The Revenge of the Geek Betrayal.

Chapter three; him.

I sat on the toilet seat (of course with tissue covering it...I don't want to be carrying piss on my trousers) with two options layed out in front of me. Shall I respond, or should I not?

What if there was somebody else in here? I would've made an absolute fool of myself then. But what if this guy is directing his question towards me?

Oh God, just say something you drama queen, my wolf moans. She was like a hormonal 14 year old teenager who thinks the world revolves around her.

"Uh...yes?" I utter, flinching quite a bit, my lips pursed and waiting for the worst.

"I'm sorry, I know it's quite weird to be having a conversation with a guy in a ladies room, but I had to follow you." The mysterious stranger states.

I didn'tknow whether to be flattered or be ready to whip out my cell phone to call the police.

But I did know at least one thing, (yeah, it was a surprise for me too) I recognized this voice.

Husky...low...yet polite. The kind of voice which could persuade you to rob a bank, or steal an old woman's cane.

"No problem. A conversation is a conversation, no matter the destination" I reply, giving myself a mental high five for that improvised rhyme.

Stuffing the toilet paper dampened with tears down my pocket, I twist the knob.

Oh crap, should I flush?

Too late.

I present myself to him, hoping that he doesn't think I just did the number two and forgot to set it free. His face doesn't really scream out "ew, are you for real?" so I guess I'm in the safe zone. For now.

"Can we get out of here?" He says, his hand lingering in the air waiting for me to take it to escape.

And that's what triggered the flashback. I pictured myself in that horrible club, having to witness hideous dance moves. And then I saw Nicky's face. His crystal eyes. His sincere smile. All of this commotion in the ladies room really did take my mind off how hurt I really was. I knew deep inside, however, nothing would be able to take the pain away.

But I was open to ideas.

"Why not?" I forced my lips to crack a smile, but my hand, with a mind of it's own, intertwined with his.

He lead the way, all while I had no clue of his name, and all while sparks exploded through each fingertip.

This was definitely a new experience for me. In all of my sixteen years of existence, never have I felt this way towards a boy.

Allow me to rephrase, towards a stranger whom I didn't know existed until 9:30am this morning when I mindlessly bumped into him.

With his fingers clutching mine, and my safety standing in the palm of his hand, I was taken to that place. My magical get away.

It was all there, just how I'd remembered. It was when the stitches first caught sight of me and thought I'd be the perfect target for their ridicule. After their hurtful words, and a pair of salted, wet cheeks, I found this place.

The only advantage of meeting the stitches was that their bullying had caused me to give life to this fireball of frustrated anger which had to then be released, urgently. Hence, I spent third period stomping around, fourth, getting lost in the miniature forest, and fifth, getting high of its magical scenery.

"I like to stay here when I just want to hide away." The guy says, as we settle on the clean cut grass behind a little garden of beautiful flowers.

I should ask for his name, or else 'the guy" will begin to really stick.

"Is that so...?" I reply, pausing at the end, waiting for him to fill the blank spot.

"I just realized, I have just taken you out of the toilet without telling you my name" He chuckles, scratching the back of his ruffled, messy hair.

I hadn't noticed, genius. I shake my head subconsciously.

"Jackson." He smiles, introducing me to a family of fresh, gleaming teeth.

"My name is Jackson Samuel."

Jackson. Jackson. Jackson.

That name ringed across the walls of my brain, echoing through every sense. It was after spending half a minute mesmerized that I realized he was waiting for me to tell him about myself. I quickly apologise.

"It's Avery Hastings." I say simply, not bothering to get into my whole introduction.

I was beginning to wonder whether Jackson was just a figure of my own imagination because every minute I spent with him, an ounce of enigma poured itself into the cracks of my heart.

With all my might, I wished that I could ask him all the questions I had stored in my head. When did you move into this school? Why did you feel the need to follow me? When did you develop such an awesome sense of style? When can you teach me to be as sexy as you?

Getting a bit carried away there, huh Avery? Mocks my wolf. Forcing her to butt out for once, I attempt to focus of him, Jackson.

"I'm figuring that you're probably wondering who I am and why I'm bothering you," he then says, wearing an apologetic expression over his face.

So you can read minds too? Another question added onto my endless bullet points under the title "things-I-wish-I-could-ask-Jackson-but-can't-because-he'll-think-I'm-a-freaky-undercover-cop."

"What gave me away?" I chuckled nervously.

I looked the other way, hiding my head in embarrassment and half waiting for my inner wolf to say something, which I assure you, will include an insult about me.

"Look, Avery. I know who you are." Jackson claims, his eyes darkening.

My wolf was taken aback. The pupils of his eyes took over, conquering his hazel hints. All that there was, was just black. Could a person's eyes get that deep, and dark.

Well, no human's could. But for werewolves, it was a different story.

"Well if you did, why did you ask for my name?" I respond, cracking yet another joke to cover how uncomfortable I had gotten.

"I know what you are." Jackson rephrased, emphasizing the 'what' and simultaneously, getting very serious.

From lighthearted, adorable, and mysterious, he transformed into this dark, dangerous being. The sense of mystery hadn't gone anywhere, though.

I was in that position, a bewildered one for that matter, whilst there were students in classrooms just waiting for the clock to strike three. And I found myself longing, in that moment of time, to be one of those students. At least then, I wouldn't have to be sitting beside a guy telling me that he 'knows' me.

"You're a werewolf."