You know that feeling you get when you know you\'re being watched: senses at an all-time high, pulses racing, peeking behind your shoulder to see who\'s following you? This is how I\'m feeling at this exact same moment.

I really shouldn\'t have taken the late night shift at work.

But in my defense. I\'m saving up for this \'mandatory\' field trip for all 12th graders  to this unnamed place which by the way, doesn\'t appear on the world map because it\'s exclusive and apparently that\'s where the rich and famous all go to unwind and \'be normal\'.

In other words, I need a lot of dough if I\'m going to be able to go. Principal Grande said the trip is going to be a huge part of our grades this semester so we absolutely have to come. Honestly, if it wasn\'t for that sole reason, I wouldn\'t be caught dead there. Last time I decided to go on a field trip, I almost got bitten by snake, had a big ass cockroach attack my hair and made a fool of myself while trying to make a tent.

Field trips just don\'t like me at all and the feeling is absolutely mutual.

Taking a turn towards the moon-lit street, I hastily make my way towards the easy route leading to my home which was a dark alleyway down at Sylvia Street. My mum always told me to never ever take the alleyway no matter how desperate I am because the area is full of drug dealers, gangsters, rapists, arms dealers and all round shady people.

Oh well.

As I walk down the dimly-lit, deserted alleyway with my measly flashlight in hand and a bottle of pepper spray, I realize how stupid I am for taking this route. It\'s cold, it\'s dark, it\'s lonely and it reeks of beer and dried blood. I hear a rustling noise behind the trashcan and my heart nearly falls out of my chest. \'\'Whoever you are, I\'m not playing with you,\'\' taking the pepper spray from my bag, I angle it towards the trashcan. \'\'I have pepper spray and I\'m not afraid to use it.\'\'

A brown rat squeaks from under the lid and runs towards the spirogyra-filled gutter scared once it realizes that I have discovered its hiding place.

\'\'Yea, you better run.\'\'

I speed walk towards the exit, heart racing, pulse probably over a hundred. Realizing I\'m almost at the exit, I hear footsteps following me from behind but I refuse to look back. I may act like a total badass but it doesn\'t mean I don\'t panic every once in a while.

And it doesn\'t mean I\'m not afraid to die or like get raped.

The footsteps got dangerously close, a firm, rough hand grips my arm firmly. On instinct, I scream and spray the pepper spray directly on the unnamed person.

\'\'What the fuck?\'\' He yells.

Okay, that voice sounds oddly familiar. Would a serial killer or druggie scream that loud?

\'\'Are you crazy? Why would you have pepper spray in your bag? First it was whip cream, now pepper spray.\'\' He says, whilst blinking rapidly. Yikes, that\'s got to burn.

Literally.

\'\'Okay back up one sec,\'\' I say, arms folded across my chest. \'\'What are you doing in my neighbourhood acting all stalker-like? Last I checked, this is not the way to your mansion, in fact, this is the last place on earth I\'d expect you to be in. So Jason, what exactly are you doing here?\'\'

\'\'What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Don\'t you know that it isn\'t safe for a woman to be out here all alone?\'\'

That isn\'t any of your business.

\'\'Miss me with the safety speech. Jason. I\'ve lived here long enough to know how to defend myself.\'\' I open my bag and grab a bottle of water and a medicated soap. I hand it to him and he grabs it greedily from my outstretched hand. \'\'Use this to wash your face. It\'ll lessen the effects of the spray. Word of advice, don\'t sneak up on me next time.\'\'

He mumbles something under his breath and removes his ball cap. Unscrewing the cap of the bottle, he rubs the soap on his face and washes the contents of the spray away. \'\'Here.\'\' I hand him a second bottle of water and a paper towel.

\'\'You good now?\'\'

\'\'I think I can see straight now,\'\' he jokes.

\'\'I\'m glad.\'\' We look at each other awkwardly and I clear my throat. \'\'So, you didn\'t answer my question. Why are you here?"\'

His palms are sweating and suddenly the trashcan seems more interesting than answering my question. \'\'That\'s none of your business, Jones.\'\'

The nerve of this man-child!

\'\'None of my business? Are you insane?\'\' I ask incredulously, \'\'You scared the living daylights out of me and you got pepper sprayed, which by the way, I\'m sorry for even though you totally deserved it. Plus, you haven\'t even...\'\' My words die on my lips as I notice that his knuckles are badly bruised, almost like he had been in a fight prior to our encounter.

What had the bad boy been up to at this time of night?

He notices me staring at him intently and tries to hide his knuckles in the pocket of his joggers but it\'s too late. \'\'What happened to your knuckles?\'\'

\'\'Nothing.\'\'

\'\'Bullshit! I\'m not stupid. Just \'cause it\'s dark doesn\'t mean I can\'t see that you are trying to hide your knuckles in your pockets.\'\'

With a blank stare he says, \'\'Drop it. I already told you it was nothing.\'\'

\'\'Where you mugged or something?\'\' I ignore his earlier warning and continued to question him. He gives me a \'are you shitting me look\' and proceeds towards the exit of the alleyway, ignoring my questions. I really don\'t know if he knew exactly where he was going so I follow closely behind him.

\'\'Hey, would you stop for like 20 seconds?\'\'I say, panting like someone who had just run a marathon. \'\'Do you even know where you\'re going?\'\'

\'\'Why exactly do you care? Don\'t we hate each other?\'\'

Considering I just unpepper-sprayed your eye, this is the thank you I get? Now that I think about it, he\'s not wrong, Melody. Why do you care?

\'\'I-I don\'t care,\'\' I stutter. \'\'In fact, I was just minding my business and going home. Why should I care about a pompous rich boy who was pepper sprayed by me and has bruises on his knuckles but refuses to tell me where he got them from? Good luck finding your car or something."

\'\'You\'re unbelievable.\'\'

\'\'And you\'re a liar liar, pants on fire,\'\' I shoot back.

Okay that was a bit childish.

\'\'I\'m a liar liar...what?\'\' he asks, laughing like a madman. \'\'What are you, two?\'\'

\'\'Okay, I\'m leaving. Good luck with being mugged again.\'\'

\'\'I wasn\'t mugged!!\'\' I hear him say but I\'m already jogging out of the alleyway and unto the familiar streets that lead to my home. I won\'t lie, my neighbourhood is really not the safest, but then again, it\'s not that bad.. a couple shootings here and there, police officers looking for a dead body every hour, police officers patrolling the area, prostitutes roaming the streets every now and then and a couple of people getting robbed every day.

See, it\'s not that bad.

I approach the familiar colored block and make a left towards the apartment. I get my keys from my bag and open the door. I check my watch and realized that it\'s already 11:30 pm which means I probably won\'t be getting any sleep at all because I have homework to do.

I hate school!

The lights are out once I come in. Immediately I put the lights on, I see that the apartment is clean and in order, just like how I left it. \'\'Sophie, I\'m home.\'\' I call out but she doesn\'t \'t respond.

Sophie\'s lights are off once I approach the stairs which means that she\'s probably asleep. Mum isn\'t t going to be home until tomorrow morning so I had no house chores to do which was a relief. I make myself a cup of coffee and heat the leftover pasta in the fridge. Sitting down on the dining area, I bring out my truck full of homework and get started.

.....

The clock reads 2:00am and I moan out loud due to my muscles feeling like I had been bitten by a cat. I have barely completed my English essay for Mr Reiss\' class. Even worse, it\'s due tomorrow. I stand up, stretch my limbs and then make myself another cup of coffee.

Melody, you can\'t fall asleep

Melody, you can\'t fall asleep

Melody, you can\'t fall asleep.

Melody, you can\'t fall asleep.

30 MINUTES LATER

I am jolted awake by incessant knocks on the front door.

I definitely fell asleep.

The clock reads 3:30 am so who in their right mind is knocking on our front door by this time? It can\'t be mum because she has her own key. She will never knock on the door and as far as I\'m concerned, we have no fourth person living in the apartment.

My brain moves to panic mode. I can\'t call mum because she won\'t answer, and I don\'t want to call the police because I\'m not fond of them.

What to do, what to do.

\'\'Aha!\'\' I exclaim. We have this opening on the door, kind of like a peephole so we can see who it is before opening the door. Luckily, there  is a baseball bat on the kitchen counter so I grab that and take cautious steps towards the door.

Don\'t ask why we have a baseball bat, we just do.

Squinting my left eye, I can make out a figure- a tall white male with a ball cap and a Harvard sweatshirt.

Ball cap? Sweatshirt? Could Jason Blunt be knocking on my front door? Why is he knocking on my front door when he\'s never been to my home?!

\'\'Nah, I must be dreaming,\'\' I say to myself. He knocked again, this time harder than the previous times.

Here goes nothing.

I open the door and put the baseball bat on my shoulder, securing it closely with my right hand. \'\'Either you tell me why you\'re knocking on my front door by 3:30 am like some sort of psycho or I knock you out with this baseball bat, hide your body and then dump it in the swamp. Your choice.\'\'