I am a horrible person.

A pitiful, disgusting, and horribly manipulating excuse for a human being.

A huff of air escapes me and I plop my head into the open textbook on my desk. I can't even pay attention to what the teacher is saying. The guilt I have about this morning is eating me alive. Not even two hours ago I blackmailed one of the most dangerous people in this school. He probably deserves it for being such a jerk, but that doesn't help the massive knot in my stomach.

Exploiting someone else's vulnerabilities to achieve my own means...I should know better. Jack or no Jack. Oh god, is this the first step to me becoming some deceptive devil's spawn? And what about Dean? By now there's no doubt that he sincerely and whole heatedly hates my guts. My fingers had an itch to slap myself. I just need to suck it up, and deal. If this goes on, somebody's going to think I need serious counseling. I pull my head out of the heaping textbook on my desk and peek towards the front of the class. Speaking of the devil...

Of course, high and mighty Dean has just walked in. By the look on his face, its obvious he has something up his sleeve. Out comes a crooked smile when he notices me in the corner. Without any hesitation he walks in my direction. Just kill me now.

"Don't sit here. Don't sit here. Don't sit here. DON'T SIT HERE...", I silently chant, as if he could read my subconscious. Despite my efforts, a bag hits the ground near my feet and the desk and chair beside me creak under the pressure of extra weight. I nervously begin stabbing my pencil into my notebook, trying to take notes to avoid feeling more guilty about the presence beside me.

My ears catch the sound of a body shifting and the jingling of a chain. Three seconds later there is nothing but slow steady breathing next to me. Is he not going to mess with me? I sigh in relief at the thought of him not airing our dirty laundry in public, and glance to the left just to be sure.

All happiness immediately drops to rock bottom. Dean is intently staring at me with a stone face. Being stared at is one of the most unsettling feelings to me. Glares and dirty looks I can take, I get plenty of them at home. But having empty eyes locked in on me, just because, is enough to send me over the edge of sanity. I can't read it. Glares and dirty looks are obvious, and their intent is clear. Stares? I just don't know. And here is Dean Sawyer, with his full body turned in my direction, leaving only half a foot between us, and staring me down. Way to not air dirty laundry, Dean. Times like this, the word awkward doesn't quite cut it.

After a few minutes, that in all honestly felt like hours, my pencil snaps from me increasing its pressure into the paper.

"What are you? Some kind of creeper?!" I hiss while glaring at him. His smirk from hell reappears once again. He's doing this crap to make me uncomfortable.

"You don't like being stared at do you?" His gaze remains.

"STOP IT." I growl at him after not being able to withstand anymore.

"Stop what?" he replies, feigning innocence.

"You know exactly what. Stop burning a hole in the side of my head." I turn back and attempt to take notes. Dean only chuckles at my discomfort.

"You enjoy telling people what to do also, don't you?" He leans back against the bar attached to his seated desk. I made no attempt to respond. "No? I think so. You know what I like to do? Punish people who coerce me into doing things for them."

Oh here comes that good old guilt again. I crushed my pencil tip harder into my paper.

"What? Now you have nothing to say?" He tilts his head to the side, questioning my silence. I'm not giving in to him. Dean only shrugs. I mentally dive even deeper into the safety of my textbook, and my hair spills over my shoulders. "If you don't speak, I'm going to have to force a rouse out of you." He turns back forward in the desk, and it seems as if he's dropped the subject for now. But I would be a fool to think he's finished.

As expected, Dean does the unthinkable. He extends a strong arm, grabs my chair attached desk, and pulls it towards his own. You cannot be serious! I immediately push my legs down to get some traction and stop his efforts, but as expected of a cage fighter, he's way too strong for me. The action makes no sense, and it benefits him in no way. All the intention is is to embarrass me. The screeches of the sliding desk against the floor pulls Mr. Coleman's head out of his lecture and causes me and Dean to earn some awkward glances throughout the class.

Oh, so now they notice I'm being harassed.

"Is there any reason you are disrupting my class, Mr. Sawyer?" The teacher says frankly. Dean didn't even pay the man two cents. He glances towards me, with a glint in his eyes daring me to say something.

"MR. SAWYER!" Mr. Coleman repeats in a more authoritative manner.

"What, Coleman?" Dean groans out loudly. Our aggravated teacher narrows in on the rebellious student.

"Why are you harassing my students, and moving desks?"

"What makes you think I'm the culprit here?" Dean replies, pointing to himself with eyebrows raised. At this point, I'm certain Mr. Coleman's face has turned a whole new shade of red. "What makes you think my friend here just doesn't want to sit closer to me?"

"Because you're breathing , Sawyer." The teacher grumbles. It wasn't too loud, but some of the class still heard it, including Dean. He only waves away the insult.

"Do you mind if i ask a question, Coleman?" His sudden request throws the teacher off. All Mr. Coleman does is nod in consent. "Does blackmail count as bullying?" Dean asks him openly. My jaw almost hits the floor from the sheer amount of gall he has. And of course the class is just as confused.

"W-What?" The teacher asks speechlessly.

"Does blackmail count as bullying?" Dean repeats as if we all spoke some foreign language.

"Dude, what the heck are you talking about?" A random student nearby asks, voicing everyone's concerns. I don't blame him for being confused, Dean seems to be high off or heroine right now.

"I'm sorry, did I ask you? I'm pretty sure I was asking him." Dean gestures to the front of the class at the teacher. This is what I get for playing with fire.

"Mr. Sawyer, unless you are trying to prove a point beneficial to the lesson, don't interrupt my class with stupid questions."

"Stupid? I heard some poor kid getting blackmailed in the parking lot this morning. Felt pretty bad for him. After all, bullying counts as grounds for suspension doesn't it? And here you are telling me it's stupid? Some teacher you are." Coming from the guy that does illegal fights for a living!

"If I were the kid, I wouldn't stand for that kind treatment." Another random student chimes in. Dean smirks.

"See?" He snaps his fingers and lightly points at the agreeing student. "I'm not alone here. If I were the kid, I just wouldn't have the patience to put up with that crap. Those guys' heads would be rolling down the street before they got three words out."

"And what point are you trying to prove, Dean?" Mr. Coleman inquires coolly.

"I don't know. I guess that I'm just not a patient person who likes to watch people get pushed around."

Real mature, Dean. Real mature...

At this moment, my embarrassment is so great I'm scared its going to leave a permanent blush on my face. It sees Dean is a jack of all trades.

A rebellious school outcast. A moonlighting street fighter. And now, a fierce anti-bullying activist. Sure.

At the end of his psychotic story, Dean raises his eyebrows at the class reaction and laughs so hard its surprising his eyes didn't tear up. Everyone else takes this as a signal that the whole thing was some kind of demented joke and joins him in laughter, more out of nervousness than actual amusement though. The source of all this ridiculousness of course didn't care, satisfied with his fun for the day.

I really need to switch my class.