A few days had passed since he last spoke to Zabi.
He’d been waiting for his memories to come back, even a glimpse to jog the rest.
But nothing.
He’s never had memory loss just because he drank a few bottles.
That alone was proof something happened.
Zabi was avoiding him.
He could tell.
They weren’t friends, they were far from that.
Sometimes they made eye contact in the hallway, cafeteria, and outside the school building.
She was never one to show emotions, but Persha could feel something was weird.
She was weird, quickly averting her eyes when they met, acting like he didn’t exist.
He bounced the ball in his hands, shifting it from hand to hand, his shoes squeaking as he moved, swift and fast, making the basket with ease.
A few of his teammates were lazing around, some in deep conversations, while some were actually practicing.
So when one of his teammates threw the ball, aiming for a three but missing the basket completely, he wasn’t paying attention.
Instead, his head received the hit.
He fell to the ground, head in his hands as he groaned.
Other players gathered around.
“Captain!” one screamed out, sitting him upright on one of the futons in the court.
“Captain, are you alright?”
“Jesus, Holand!
Watch how you free throw!”
The culprit apologized profusely, guilt evident on his face.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Persha said, attempting to stand.
Then it hit him.
A thundering pain in his head.
His vision blurred out as images flooded in.
“Ughhh.”
The players panicked, gathering around him.
Persha’s memories came back full force as images of him stumbling through the hallway flashed in his head.
Marcel stalking behind him.
His hands gripping and groping at his body.
His words:
“Don’t worry, soon you’d be the one begging me to fuck you.”
Then Zabi.
His team hovered over him, their voices gradually getting audible.
“Ughhh, fuck,” he groaned, rolling on his belly to pull himself up.
His teammates were quick, swiftly assisting him and getting him on his feet.
“Captain, are you okay?
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Holand said, panicking.
Persha didn’t say anything, his hands still cradling his head.
Holand wasn’t his problem.
No, he was angry.
Marcel had looked down on him, wanting to take advantage of him, going as far as drugging him.
“Jesus, Holand, I don’t think you’re ever getting off that bench,” one of the players said.
Others muttered their agreement.
***
He stormed into the study hall where he’d been told Marcel would be, and there he was, playing around with his friends.
They all turned at the sound of the door flying open.
Persha walked straight to Marcel, eyes never leaving his target, his fists bunching up beside him.
Marcel was smiling, eyebrows raised knowingly, and it pissed Persha off even more.
He wanted to wipe that irritating smirk off his face, and that’s what he did.
His fist connected with Marcel’s face, a crack resounding in the room.
His friends let out gasps, eyes widening in shock.
Katrina was there, and she was quick to step in.
“Are you crazy?
What was that for?
Have you gone mad?
You can’t walk in here like you own the place then punch my bo—”
Persha walked up to her quickly, cutting off her words as she stared at him in shock.
“Shut the fuck up and sit down,” he said, watching her face as she stared at him bewildered.
“SIT DOWN, BITCH.
This isn’t about you, so sit the fuck down.”
He repeated himself, turning his attention back to Marcel.
“You motherfucker.
How much of a loser do you have to be to drug your ex?” he said.
He knew Marcel didn’t want anyone knowing they dated.
He had respected that and swallowed their breakup, keeping it to himself.
But now, he’s letting everyone know.
“You cheated on me with this lousy cheapskate but still want to fuck me?” he said, laughing.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Marcel didn’t reply, checking to see if he was bleeding.
And he was.
His mouth was red with blood.
“Spiking my drink, really?” Persha said, turning around to look at the expressions on his friends’ faces.
They all had their mouths open.
“In your dreams, persha.
Are you that obsessed with my boyfriend you start making up lies?.”
Katrina jumped in.
Persha knew she was aware he and Marcel dated.
She was just a pathetic girl who would do anything to get the school’s heartthrob.
“Quiet, Katrina,” Marcel suddenly said, standing from his seat.
“The punch I can take, but you accusing me of being a faggot?
That’s ridiculous.”
His friends probably couldn’t see it, the sly smirk he wore while masking it with a pitying look.
“Besides, you threw yourself at me, Persha.
You were drunk.
I helped you get to a safer place so you wouldn’t be in a vulnerable state, and this is what I get?”
“Look, I know I’m good-looking, okay?
It’s normal to attract the ladies, and in your case, the fags.
But I’m not interested in you.
Get that fantasy out of your head.
I only wanted to help you.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
His friends laughed with him.
“Dude, really?
Barging in here to make accusations is so lame,” one of them said.
“You might be pretty, Persha, but not everyone would stoop so low to be a fag.
Have some class,” Katrina said with a smug look on her face as she grabbed Marcel by his arm.
They all laughed, using his predicament as a joke.
He joined them, laughing.
Persha stalked closer to Marcel.
“You can laugh with your friends all you want, but at the end of the day you’re still a ‘fag,’ and nothing’s going to change that.”
He looked at Katrina.
“Use cheap pussy to cover it up and dress it down with lies, but the truth is bitter, Marcel.
Maybe tell Katrina why you can’t fuck her.”
He looked at her.
“I’m guessing he told you he’s ‘waiting for the perfect time.’ Sorry to burst your bubble.
He can’t get it up because he’s not attracted to bitches.”
He stood up straight, scoffing in disappointment.
The face he made must have struck a nerve.
It wiped the smirk clean off Marcel’s face.
He looked at him with pity and disappointment.
“This obsession you have with me isn’t going to help you, Marcel.
I’m over you already.
Now, when I look at you, I want to puke.”
With that, he walked out of the hall.
The room was quiet after he left, none of his friends daring to say anything.
***
With the help of Tiffany, he was able to find Zabi.
His steps were soft and his pace slow as faint memories flashed through his mind.
Her face hovering over his.
Her eyes staring at his body.
Those hands.
And that look in her eyes.
That look you make when you stare at something you can’t have.
He found her at the school’s art gallery balcony, cigarette in hand, the wind blowing her hair out of her face.
His heart skipped a beat.
She heard his footsteps drawing closer.
She turned around, and he could just tell she knew.
He smiled wide, leaning on the balcony door.
“I remember.”
Hiii, been a while i left a message, if you’re enjoying my book, leave a comment or review, it motivates me to keep writing, Thank you for reading my book.