"When you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide. Don't get too close, it's dark inside, it's where my demons hide." —Imagine Dragons.

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~Previously on: Rescue My Drowning Heart.

Blaze was on the verge of killing Mr. Jones for touching Harmony but was interrupted by the teachers returning to the staffroom. He was then taken to the Chairman's office because Mr. Jones had reported him for having a knife in his possession. Blaze leaves the Chairman's office, who is also his uncle, angry because he refused to fire Mr. Jones. Blaze is determined to take matters up into his hand so that Mr. Jones will never dream of touching Harmony ever again.

Find Out More Below!

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It is nearing nightfall and all the teachers have left the staffroom. The hairpin that the chick gave me earlier comes in handy once again since the large doors that lead to the lecturers' quarter is locked from the inside.

If I hadn't seen the pervert's red jeep in the parking lot, I would have thought he had already left due to how quiet and dark the room is. As I enter, I can see the faint yellow glow of his office ceiling light, seeping through the narrow creases at the top of his wooden door.

I know he's one of those teachers who like staying back to mark test papers, perhaps not happy with his marital life which is why he preys on young females. Pathetic little fucker.

He is shutting his computer down when the door to his office creaks open, and he turns his head in the direction just to be graced by my psychotic presence.

"Good evening, Mr. Jones."

The color drains from his face immediately, eyes growing wide in his head at my composed frame leaning against the door jamb, my hands tucked into my pockets.

I am very much aware that I look like the sociopath I truly am right now, and Mr. Jones' terrified expression is enough to confirm it.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I don't know, I just think it's very rude to leave when we haven't finished playing yet." My tone is low and calm but somehow manages to scare him out of his wits. The sudden shaking of his limbs being solid proof.

"I will—!"

"Report me?" I raise a brow. "Well haven't you already done that?"

He quickly reaches for his telephone, and I walk in and grab his wrist painfully, twisting it around and earning a small cry from him as the telephone collides with his desk.

The pain on his face is substantially satisfying to my sadistic nature.

"Ahhhh! L-let my arm go."

I am hearing the opposite because I spin his wrist even more, hearing his bones crackle under my hold as he buckles his knees in pain.

"Ahh! Shit! You're breaking my hand...let it go!"

My eyes locate a photo of his family on his desk, and a dark chuckle passes through my mouth as I take it up to inspect it with the opposite hand.

"It's sad that your poor wife and child aren't aware that their husband and father is a fucking pedophile who tries to molest his students. You know the type of people I hate the most? The ones who pretend to be innocent. I am an asshole, Mr. Jones, and I don't even try to hide it. But you? You're so fake that it makes me sick. What if your family should learn about what you do in your professional and spare time? How would they feel? I am not quite familiar with certain emotions, but maybe they'd feel something along the lines of...disgust? Or perhaps shame?"

He is glaring at me with an expression of both anger and fear while he's wincing from my firm hold. I rest the photo back into its place and release him. He holds his wrist with a pained face as he slouches in his stance.

Using the same hand, I reach for my knife from my back pocket, and his eyes widen in terror.

"Why do you still have a knife? D-didn't I report you for—"

"When the chairman is your uncle you get away with a lot of things Mr. Jones. Do you know what else I will get away with? Cutting your throat."

"You won't get away with that!" He yelps stepping back but he is already pressed against his table at a dead end. "You won't—"

I swing the sharp blade across his face, and he cries out, clutching the spot as blood oozes between his crusty fingers. He looks at me in awe, and I smile faintly. Did he think I was bluffing?

I grab his neck in my hand and apply pressure to his throat. Not much, but enough for him to feel a bit of air trapping below his windpipe.

I hold the knife at his neck and he snaps his lips shut, weeping and shaking under my merciless gaze. The urge to kill him takes over me and I trail it along the flesh of his neckline. "Mr. Jones. I will certainly get away with slicing your throat, do you know why?"

He narrows his tear-filled eyes.

"Because I am what people call a Sociopath."

His orbs are wider now if that is even possible. He looks like an owl, a molesting-little-owl and I laugh at his pathetic reaction.

"Yeah... I am actually medically diagnosed, I'm not bluffing."

"R-release me!"

"I can easily cut your throat and even if I get caught, all I would have to do is hire a good lawyer and when they discover that I have Sociopathy: ASPD and mild bipolar disorder then do you know what will happen?"

He swallows hard. It's obvious he knows the answer but I feel like telling him anyway.

"I will get away with it free of charge. Do you know why? Because crazy people do not go to prison, Mr. Jones."

The fear in his eyes is indescribable as he clutches onto my hand in an effort to remove the weapon from his neck. Needless to say, he fails miserably and ends up clutching to his desk instead.

"Having a father who is also the chief of police is another factor that will make this all work in my favor."

"Please, please..."

"All I need to do is pierce this knife through your neck, how does that sound?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, begging for his life while tears slip from the corner of his eyes. I begin to lightly trail the weapon along his skin, watching as his flesh sink at each passing of the blade, a slim line forming with red, fresh blood squeezing from it.

"I think you made the wrong choice this year..." I whisper. "You chose the wrong girl this time around..."

As I am about to sink it further into his skin, Harmony's green eyes filled with tears flash before my mind. I shake my head to erase her pleading glare.

Oh fuck, Harmony, do not stop me.

I continue to press the weapon against the man's neck but I see it once again, this time so clearly and I can't fight the fact that Harmony wouldn't want me killing someone.

Caring about a person does make you weak.

"Fuck." I curse under my breath, and Mr. Jones opens his teary eyes to see me pushing the knife into my pocket.

"Listen to me, you perverted son of a bitch, you will call the chairman right now, and tell him that you slapped Harmony Skye in the face and tried to molest her in your office. Or I will kill you, without a fucking doubt."

"H-how can I when—"

"Shut the hell up." I grab the telephone off his desk and punch my uncle's number in. I put it on speaker and rest it on the table. After a few rings, he finally picks up.

"Hello?"

I press the bottom of the knife into the raw wound on Mr. Jones's neck, forcing him to speak. He whimpers in pain then swallows thickly.

"Ah... Mr. Xander? It's me... Mr. Jones."

"Oh Good evening. I actually got a complaint regarding you. I would like to schedule a meeting with you tomorrow at..."

I sink the object into his cut again, and he wails out.

"That's not n-necessary. It was true..."

"Pardon me, Mr. Jones?"

He gulps. "The complaint was true. I-I s-slapped Harmony Skye across the face a-and tried to molest her."

A smirk surfaces on my lips as my uncle speaks again.

"What? Mr. Jones, Jesus. Do you know there are serious consequences to this? I will have to see you in my office tomorrow, you just ruined your whole career, do you know that? Christ."

I reach over to the phone on the desk and hang the call up, not wasting a second more of my time on this moron. He holds the bleeding wound on his face as I leer at him.

"You are lucky that the same girl you attempted to molest, saved you. If I didn't care about her, you'd be a dead man. Ensure you tell the Chairman everything from start to finish, I don't want to see you on these premises as of tomorrow. And you determine what a sociopath can do if you fail to follow his instructions."

Having said that, I walk out of his office, leaving him panting for breath against his desk.

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