2|Heartless
"The original bad boy is heartless."
2| Heartless
This guy isn't the same person I knew in my childhood.
That Arsen Frasier would've never grown up to be such a cruel teenage boy who runs over a person's leg!
By no surprise, the announcer declares Arsen as the winner.
Arsen coolly trudges to take his prize money and steps down before anyone can congratulate him. He seems unbothered by the amount of attention he receives. No one even brings up what he did to Ben.
My nose flares.
Clenching my hands into fists by my side, all I'm compelled to do is destroy the trophy in his hands and slap his sweaty face until he begs for forgiveness from Ben!
But I don't do that because the chances of that plan backfiring are quite high.
Unless I go take lessons from the Karate Kid and then attack my ex best friend.
I move forward and approach the manager of the event. The balding man with a dragon tattoo on his head appears frustrated. Earlier, I found he coaches some these bikers. Including the winner. He looks more like a gangster than a manager.
"I hope your management punishes Fraiser for running over my friend's leg," I say, crossing my arms.
His electric blue eyes--so freakin' abnormal--snap at me.
For a moment, I freeze.
Will he attack me?
"The only thing we can do is give Frasier a warning," he says.
"Ben can press charges," I say threateningly.
"For what?" The manager let out a dry chuckle. "For participating in an illegal race and getting run over?" I stare at him in shock. Ben never mentioned anything about an illegal race! Motorcross is a professional sport, though. As I take a swift glance around, I notice the lack of professionals managing the event. The referees, coaches, including the manager in front of me don't look like everyday people. "Better go warn your friend to stay away from events like these, if he can't take care of himself. One word about the race gets to the police, everyone's ending up in the slammer."
No one here cares about Ben except me.
The manager storms away, mumbling how I need to get my facts straight.
Fuming, I stomp to Arsen who's sitting on his bike, busy flirting with a girl.
He ignores me even when I stand in his line of vision.
Having more than enough troubles, I push the girl away, meeting Arsen face to face. She whines but Arsen waves two fingers for her to skedaddle.
So much has changed.
His transformation from a skinny, dirty blonde-haired boy to a muscled, dark-haired brunette evidently comes as a surprise. His hollow, black eyes stare at me blankly, revealing no signs of realization. At one point of time, the two of us were the next Jack and Rose. Seemingly, we ended up in two different worlds.
The day the news of his parents' death declared, he ran away. Afterwards, I only found him hanging with the wrong crowd. Those hoodlums and drug supplier-types changed him for the worse.
It is the first time in years that I stand in front of him to exchange words.
This isn't how I expected us to meet face to face after almost six years, where instead of my heart fluttering to hug him, my heart races from the increasing agitation.
He flips out a cigarette and puts it between his teeth.
"What do you want?" he inquires nonchalant.
"Apologize to Ben."
He chuckles as if I had cracked a funny joke. His cigarette drops and he allows it to land on the ground. His eyes snap to mine sideways, and the curves of his mouth set straight.
"Why would I do that?" he asks.
"Because you ran over his leg!" I nearly scream.
"Why did I do that?"
His confused expression baffles me more.
Is he serious?
"Ben fell off his bike and you ran your bike over his leg when he was lying helpless on the race course--"
"Oh that's why," he intervenes in realization. "I recall going through the race course. Now, if anything or anyone decides to fall in the way, it's not my fault. Especially not at an illegal race."
He turns on his bike.
Before I can respond, he starts his bike and heads out of the area, not sparing a single glance at me. As if he doesn't remember me.
The manager standing a few feet away, gives me a shrug.
Illegal racing is the only reason Arsen got away.
Disappointed, I hail a cab to the hospital address Isa texted me. My mind only processes my encounter with Arsen. He's heartless and concerned about no one but himself. I wish I could get him to apologize to Ben somehow for what he did.
I arrive at the hospital with a frown set on my face.
Isa, Danie, and Ben's parents inform me about Ben attaining a cast for his broken bone. Mr. & Mrs. Harris only know that Ben fell off his bike and some hooligan ran over him. Nothing about dirt biking. We wait for hours until Ben's parents tell us to go home. He won't be coming to school for a couple of weeks. Isa drops me and Danie at our houses.
The lack of parental presence surprises me . . . not.
My parents own a busy restaurant down the street and close around midnight.
I dress warm and head out. Since it's Friday, staying up late doesn't matter. Shoving my hands in pockets and plugging in my earphones, I march down the busy New York City street. Instead of suffering through long crowds and traffic signals, I take the shortcut. Mom and dad never approve, but what they didn't know didn't hurt them.
I hurry through a little space between two large buildings only created for sanitary engineers.
Through the thin space at the end, I begin squeezing through.
It is my marker for checking how much weight I may have gained. It takes a little difficulty, but I manage through.
Time to start watching what I eat.
Before I can resume walking, my eyes land on the scene in front of me. My blood turns cold. A group of men in hoodies is kicking and punching a teenage guy. They all have their hoods up, so I can't see their faces. The blood spilling everywhere tenses me, but worsens when I see chains and hammers. Goosebumps cover my arms.
Immediately, I take a u-turn and begin squeezing through the crack again.
But I can't because of the garbagemen's timing. They block my exit.
By now, the dangerous men have spotted me.
They shout at each other.
One of them runs up to me with a chain wrapped around his hand. Because of the darkness and the hoodie, the face isn't clear. My heart races and I rush to fit through. Never am I ever going to take the shortcut again. The person takes his hood off and I see Arsen's familiar face. Upon seeing me struggling through the space, he bitterly smiles.
"Kill her!" a deep voice yells.
I can feel tears welling in my eyes. My timing is always so wrong! I beg Arsen with my eyes not to hurt me, but this guy is the same person who ran over Ben's leg. His black eyes stare back with a rigid glare.
As soon as his hand raises, I realize I'm done for.
The side of my head available to him gets a strong blow and I am pushed through the space to the other side. The last expression on Arsen's face is blank. He didn't care about who he hurt.
Whether guy or girl.
He runs away with his chains bloody.
The stinging pain on the side of my head doesn't knock me out instead makes me crash down on my knees. Blood trickles down my temple to my ear and then down to my neck. There's pain, however the shock that someone raised a hand at me remains greater. It hurt more how easily people forget their childhood friends and hurt them without a single thought. I rip off my earphones, stopping whatever Katy Perry song played.
My eyes burn and I hold my head in my hands.
Tears from the pain roll down my cheeks and I can't process anything. I peek through the space and realize the men are gone. Arsen's a part of those gangster-type people. They leave another body lying on the other side. I don't have the courage or the strength to go and check if the person's alive. That person obviously has somehow upset the wrong people.
He crawls down to the crack and I stare at him horrified.
One of his eyes is shut, blood completely covering. The other one is about to shut.
His entire face is cut up, blood pouring out. Both of us know he's beyond repair. My hand shaking, I bring out my phone to call the police when the hurt man's hoarse whisper tells me to stop.
"We ne-need help--" I sob.
He shakes his head.
"They'll k-kill me even if I-I live," he croaks. "Skylar Johnson." I blink in confusion. I don't know who that is. The man takes moments to breathe and I can see how difficult it must be for him because of the blood draining from his nose. "Tell her, I-I-I love her and I always will."
His somewhat raised head falls limp.
He's no more.
Crying, I run away, banging into people. They don't care.
No one does.
I reach home and shut the door, locking every place available.
Then, I run into my bathroom and turn the shower on. First, he hurt Ben, second, that unknown man, and third, me. Arsen Frasier was ruthless. Heartless. Cruel.
An arse just like his name.
The dead body of that man flashes in my head and even the water can't wash away everything.
I take care of my wound, tears flowing.
It hurt like hell.
While I take care of my head, I decide I have to find Skylar Johnson.
I have to fulfill a dead man's last wish.
~~~¤~~~
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