*Unedited so beware* Please tell me what you did and did not like about this chapter and what you think I should change or add in. Thank you.
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"This. This is exactly why we don't bring you on these things, Grant." I whispered. We all glared at the blonde idiot whose right leg is currently dangling from room 2A's ceiling. The vent cover fell with such an intense clash that I'm surprised Drake and Bobby hadn't woken up. Mr. Overweight (his real name is Sergeant Hamilton but the man is as big as a baby elephant, hence the unoriginal secretly given name, Overweight) has been up their asses so much I think it's scared them for life. Every little noise someone or something makes results stiff backs and 'Sir yes Sir!'s. They didn't know how to be subtle with their schemes like everyone else. Mr. O didn't even give them a warning. The first time that fire alarm was pulled (how middle school of them) the fat man's tomato shaped face turned bright red ( how convenient). The man flipped, looked at the security film, and flipped again. Their punishment was ruff, but it didn't stop the two fourteen year olds from getting into any more trouble.
But finally, after two years, many pranks, attempted breakouts, and punishments, the man got it through their stupid brain-dead minds that you have to be smooth with pranks. No matter how childish they are.
And it's not the five miles he makes people run in the limited time of half an hour, or the two-hundred-fifty push-ups done every other our, or the numerous other exercises Mr. O makes you do for so much as peeing too long. You have to really know him to understand how scary he is. The man could eat you. Inhale your whole body like a vacuum. Or wormhole.
It was last month when Mr. O really pushed them. Bobby distracted while Drake tried to sneak into Mr. Stevens' office for God only knows what. Next thing you know, Drake has a broken wrist and Bobby is puking his guts out in the trash can while everyone else is running their miles.
So yeah. We were all pretty shocked but extremely relieved when the two didn't wake up. No doubt they would have called us out to take the spotlight off of them for a while.
"I'm sorry. I didn't see it there." I rolled my eyes and counted down silently with my fingers from three before we started moving again.
The metal cover was left on Bobby's side of the room. If anyone finds out, the blame is on him and no one else. And I told Grant exactly that.
"So help me, Grant if you so much as blink when Sergeant Moore asks the whole wing why that thing is not connected to the ceiling, I'm killing you. Say nothing. Do nothing." The look I gave him showed I was dead serious. We couldn't get caught. My last year here is going to be damn awesome and no twat is ruining that for me.
Grant looked back at me with a curt nod, his jaw clenched in fear.
Good. Fear me. Or you'll end up like Leonardo.
The boys and I slowly crawled along the vent shafts, turning like professionals as if we went through here every weekend. Which we did.
No way in hell can anyone stay sane trapped in these walls for years. Within my first month here, Porter and I went over as much as we could about how this place works. We met Jonas, who hacked in the computer system to get got the building's blue prints, and I snuck out at night to place small navy blue sticky notes at the entrance to every shaft we could use to get to the outside world. It took us the rest of that year to memorize the whole layout of this three story 520,000 square foot ugly as hobos building.
"Damn." Port muttered. Damn is never good in this type of situation. Damn is bad.
"What?" Nick crawled up next to him, muttering a quiet 'damn' himself.
We're at the North Entrance, the vent led to a fire escape staircase and out of the fenced property.
"It's blocked off."
Damn.
It took us half an hour to find the North Eastern entrance, thanks to Jonas and his horrible navigation skills.
The whole time, Grant managed to 1) convince himself for a short while that crawling backwards could make him go faster, 2) discover that the vents lead to almost every room in the building, and 3) some way, some how, get lost. He was following us the whole time. My ass was literally in his face.
Honestly. How can one be so stupid?
When we actually got to the other entrance, Port quietly pushed the cover off the rectangle hole, slid out, and the rest of us followed in suit.
"Grant, I'm gonna kill you." Instead of putting the metal silver cover back over the hole, he dropped the stupid object down the cement staircase. Cement! The loud clashes rang down the halls for at least a good six seconds while gravity did its work. We all stood, frozen in place and completely silent. So quiet, that our own heartbeats could clearly be heard in our ears.
Five minutes. We stood for five minutes to make sure no one heard and was coming to check things out.
"Put the damn thing back, Jonas." Nick grumbled, his right hand running through his brown hair in pure aggravation. We trotted down the stairs, quietly but quickly before Paul, the North East Wing night guard, walked down these halls.
When we finally reached outside, I pulled Grant back into the stairwells both hands in his shoulders, and our eyes locked- mine angry and annoyed, his wide and scared.
Now don't get me wrong. Grant is a big dude, full of muscle and anger issues (one of the reasons of why he's here. Tip: Never call Grant Newman's little sister ugly and/or annoying.) So it's not like he's a weak scrawny kid. He's been here for three years, long enough for him to see that when I get angry, I get angry. And even to big boys like him, it's a scary thing.
"We're going to pass three guard towers," I said slowly, the way I used to talk to my mom before we left the house, reminding her to stay calm at all times, "Stay as close to the fence as you can with out touching it. If you make any noise, any at all, I promise you I will push your body into that metal force field and you'll find that 100 bolts of electricity will fry your insides. So basically, fuck this up and you die. Got it?" Grant furiously shook his head.
"G-got it."
We quickly caught up to the others, looking around for any guards doing patrol on the ground. Like a spy in a 1944 movie (or present day teenage girl romance/spy book found in the YA section of your local library), we stealthily dodge all the bright lights that scrounged for prey at the early hour of 12:24 AM. Hiding in dark shadows, tiptoeing around the towers with our backs pressed firmly against it, and all that shit. (If only we had a grappling hook. That'd be awesome.)
We made it to the a small door at the end of the square rocky yard with no trouble. Port punched in the code we got three years ago from Solomon's office (while he was explaining the rules and guidelines to Grant and the other new comers), and for the next four hours, we were free.
Finally.
"Who's ready to get laid?" I whispered. My rare grin stretched on my face with the thought of alcohol pumping through my veins and hot chicks crawling all over me like hungry animals.
We high-fived each other, then ran down the street to a local club about a mile away.
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"Hey, babe." I heard about an hour later. I downed my second shot by the bar in the back of the large dark and sweaty room, enjoying the burning sensation the liquid gave me, and turned to see some black haired chick with smooth milk chocolate colored skin.
Damn she's hot.
"Wanna dance?" Her voice was slurred yet confident, a sexy smile and mischievous glint present on her beautiful face. The apples of her cheeks rose when her smile got bigger, her red lipstick covered lips made her teeth look whiter than snow.
I said nothing, only thinking about how my ears picked up a British accent when she spoke.
Grabbing her small ring covered fingers, I pulled her to the dance floor and began grinding her to the beat of the music. I could feel myself getting turned on as we moved our bodies together, grinding each other to the point where when her hips would thrust back at me, my hormones awoke and my body began to soar with lust.
"Oh, baby." I groaned. My lips soon found her neck, and I began sucking on spots where someone else already marked.
Does she have a boyfriend? I asked myself. Sucks for him. His girl's a whore.
Still sucking on her skin, my eyes wandered up and I spotted Grant with some older chick a few couples away. He told me that before he got thrown in the cage, his life was full of high school parties and sex. And from what I'm witnessing as I basically eat this random girl's neck, he's no doubt a pro when it comes to seducing.
I brought my attention back to the small girl in my arms. Her right hand was squeezing my ass while the other pulled on my dark brown hair at the nape of my neck.
Not to sound cocky or anything, but she obviously wanted me as much as I wanted her. (Okay, so that was meant to sound cocky. I'm hot and I know it. Deal with it. ...Or don't. I really don't care.)
"Come on."
I dragged her skinny body through the crowed and to the scummy bathrooms. In there, two other couples were getting at it, no doubt loving the pleasure the gained from a simple dirty bathroom fuck. It wasn't exactly the most ideal place, but it was the only room that allowed people do the one thing that lets them forget about how fucked up life is.
Once we were finished, I pulled my pants over my ass and buttoned them, mock saluted the confused girl, and walked out of the disease infested bathroom.
The club was still full, probably more full that it was when we first got here. Which is pathetic really. Don't these people have lives?
I observed the bodies on the dance floor as I squeezed passed them. Some of these people liked to wear expensive brand clothing. Some girls had huge wedding rings on their fingers, others had nice necklaces, and men looked a little too dressed for a scummy place like this.
They were showing off their money even though the drunk freaks around them most likely won't even notice. The ones who do notice are either sober enough to make sure one of the bastards are practically passed out before taking their shit or they're drunk enough to think they're Superman and try to snatch a goody when the rich showoffs weren't even wasted.
When I passed a man in his thirties, I glanced up at him to make sure he was totally gone and in his own drunk universe before picking his pocket of whatever it is he stupidly put in there.
An iPhone. The idiot even stashed two hundred bucks in the phone's case.
I smirked, putting my new prize in my pocket, and made my way to the bar where Nick was chatting up some clown.
Literally.
Some girls go too far with make-up, but this one... I really have no idea what she was thinking while in her bathroom.
Oh. My. Gawd! I have a pimple! I have to paint three pounds of make up that is too light for my skin tone to cover up this blemish so no one realizes I'm a human with pores. What the hell. Why not put on fifty ounces of mascara to make my eyelashes look thicker and longer while I'm at it. AND! I just got this blue eyeshadow. Even though it doesn't match my dress what-so-ever, it must be worn. And this lipstick!
Girls, if this is something that doesn't go through your mind on a daily basis (or ever) I salute you. (And not a mock one either. This salute is 100% real and full of respect.)
"Nah! Those Bitches deserved it!" Nick yelled so he could be heard over the bass, "Black Thorne isn't too bad anyway! As long as you're not an idiot, you basically already have a 100% chance of surviving!" By the way he was swaying on his feet and slurring his words, monkeys would even be able to tell he was gone. The boy could barely even hold himself up and he laughed over nothing.
You'd think he worked in a hat making factory and got too much mercury on him or something. The Mad Hatter is creepy enough in both Alice in Fucked-up-land movies. I really didn't want my own personal nutcase. Unless Nick really happened to be Jonny Depp who was still in his Mad Hatter faze. The man is a master at disguise. He could dress up like a baby and have the world fooled. Anyway, Jonny is the only exception when it comes to being whacked out and plain crazy. It... suits him in a way.
"And the frog jumped of the hill doing a black flip! It's legs were flying all over the place! It looked fucking retarded!" Both my sad excuse for a friend and the clown were cracking up. Some would assume I just told them Mr. Overweight did a push-up, but that's just not the case right now. (You think that's mean, but really, when you hate someone, all their failures at life instantly become the funniest shit ever. The man can barely get out of his chair during meal breaks.)
"OMG! You're sooo funny, Rick." The blonde giggled. In my opinion, she sounded like a chipmunk.
I looked at her bleached hair. Her hair is completely dead. How many times has she bleached it? Is that a bald spot! Then I realized she called Nick 'Rick'. Rick! What is he, a banker? And then I looked at the beer in his hand. Damn.
"Nick, Dude, did you go past the limit again?!" I yelled over the music. Like a parent scolding their child, I crossed my arms and shot an accusing glare that clearly stated I knew exactly what he was up to and I didn't approve of it.
We have a limit. On alcohol consumption that is. (No limits on girls. That would be pure torture. Keeping girls away from horny men is something Hitler would do.)
Three beers or two shots. That's it. If even one person is drunk, it makes it so much harder to make it back to our cold dark cell we call home. It's even more impossible trying to sneak back into the place. Last year, it was John Strat's first time tagging along with us. He was wasted beyond all measures. Not only did we almost get caught by one of the guards several times on our way through the building, but the hangover the kid had when we woke up was something he could barely hide. When questioned, it was every man for himself. No way were the rest of us getting in trouble form John's screw up.
We haven't seen John since.
But don't worry. He isn't dead. (Sadly.)
"Nah, Man. I had one beer." Nick slurred with a lopsided smile. He took one glance at the ugly Barbie (she really needs to get sent back to China. Something happened at that factory and it's not making the company look good) and leaned closer to me, "This girl has no brain cells. When you pretend to be drunk, she goes bat shit crazy. It's hilarious. Watch."
I did. And I'm glad. Because even though her laughing at Nick's slurred words and his story about pandas eating ice-cream was annoying and it made me want to cut my ears off, the girl's stomach must've not been able to handle all the shaking her giggling caused and everything in her tummy, well, it's all over him now.
Nick's eyes were wide and completely dumb-struck looking from the girl to his chest every five seconds. His mouth hung open, and with every passing second, his face got brighter from the anger he was trying to hold back.
I guess she's not that annoying.
"Fuck!" The girl only giggled at his distress, "That's fucking disgusting! What the hell?!" I joined the clown in laughter, wishing I had a phone so I could take a picture of this.
Then I remembered the man, dancing and swaying too drunk to even remember his name.
Nick was yelling at the chick who was still giggling, so I took that moment of distraction and pulled out my new phone.
Click. Flash. Blackmail.
And if it couldn't get any better. Right when I snapped the picture, Barbie's ugly step sister happened to give Nick another prize. Her green and yellow barf flying through the air and onto my friend forever and ever until I decide to delete it. Which will never happen.
"BITCH!"
The girl simply walked away, totally unaware of what just happened.
I, on the other hand, was completely aware. (In case you hadn't noticed in my previous paragraphs. Which, I'm sorry but, makes you an idiot beyond all measures.)
"You're right, Nick. That is hilarious. Thank you for making my night," I paused my laughing, looking the angry and disgusted boy right in the eyes, "No wait. Thank you for making my last four years." I slid the phone in my pocket and dropped my smile when I realized the time.
"We need to leave." I left Nick to deal with his comical conundrum by himself so I could find Grant, Jonas, and Porter.
Grant was in a pretty heated make-out session with some chick that looked twice his age when I finally found him. His arms were holding the woman up while her legs were wrapped around his waist, her short black dress risen up so that her underwear was in full view. She had black hair, long red nails, and, call me one to blow things out of proportion, but I'm pretty sure those aren't random freckles.
The woman has age spots.
Age. Spots.
Nick either was really desperate (but thinking back to earlier when he was feeling up the hot blonde, that probably wasn't the case) or had a little too much to drink.
This is why we have a limit. Does she even have real teeth?
The sight in front of of me was becoming too much to bare and I'm pretty sure, if the idiot wasn't drunk off his ass, he would rather eat puke than kiss the old fart. So, like the honorary friend I am, I took a photo (I'm on a blackmail spree) grabbed some random glass of beer, and dunked it on the two horny, drunken humans.
Grant dropped the old bat right on her ass in shock. The force made her head jolt and her top and bottom jaw crash against each other. Then something fell from her mouth.
No. No she doesn't have real teeth. What the hell are you doing at a night club, old lady? Did your husband die?
I looked at the dentures lying in the puddle of beer. The glue to keep them in her mouth was gunky and very blue. It was clear the glue wasn't doing its job. I think I'll sue the company for her. This sight disturbed the comfortable chaos.
Grant's face probably mirrored mine. With his look of horror, I almost felt bad for the kid.
Almost.
Very important key word.
"Oh."
"My."
"Go-"
"Dude, we need to leave!" Jonas ran up to us with an almost naked Nick (who was currently wiping away imaginary puke) and a very satisfied looking Porter. Strobe lights began flashing, making it harder for us to leave the club, but after a few minutes of pushing and shoving, we were once again able to breathe in fresh air.
Being only August and in the "beginning" of "school" it was still warm so running wasn't a problem. (I quote those words because really, it isn't the beginning due to the fact we live in the jail house year round and they make us do daily runs and exercise. And it's not even a school. We learn Math and English, small parts of random history, and you can forget about Spanish. They did teach science for a while, but some group of guys got a little too good at chemistry and, well... bad things happened. Bad for the staff, that is.) And when I say running wasn't a problem, I really mean, dragging a drunk fifteen year old along while Nick was in only his boxers still looking for clown regurgitation, wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. But that didn't mean it was exactly easy either.
"Grant, move your legs, man." Jonas and I were holding Thor by his armpits, trying to pull him up to a semi-normal standing position. The five of us somehow happened to make it half way to the Institution with little problems, and we thought we were making good time, but I guess we jinxed that because right when I said 'good job, Grant, you're doing great' he bent over and threw up in a ditch. Then passed out. Which is why we're here, still twenty minutes away from the Institution, with Porter looking for any cars that might pass by and rat us out, Nick who's now probably scarred for life, Grant with a hand print on his face (from when I backhanded him to wake his sorry ass up) and Jonas and me wanting to just drag him across the stone shoulder on the road rather than hold his limp body up.
"Hold your head up!" I yelled for the umpteenth time. "Move your damn legs."
"I can't believe she threw up on me." Nick grumbled. Porter laughed and shook his head.
"Man, kissing old woman and gettin' barfed on. I missed some good stuff tonight. Though that threesome is somethin' I would never miss out on. Even if it is to see ya'll at your lowest."
Threesome.
I thought we never talked about our sex life. What happens in the room, stays in the room. Rule number two next to the 'three beers or two shots'.
After Grant tripped over his feet again, I rolled my eyes, pulled him a way from Jonas, and threw him over my shoulder. I was lacking a body bag, but if I had one, I'd definitely throw him in it to humor myself. Mostly because I wanted to kill him and the bag would have fit the moment.
When we finally got back to the Institute, our only obstacle left included hiding from the spotlights, avoiding the guards on four-wheelers, and getting back to our rooms with out making a sound.
The biggest problem?
"Just push him!" Porter snapped. Nick pushed Grant's ass while Port pulled the drunk's arms so they could get him further into the vent shaft.
Now, understand that we are strong guys. But when you have to be crouched into a vent so you basically look like a mental turtle, it's extremely hard to pull a two-hundred-thirty pound boy with you. Not to mention the only help you have is a traumatized seventeen year old in his boxers while the only other people who are capable of assistance have to lead the way.
Plus, I was done dealing with the drunk moron.
"I'm trying, man! He's got puke on him though! I don't want to touch it!" What a girl.
"Don't be a fucking pussy and man up. You're not even touching his chest or face anyway." Port grumbled. Jonas high-fived each other, silently agreeing, and began to crawl further and further down the shaft.
"Hey, wait up guys!" Porter must've left Nick to deal with Grant, because soon after he spoke, his body was right behind us.
"Fuck all of you!" Nicks anger was nothing but comical thanks to the fact that he had to whisper so our voices don't bounce through out the Institution.
"Nah, we got girls for that!"
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Three hours later, Sergeant Moore's fist banged on our door as he yelled for us to get our pathetic asses up.
He sounded mad. Furious. Crazed. Whatever word you want us. The fact of the matter is, when he called for us to meet him in the training room, just the west wing, I knew that either Bobby and Drake were gonners, the boys and I were done for, or Grant was gonna get it from me if he even breathes incorrectly.
"You have two minutes!"
Port and I looked at each other, worry slapped onto our faces. We mine as well get our fear out now so we don't do anything or say anything stupid when we're being interrogated.
"Grant better keep his damn mouth shut," Port muttered while I made sure the new phone was hidden along with the money, "If that hangover isn't controlled, he's done and I'm not going down with him."
Grant's never been on a club night with us before. Heck, before last month, the guys and I never really spoke to him. I'm not even sure how it happened. The dude is a male version of your typical ditzy blonde Barbie. He's basically a Ken. And I hate Ken. When I was ten, and my cousin asked me to play doll with her, I took the creepy dude doll and ripped his head off.
Dude dolls are unnatural. They just are.
We got changed into our gray T-shirts and yellow sweatpants, then left the room.
Once we were all settled in the training room, eight straight long rows of tired uniformed boys standing at attention, Sergeant Moore began his questioning.
"How did you all sleep last night, Ladies!?" The man, buff, tall, and bald, had his hands folded behind his back as he walked back and fourth, eyeing us all with his dead gray orbs.
We all answered back simultaneously. "Very well, Sir." Every step the Sergeant Moore took was taunting. Our eyes were trained on him, waiting for his next question. We were completely still and,- aside from Porter, Grant, Nick, Jonas, and yours truly,- very confused.
"Was anyone up past lights out!?"
"Sir, no, Sir!"
Porter became slightly more stiff. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that his blue ones were staring slightly off to the right. So I angled mine in that direction.
Grant stood between his roommate, Truman, and some other random guy who was slightly taller than the Blonde Moron's 6'4. You could tell his hangover was killing him, and this yelling was not helping one bit.
Make one move, Grant and so help me you will never see your sister again.
Sergeant Moore took one last look at the rose of at least one-hundred boys then suddenly grabbed Bobby and Drake's gray T-shirt collars and pulled them to face the front.
"Anything you would like to say to me boys?" The two were shaking, their eyes visibly widening when Mr. Overweight decided to grace us with his presence.
Drake spoke first.
"Sir, we were not up after lights out, Sir!" He was so much smaller than Bobby who practically towered everyone in the room. Drake was fit, no doubt, but he wasn't nearly as built as good ole Robert Patrick. So when Mr. O walked up to them with the cover of their vent in his fat hand and a very angry facial expression, the only thing running through my mind was a scene of his large mouth opening wider than the Grand Canyon and sucking in the kid's very being.
"Then what the hell was this doing on your floor?!" His head looked like it was going to pop with how red it was.
"Sir, I have no knowledge as to why it was not connected to the ceiling, Sir!" Bobby admitted.
Sergeant Moore was about to speak when the back door to the room opened and Sergeant Solomon's voice rang through.
"And this is the second training room we have here." All of our eyes snapped to where Solomon was in the back, and the already quiet atmosphere became even more silent at the realization of who he was talking to.
Holy fuck it's a girl.
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A/N: Please tell me what you didn't like about this chapter. I don't feel it's my best work
how am I doing on the boy's POV?
anyway:
Wow! I totally wasn't expecting you guys to actually like this! I didn't know if you would like, feel weird about reading a story in all Zach's POV! Thank you so much for the feed back guys! And also the 4 favorites and 12 followers! Like, HOLY CRAP!
Cammie may be slightly different than what you're used to. Sure, she'll be quiet and shy like in some stories, but here, she'll have a slightly different personality to go along with the shyness. So, tell me how you feel about her during next few chapters.
Shout Outs!
Shadowhuntinggallaghergirl - Why thank you! I shall give you more!
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Guest -I WILL DEFINITELY CONTINUE THIS! I love you for loving it!
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