms facing down, upon the door and rested my forehead on the cool mahogany surface. I was exhausted, oh so exhausted… My heart was racing from the running and the anxiety of seeing Elsa. What if she hates me? The unfaithfulness – something that was part of my drugged unconscious and not intentional at all – was unforgivable, at least from her point of view, as she does not know the truth behind it all. But then again, she may not believe me. I dreaded that exact idea.
I clenched a hand into a fist and knocked softly, calling out, "Elsa? It's me, Jack. Please open up."
No response. I didn't even hear the shuffle of feet or anything like that. I was answered with silence that deafened me, tearing my very soul apart.
"Please," I urged again, my teeth gritted. "Just listen to me. It was all a mistake, everything. What you saw was an accident. I didn't want to do it, but it happened."
Silence once again greeted me and all of my hope was slowly draining away. I was about to push away and leave, racked by heartache and loneliness, but I perked as the door beneath my hands was yanked open. I retracted all of the weight that had sunk to my hands against the door and I straightened up in posture, my fingernails digging into the calloused skin on my palms.
Who stood on the other side was not Elsa, but Merida. My heart plunged with disappointment, but I tried to look the same instead of throwing out a frown. Merida appeared unscathed by any change: her curvy frame was covered heavily by baggy black sweatpants, a green hoodie that was zipped down to her chest, revealing a gray tank top underneath, and her fiery red hair was as frizzy and out of control as ever. Her pale face was molded into an angry scowl, blue eyes shimmering with hate.
"What do you want?" she spat, and I was surprised at her sudden hatred toward me, even though she did seem like a naturally bad-tempered girl.
"I want to speak to Elsa," I say.
"You fucking broke her heart, you dick." Merida hissed, her thin brow deepening into a furthermore intimidating expression.
"Please, just let me see her. I want to explain everything." I begged, unfazed by her harsh words, but I really was on the inside.
Merida searched my face, hesitance glittering in her eyes, but she gave me a curt nod. "Fine. Wait here for a moment." She closed the door, but didn't shut it all the way to the point where it clicks, as if she was shielding any unknown forces going on within the room. I stood in place, my hands gently patting at my thighs and the vile of fear lodged in my throat, making it difficult to swallow it away.
After a minute of quivering anticipation, the door reopened, and I found myself looking down at the petite physique of Elsa. The beautiful dress that she wore earlier tonight was now replaced by blue pajama pants and a loose cyan sweatshirt that showed off her bare shoulders, revealing the baby blue straps of a bra. Her platinum hair remained intact of its braid, but her bangs were now disheveled and drooped effortlessly down her forehead. Her gorgeous face looked unusually pale and sickly; her cheeks were stained with tears and the faint trail of mascara.
Elsa's blue eyes, which were now dull and puffy, stared up at me. Her expression held neither content nor hatred for my presence; it instead was placid. I found this bewildering. Most girls would be cursing, angry, fists flying in all directions if she saw her cheating boyfriend again. But I was no cheater, not even close. I would never be one. Elsa was calm upon seeing me, her regal posture not shifting as she stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her.
"Jack," She says my name in a serene tone, her eyes not faltering from mine.
"Elsa, please, just listen to me," I say, taking a step closer to her, but she backs away. "What you saw back at the club was not the real me."
"Obviously," she retorts, her face now twisting in a scowl.
I sigh, closing my eyes for a quick second. "I was drugged, alright? Marcus deceived me; that bastard tricked me into thinking he was innocent and friendly, but really he was not. He slipped something into my drink and that made me do things I would never ever do if I was sober. He told me that Pitch was actually behind all of this. It was Pitch…" The jumble of words came out fast, but still all understandable.
Elsa stared at me, unblinking. Silence grappled at the two of us and I was afraid that she wouldn't believe me.
"You've got to be kidding me," Elsa mutters, her slender arms crossing over her chest. "Is that really the best excuse you can come up with?"
I knew this was going to happen. Her very words were like shards of broken glass piercing into my heart. My breath hitched, and I stare at her with wide eyes.
"No, no, you don't understand," I waved both of my hands in front of me. "Pitch blackmailed Marcus into drugging me. He wanted revenge on me for getting him expelled, and also for beating him pretty badly a while ago. Please, Elsa, just hear me out." My eyes tore away from hers, drilling into the floor below and occasional flickering to my sneakers.
Elsa exhaled a huff and I couldn't tell if it was exasperated or forgiving. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I just don't believe you. Whether you were really drugged or not, what I witnessed you doing with that woman – " She paused in mid-sentence and scrunched her face into a wince. I felt a pang slice into my chest, and ultimately sinking down to the core of my heart. My arms tingled in a way that I had the sudden urge to move forward and wrap them around her, but I knew that would only make her annoyed.
"What you did with her was unforgivable. Listen, I don't think this can continue any longer…" She rubbed at her arm and ducked her head to avoid meeting my gaze.
I stared at her, the impact of her words weighing down on my mind with shattering strength. "W-what do you mean?"
"Us, Jack," Her voice was barely a whisper. "I can't go on with you anymore."
So this was how it was going to end. It was bound to happen sometime in the future, but I was hoping and praying that it wouldn't with me and Elsa. I guess I was wrong. I bite my tongue, holding back the scream that was brewing within me. Tears were welling in my eyes, and I found it a struggle to focus clearly on the blonde girl before me. As I blinked away the blurriness, I saw that she was fighting tears as well. She was just as heartbroken as I was.
"I'm sorry," Elsa sobbed, her voice cracking as she spoke those words. She placed a hand over her mouth and stepped back into the room, grabbing the door and closing it, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I deeply apologize if you are drowning in feelings at the moment ;_;