21 | ᴀʟʏᴀ

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"Uh

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"Uh.. Theo?"

I look at the scene in front of me with wide eyes. I swear if I spend more time with Zayd, my eyes are going to turn permanently wide.

"Yeah?" His eyes are wide too.

"Why.. why is no one stepping in?"

Theo looks at me for a second before focusing his gaze back on the bloody scene in front of us. Like, literally bloody.

"Because no one has a death wish, Alya," he whispers harshly.

"He's going to kill that guy," I whisper yell. Zayd repeatedly punches the guy in his face. His face is bloody, blood is trickling down his nose and his lip is busted. His white shirt that is also drenched in blood, is torn at the front.

If you think Zayd looks bad, you should look at the guy under him. This is the second time I'm seeing Zayd beat the life out of him.

"Who's that guy?"

"Kyle something, I don't remember," Theo says. The crowd around them have the same reaction as us, wide eyes and hanging jaws.

I wish I had muscles, the guys are useless. They don't even try to pull Zayd off the Kyle guy.

"Stop the fight, Theo," I glare at him.

"He's a streetfighter, Alya. Are you out of your mind?"

"He's what?"

"Streetfighter, y'know. Those guys who-"

"I know what a streetfighter is," I glare at him and look back at the horrendous scene. Zayd will honestly end up killing him, where are the school guards and teachers? Dammit.

River and Chase, his so-called friends are looking at the scene with a smirk. Like the guy deserves it. I don't get it.

However, a moment later, they pull him off Kyle. Zayd tries to shrug them off and that's when the teachers come. The siren of an ambulance can be heard in a distance.

An hour later, I find myself walking to Zayd's locker. His lips are still swollen but other than that, everything looks pretty normal. Except for the raw anger that is coming from him in waves and his shirt that is still torn.

And bloody.

"Hey," I say softly. He lifts his head and looks at me, his anger subsides a little, I feel fuzzy inside.

"Hey," he says. His voice is deeper than it normally is. He folds his arms over his chest, trying to cover the torn shirt.

"Here," I pass him the black shirt I had bought a week back. His eyes widen by a fraction and he just looks at it.

"Thanks, babygirl."

"You remember how I used to hate it when you called me that?"

His lips twitch, his anger fades a little. A new emotion shines in his eyes.

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