ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴏᴠ

𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘛𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴

♛♛♛

Trace caressed the young girls' back in a calming manner, while Gracie stood there in dread, speaking to her much more terrifying boss.

"Ah, where is the job?" Trace looked over to her girlfriend, absolutely puzzled by the conversation.

"We're not exactly in that neighbourhood right now, fuck. Trace and I are sitting in a bar just outside of town. Can you send a car?"

Gracie tapped her long, black acrylic nails against the doorframe, her veins tingling with nerves as her boss's piercing cold tone struck her.

"All right, thanks." She yanked the phone away from her ear and tapped the end call button one too many times on those last words.

"What did he want?" Trace grumbled as she struggled to lift Hazel off the ground. With a sigh, Gracie flushed the toilet and handed Hazel her water and a mint.

"He's sending a car to pick us up. We'll drop this one home and then we've got a job to do."

Trace'aline frowned and nodded. As she and Gracie carried the drugged girl out of the toilet, she muttered under her breath, "A bit of late notice."

"I know. He mentioned he wasn't in town to fix it so we have to."

After that, Hazel stopped paying attention. She was confident she wouldn't recall anything that happened tonight as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Although, like the height of anxiety reaching the tips of your fingers, his name lingered in her memory.

Julius. She was so certain it was the same man they were speaking of; Julius wasn't a very popular name in their area, and most people had mediocre names, so another Julius seemed unlikely, right?

Hazel had no idea, but she had a sense it was. Call it an intuition or gut instinct, but she just knew.

"Babe, you need to stay awake for us okay?" Gracie spoke into her ear, soothing her with her gentle words. Hazel nodded her head, trying to stay awake by widening her eyes further.

As they moved through the bar, Hazel looked across to her former table, which had been packed with her coworkers with drinks and drinks but was now vacant.

Hazel's attention was drawn away with a slight pout and a grimace when a blast of cool, fresh air touched her blotchy skin.

"Over here!" Trace gave a wave to the driver of the grey Porsche. He opened the doors for the young ladies, the driver nodded and lowered his head.

Gracie and Trace, both much taller and stronger than Hazel, had simply slid her inside the car without a struggle.

"Hazel, where do you live Hun?"

Hazel looked up at Trace, hazel eyes, red and glossy. "Silverstone Avenue, the 5th house."

Gracie told the driver the instructions and drove away to her estate. The women leant back in their seats, relieved that they were no longer in the tight area.

"How do you know Julius?" Hazel murmured, her lazy gaze falling between the two girls. Both women's eyes opened in shock, surprised that she even knew of the dreadful man. But then again, who hasn't.

"Julius is our boss," Trace responded, her tone baffled. "How do you know him?" Gracie then asked the girl, cautiously.

Despite the immense discomfort and hurt she was suffering throughout her body—not to mention vertigo she was experiencing—Hazel couldn't help but smile at the notion of how the two met.

"I let it all out, and he listened." Her soft voice rang out as if it were the most significant event in her life.

The two women's senses were once again flooded with shock; surely this wasn't the same Julius she was referring to?

"Yeah...and then we met again while I was working. I work at a clinic, I help people. He came in with a stab wound and I treated him."

Yes, definitely the same Julius—both subconscious's thought.

"Oh, wow." Gracie pursed her lips and shook her head, looking over at her girlfriend.

"He's quite intimidating though. But he seemed sweet enough to me. I'll forever be grateful to him. For only being a stranger, he was the only person who's genuinely ever acknowledged me."

Trace's heart broke for the girl. Her words were so delicately stated that the trace of grief in her tone made both of their hearts melt.

"These friends you were with, they weren't friends were they?" Gracie asked, her tone probing and sombre, as though she wanted to know who had mistreated this girl so badly.

Hazel gulped hard, the mint in her mouth dissolving. "Well, Daniel is a friend of mine; the rest of them are just coworkers. I've tried to make friends with them, but they just ignore me."

Gracie scowled, and Trace narrowed her eyes, their veins bulging with rage. "Immature fucks," Gracie grumbled as she fished her phone from her little purse.

"What's your number, Hazel?"

Hazel blinked, not remembering her phone number off the top of her head. "I'm not sure," she says, "you'll have to check my phone."

Gracie nodded, elegantly removing the clear-covered phone from Hazel's grip and putting in her and Trace's phone numbers.

"There you go, two new friends," Gracie said gently as she handed the phone to Hazel, who was dumbfounded.

"Friends?" She repeated, her eyes slightly wider than before. Trace smiled at the girl's surprise, her hand went to her knee and she consciously rubbed it in comfort. "Of course, after all, we did save your life."

Hazel reddened, her face flushed with shame. "Yes, but we're not going to talk about it right now, Trace," Gracie warned, a threatening stare directed at Trace.

Gracie shook her head, her dark green eyes taunted with a warning towards Trace. "Let the girl breathe for a second Jesus," she said.

Hazel peered out the window at the other cars and pedestrians on the street. Suddenly, the thought of her car came back to her, and her head began to spin again from how quickly she whipped it towards the girls.

"Uh, I drove to the bar. My car is still there."

Trace waved her off and gave her a small smile. "We can get it for you and drop it past later tonight, just give us the keys an—

"We just met the girl Trace, she'll think we'll try to steal it," Gracie interjected with a frown. "No, it's all right! I trust you guys." Hazel smiled with sincerity, a pleased gleam behind her bloodshot eyes.

"Are you sure?" Gracie drew her brows together and twisted her full lips into an uneasy curl. Hazel nodded, "I am."

Hazel handed the keys to Gracie and continued to nod. "I'd really appreciate it if you could," Hazel said quietly, her tone returning to normal.

"Okay," Gracie smiled and took the keys.

The rest of the drive was spent getting to know the girls, all of whom were sceptical that Hazel would remember so little of it. Even though she appeared normal at the time, she was likely under the influence of a heavy drug that was causing her memory to become muddled.

The girls, on the other hand, would make sure to text her to remind her.

"Alright girlie, do you need a hand getting to the door?" Trace asked, her gaze falling on Hazel as she gathered the last of her belongings. "Uh, I'll be okay, thank you," She murmured under her breath.

She gazed over her shoulder at the two kind women as she clicked open the car door. "Thank you so much for all your help."

They both shrugged, giving her genuine smiles of their own. "Don't thank us, Hazel; We women need to stick together, right?"

Hazel grinned, a genuine, sincere smile that she hadn't offered in a long time.

"Right."

She exited the car and closed the door shut with one last wave. Thankfully, her front door was unlocked.

When she entered the house, the usual noises of music blasting or her parents' sour and drunken comments had been replaced with silence.

She took it slowly up the stairs, careful not to make a single creak in the wood. Hazel assumed they had simply gone asleep early, but now that she thinks about it, she also doesn't recall seeing their car in the driveway.

But what did she know, she was falling on her face for the first part of the walk to her front door.

Her room was just how she had left it. She tossed her bag aside and went straight to her closet, where she grabbed out a random nightshirt.

She quickly dressed, making sure to not take too long so she wouldn't pass out—because that's how she was feeling at this very moment.

Hazel didn't want to think about what had happened tonight. She didn't want to contemplate her coworkers abandoning her, someone spiking her drink when she was visibly in front of it the entire night, or about the implications for the next day.

The deafening sound of her phone ringing startled Hazel, who was already cuddled up in her blankets. With a huff, she drew it to her ear.

Hazel sighed, the hint of another smile curling onto her lips.

"Yeah, I'm okay, just going to sleep it off." She replied in a daze, her voice completely strained from tiredness.

Trace yelled at the other end of the phone, having Hazel giggle a little.

"Night," Hazel replied and hung up. The phone fell from her limp hand and she fell into bliss.

♛♛♛

Hazel shoved two Tylenol's into her mouth, sipped her caramel milkshake, and swallowed them down.

Sitting up again, her gaze fell on her professor, and she remained immodestly still in her seat. He kept talking, disregarding her once more.

Hazel was completely confused. Normally, he'd approach her, stating she should answer a random question or explain why she was dozing off or, in this case, taking pills in the middle of class.

But, just like the other time, he'd said nothing and pretended she wasn't there at all.

He hasn't called her out for anything since the day she arrived late with him. She can't decide whether she should be grateful or afraid.

With barely a few minutes left in class, Hazel called in sick to work today—she wasn't in the mood to face her colleagues, and she wasn't in the game to heal others while still trying to heal herself.

This was Hazel's only class for the day, and she was grateful for it. She wouldn't be here if she wasn't. Hazel never took days off, even if she was as sick as a dog—she despised missing classes, however, she wasn't feeling well this time.

Thankfully, she remembered the girls, who were some of the kindest humans she'd ever met. They returned her car early this morning and also checked on the girl.

Now, Hazel, Trace, and Gracie were in a small group chat, which Hazel is still getting used to and fighting to ignore the fact that she has actual friends.

People who treat her like she's a normal person, not a crazy freak or a lunatic that escaped an asylum. Hazel had no idea what was wrong with her and is unlikely to ever find out. Trace and Gracie were two of three persons who treated her with respect.

Him being the third.

Hazel hasn't asked as to how the two women came to know Julius. They work for him, according to what she remembers. So, one of her many questions has been answered.

Curiosity, on the other hand, lies between her toes, begging to be told more.

As students began to crowd out of the lecture room, Hazel's eyelids blinked open. Hazel was one of the last ones out today due to her slowness.

However, when her feet began to move gradually, she realised she would be the very last person to leave.

"Miss Alexis," Her professor called out, catching the ears of the young woman—she halted and scrunched her eyes shut.

"Yes?" She hesitated. "A word." He grumbled in his demanding tone, which Hazel labelled the "teacher tone."

She sighed as the door crashed shut and strolled over to his desk, where he was perched.

She clung to the straps of her basic brown tote bag as she stood nervously in front of him, one hand fiddling with the hems of her skirt.

Hazel wasn't thrilled with her attire today; it wasn't her usual style, but it was warmer today, so she chose to go with something lighter.

"Hazel," Her professor muttered angrily as she raised her eyes to him—the man had the slightest grimace on his face, clearly expressing his disgust with the girl.

"Stop zoning out," He said firmly as he rose to his feet and towered over the young girl. Hazel had to raise her eyes to him, estimating his height to be just a hair over six feet.

"Sorry, Professor." She murmured under her breath, and he took a step closer, prompting Hazel to take a step back, startled by the close proximity.

"It's sir," He grunted as he picked up a piece of paper with red lines all over it. She regarded it with narrowed eyes, her attention drawn to the previous essay she had just submitted.

When he placed it in front of her, her heart sank, and the score and total mark made her palms sweat with disdain.

"As you can see, this was a straightforward task that you failed." He enticed with a venomous low voice. "I'd like a new one, and I'd like it done right."

Her face was flushed with disbelief as she shifted her glance to his. "I'd also like it handed in first thing tomorrow morning."

Because of how noble the awful words stated by him were, an unusual taste was left on her tongue, and her caramel milkshake was now being considered going into the rubbish.

"B-But that's an entire essay; I'd need a few days," She explains. Her voice faded to the point where you'd have to be very close to hear it, but fortunately, he was close enough.

As he folded his arms over his chest and slumped on the table, the older man let out a dry chuckle, a little smirk appearing on his broad lips.

"I know you don't have any more classes, so use today to write a new one—it shouldn't be too difficult if you've been paying attention in class, Hazel."

She swallowed hard, knowing full well that she zoned out at random, and that when she did, it was always on the areas she needed to know.

"Okay," She whispered, completely deflated. He hummed in approval and picked up a new paper.

"Write your name and everything here, then leave and get started," He handed her a pen and placed the paper on the desk next to him.

She gave a blank nod. Her weak self hunched over and started filling in the blanks, fully oblivious to the perverted eyes staring at her.

A throat cleared as the only male in the room shifted around the girl, having clear eyes on her lower body—not to mention the slight graze the side of his body made to her bottom.

Hazel stood up straight, holding the paper in one hand and her handbag in the other. "Was that all?"

The professor now stood behind the desk, hands on top of the wooden desk as he leaned over and nodded with a straight face.

Nodding back, she turned on her heel and had almost run out of the lecture room. Once she was back in the corridors, she shoved the paper inside the handbag and decided to head to the college library.

Because her home circumstance and her essay situation were both going to be difficult, she reasoned that finishing the essay would be easier up in the large library.

The extremely big study hall, also known as the college library, was littered with tables. Students were strewn around like ants, crammed into seats and desks.

Hazel discovered a perfect table in the back of the room. She had a table for two, which was ideal for her because she was alone.

Once she was seated with all of the stationery strewn across the desk, her laptop in front of her, the screen a blinding white—and the literal essay paper looked back at her, she freaked.

Her veins were filled with something resembling anger for the teacher. Hazel had never felt anything like this before. Hazel wouldn't call it hatred because she knows she couldn't possibly despise anyone or anything.

Though, it was a strong disliking. Just as she thought her professor was going to stop bullying her, he proved her wrong by giving her an entirely new essay to complete.

Hazel, unfortunately, cries if she is overwhelmed, stressed, or even has a high level of anxiety.

This isn't the first time this lecturer has caused her to cry. No, he's only made her cry once before without realising it, and it was right at the start of college.

He humiliated her in front of the entire class; she recalls the snickers and arrogant whispers—all because of a small inconvenience. On the first day of school, she misplaced her pencil bag and politely asked around the room for a simple pen.

Thinking about that day made her almost shudder. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she wept quietly. Her small hands began to shake, so she sat them in her lap and looked down in the same direction.

A shadow had been created over the entire table, cast over her, as another tear fell upon her skirt, like a rain droplet hitting the fabric and wetting it with its strength.

Hazel's heart stopped for a millisecond, but the shadow lingered as she heard the chair across from her filling, and she slowly looked up.

Her gaze was drawn to the strong arms, which were anything but covered, allowing her and everyone else to enjoy the sweet pleasure of admiring the tattooed biceps.

The gaze moved higher, to the narrow yet absolutely strong neck, which was adorned with a thin gold chain that glistened in the light.

Her eyes met lifeless stunning grey eyes with one last glance up. He looked into her eyes coldly, and her glossy red ones looked into his with delight and shock.

The first movement she made for a long while was a thick gulp down her throat. She hadn't bothered to wipe the tears therefore her mouth spoke without thought.

"Julius," She murmured quietly, confident that only the man across from her could hear her. His expression remained unchanged, one perfect eyebrow rose up ever so slightly as he spoke next.

"Hazel."

Hearing his voice almost gave her the shock of her life. She'd never be able to get over hearing the deep octave, which was significantly deeper than most of the puny boys she knew.

Hazel shifted in her seat, rubbing her palms over her thighs before pushing herself closer to the desk and closer to him.

A single inhale of his fragrance had captivated her, plunging her into a trance—as if it were some kind of poisonous toxin that made you amorous.

Not to mention his enticing beauty, a single glance would have you bowing down and believing he was a true Greek God. It was exactly how Hazel felt.

"How are you doing?" Hazel sniffled, trying her hardest not to act like she was in the middle of a breakdown.

His intense stare hadn't left her eyes, only having her anxiety rise furthermore. And for some reason, she held that eye contact.

"You're crying again," He stated emotionlessly.