High school.

Two simple words and yet it has thousands of meanings. Some people say it's like a real life Hunger Games; where either way, you'll be suffering and where guys fight dramatically over the girl. Other people say it's like a jungle with predators baiting their vulnerable prey into traps. Some would say it's like a circus with some people balancing on ropes and others in a cage with a tiger in it, while the audience whispers in glee.

Mondays.

The only possible word that is worse than high school. It is a word so completely indescribable that its association is beyond the greatest horrors of the world. While some people scream at horror movies and laughing dolls, I scream at the very thought of a Monday.

Now what happens when these two devastating words collide? What happens when high school meets Mondays? What do you have?

You have a 17-year old girl waking up with Bellatrix Lestrange's hair running across the school grounds because she's being chased by a rabid dog that has its crazy eyes set on the sandwich in her hand. Finally, upon entering the school, safe and unscathed, she drops that delicious sandwich and after a gasp of horror, she witnesses the most traumatic moment of her life. A teacher walking by casually stamps his foot down on her sandwich. Now, her once heavenly breakfast had become a squished, shoe-print labelled mess. And who was that lucky girl that the Universe decided to bless on this wonderful day? Only me.

I grumbled to myself as I slowly started slouching my way towards my locker like a zombie on drugs. My phone started ringing, awakening me from my faze. The other zombies that were strolling by sent me glares for the irritating ring tone.

Groaning, I grabbed my phone from my bag and looked at the caller-id. It flashed Claire's name. Wasn't she already in school? Or maybe she's late. I immediately retracted that thought. 

"Where are you?" I grumbled, answering the call.

"What, no good morning? Look who woke up all grouchy today," she answered in a cheerful tone.

"Yeah, yeah. Monday mornings are the worst time of the week for me. I almost committed two murders today. I need to find my mango juice. It's my only hope left in this dark world," I said.

Mango juice was the only drink that could rejuvenate me. Where other people have coffee every morning, I have my mango juice. I drank some, feeling my body come back to life.

"Geez, you almost freaked me out there," she muttered.

"Okay, much better. What's up? Where are you?" I asked again.

I started walking down the school hallways which was lined with students bustling about and giggling like hyenas. Usually, I would see Claire every morning, bouncing excitedly near my rusty-blue locker, fresh from hearing the latest news. Claire's motto was 'It's better to be one hour early than one minute late' so there was no way that she could possibly be late.

"Ah, you got your daily dose of ambrosia. Geez, Lexi, I don't know what that stuff does to you. I'm deeply worried about your sanity," she replied back, in a deeply concerned tone.

I scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. I'll survive. Where are you anyway?"

"I'm feeling a bit sick so I decided to stay home."

"Sick? Stay home? Who are you and what have you done to my crazy, psychotic best friend? You should be careful, she's a monster in disguise," I exclaimed, in a matter-of-fact tone and then, quoting Shrek and putting on a deep voice, I whispered, eerily, "She'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin, she'll shave your liver and she'll squeeze the jelly from your eyes. Beware the tiny creep."

Claire rarely, no, never gets sick. She has an immune system so strong that if she was Superman, she would be eating kryptonite for breakfast. While I was dying from a cold and a wheezing cough right in front of her, she was just eating popcorn while watching Pirates of the Caribbean gleefully, like the merry child she was.

"Did you just insinuate that I'm Shrek and short? Why you-"

I interrupted her, "I was just saving your life by scaring off your kidnapper. But, now I know it's you judging from that annoying, chirpy voice of yours. Well, since you've risen back from your deep slumber, what's going on?"

"Har, Har. I'm just feeling a bit down today," she replied back, in an ominous tone. I noticed the discomfort in her tone.

Something was up.

I had a strong gut instinct and I always trusted it. My gut feeling was what told me to punch her that day when I was sick, which eventually led Claire to pamper me or basically, act as my personal caretaker, bringing me snacks.

"What happened, Claire?" I asked, in a soft tone.

"What? I'm just feeling sick, silly. Like normal people," she retorted, fake-laughing.

"One thing I know is that you're not normal." I snorted. Then, my voice turned strict and fierce. "So, Claire Evelyn Adams. Don't lie to me. What happened?"

Feeling the overwhelming need to prepare myself, I started drinking some heavenly ambrosia while hearing her take a deep breath as she whispered, "I saw him today. I saw Puff."

Before I could control myself, I spat out the juice as if it was poison. The juice mixed with my saliva spurted and gushed out of my mouth and was sprayed all over some dark-haired guy who, unfortunately, was standing in front of me. I grimaced for a second. This poor guy was also suffering from the Monday Torture curse. Suddenly, Claire's words echoed in my head.

"What?" I gasped.

My head started throbbing, overflowing with doubts, questions and anxious fear. A tightening feeling gripped my stomach. Someone cleared their throat loudly, grabbing my attention. With a jerk, I realized that the guy I spat my juice on was still here; I had completely forgotten about him. Without looking at him and turning to the side, I held out my finger as a sign to tell him to give me a minute.

"Him? Are you sure it was him?" I whispered back through the phone, the hair on the back of my neck rising up. This was bad, very bad.

"Yes. As in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she replied, sarcastically, trying to make a light joke. But, I could sense her distressed undertone.

"Claire, what happened?" I asked her in a hushed tone, trying to calm her nerves.

She took a deep breath. "Last night, I was out at the store and when I was coming out of the door, I looked across the street and I saw him. Before you say anything," she said, sensing that I was going to bombard her with doubts, she continued on, her voice quavering, "I did check properly. He was just coming out of some apartment building and I slowly crept up behind some cars and I got a good, proper look. It was him, Lexi. It's Puff. I know it. And I even got that bad feeling. He's back."

Immediately, my body froze rigid in response. This reaction only lasted a second before I put on a defensive stance, my fists clenching. I always knew this day would come; it was inevitable. Puff had returned, just like he said he would. I still remember his haunting last words at our last meeting.

"I'm going to come back and when I do, it will all be over for you. I'll make sure of that."

His veracious promise struck fear into my very soul. That day, I made a promise that when he would return, I would finally stop him.

It seemed like the promised time was here.

Puff had returned to finish his reign of torture. The bell's screams, which signalled the start of the first period, broke me away from my tumultuous thoughts.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself. "Claire, the bell just rang. I know what you're thinking. I... I'll talk to you later. We'll figure this out like we always do, okay? Just stay at home and be safe. Promise me Claire, that you'll call if anything happens," I said, with a stern tone.

"Oh come on, Lexi. I'm not a two-year-old kid needing looking after. I'll be fine. I'll talk to you later," she replied back, evenly.

Although she tried hard to cover her emotions, I could sense her voice cracking up. She was really frightened and I couldn't blame her. I just had to figure out a plan. I put my phone back into my bag, sighing gravely. It seemed like the Monday Torture curse was becoming worse. Why is it always Monday morning that suck the most?

It was then that I turned to the side to see the guy whom I spat my juice on, watching me with crossed arms. My face scrunched up. He had been staring at the whole time.

My eyes involuntarily took in his appearance. He was about a few inches taller than me with blue, stormy eyes. He had a chiselled, sturdy jawline that matched his light-brown, tousled hair. Bands of muscle could be seen underneath his light blue shirt and on top of it, he wore a black hoodie jacket. He looked well-built with his broad shoulders but from the way his jaw was clenched, he didn't look like the friendliest person.

"Oh, um, I'm really sorry about that," I said pointing to the few stains on his shirt which could be seen quite visibly.

I felt bad for him since he would have to walk around school with that shirt. But, then again, he could probably dry it off or just cover it up with his jacket. The stains were already starting to fade slightly so all seemed good.

Glancing at my watch, I saw the time and almost screeched as I realized I was going to be late to class. Hurriedly, I grabbed my bag, which had fallen during my conversation with Claire, and slung it over my shoulder, muttering another apology to the guy.

Just when I'm about to bolt to class, a strong arm pulls me back, jerking me to a stop. I turned around and looked up and saw the guy I spat my juice on, looking at me in complete surprise. What was with this guy? Did he not realize that we were going to be late for class?

"What do you want? I did apologise about your shirt. You could probably dry it in the toilet. The bell just rang. I'm going to be late for class and so will you. We can discuss this later," I said, hurriedly and yanked my arm out of his grip. Unexpectedly, a mocking smile flashed across his face as his eyes slowly raked over me, taking in my appearance.

"Did you actually think you can get away from me so easily?" he spoke for the first time in a deep, masculine voice, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms, the taunting grin playing on his lips.

My jaw fell. Who the hell did he think he was? For some reason, his condescending tone pissed me off on my already crappy morning. His intense, cold-blue eyes mocked me even further as he sneered at me.

That did it.

"I don't know who the bloody hell you are but I'm sorry for spitting my juice on you. Now, I have to go because I'm going to be really late for class. We can continue this later," I said and once again, turned around.

Again, his hand reached out and grabbed me, pulling me harder than before. I gritted my teeth and turn around to face him, my eyes blazing. Yanking my hand out of his tight grip, I glared straight at him. I'm done playing the nice guy card. This guy was going to get it from me.

"No, you listen to me, girl," he spat out the last word. "Who do you think you are to just walk away from me, huh? Do you know what you just did? To me, of all people?" He sneered, his jaw tightening. I bristled in response.

"Me? I'm Alexandria Heath. Who the bloody hell are you, huh? The freaking president?" I growled back at him, crossing my arms. This guy just crossed the limit.

"Me? You seriously don't know who I am?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Oh wait, I think I do," I said, thoughtfully and I saw his condescending smirk suddenly flash across his face but before he could speak, I continued on in a questioning tone of voice, "Aren't you that egotistical jerk? That one that lacks basic manners? You are, aren't you?" I gasped. "Yeah, you're that guy who ate so much shit that you became shit. Heck, I'm not a proctologist but I sure as hell know a buttcrack when I see one." I deadpanned.

He staggered at my outburst; his mouth failing to form coherent words. He stood there, immobile, his eyes staring widely at my face in complete bewilderment.

"Ah, the bliss of this peaceful moment of silence. I'm telling you - times like these should be treasured since you've got extreme diarrhoea and apparently, you were born with a butt replacing your face." I grinned.

He snapped out of it, quicker than I expected and snarled, "Oh, you little llama, I would love to insult you but I don't have enough middle fingers to express how I feel! And as you can clearly see, this is all your fault."

"And I did apologize," I retorted.

"You think a damn sorry cleans up this shit? You made a mess. I expect better treatment for this rather than having a crazy-tempered fool insult me when she's the one who caused the problem in the first place," he said, throwing his hands up in his tempered rage.

A surging anger gurgled upwards and I retaliated, "How dare you insult me. It's my bad for not realising the height of your stupidity. I spat on you so I automatically owe you my life on a platter? That's bullcrap and you know it. You're acting like a whiny brat. It was an accident and I apologised countless times. Plus, it's not like a little spit killed anybody."

Exhaling, I pinched my eyebrows, looking away. I shouldn't let my anger slip away because of some damn jerk, even if I wanted to whack him on the head for being a prick. I turned to face him, only to see his blue eyes burning with fires of fury and hatred as we stared at each other in stony silence.

"You know what you are? You're the definition of a little llama."

My hands twitched and I could feel a vein pulsing in my forehead. "Excuse me? What did you just call me?"

He didn't look deterred by my question. Crossing his arms, he smirked, irking me more. "Little llama. That's what you are since you go around spitting at people and not giving a shit. And, you're an animal. Nobody's trained you on how to act like a human so, you're an ugly little llama."

I gaped. "How dare you call me that, you pig-headed, arrogant imbecile. Yes, I made a mistake spitting on you but I apologized. You should act like a proper human being and accept my apology."

His shoulders started shaking with laughter. "Proper human being? I haven't heard that bullshit in a long time. Which world are you living in?"

I was beyond furious at that moment. "You pea-brained, scumbag. You're making a big mistake messing with me, of all people. You'll regret it very badly."

Unexpectedly, he threw back his head and started laughing. It seemed like he found my warning as a funny matter, instead of being worried.

"Did you escape from a mental institution?" I asked, appalled.

Upon seeing my serious expression, he continued to howl with laughter. Clutching his stomach, he kept on cackling and the hallway echoed his boisterous laughter. His voice shook with laughter, "You seriously are one hell of a fire cracker, little llama."

I wanted to wipe that smug look clean off his face. Suddenly, a brilliant idea hit me. Of course. Let's see who'll be laughing soon.