"What is this about?" Hillary asked with discontent, voicing what was on everyone's mind. "First our bus breaks down, and now we've to spend the night in this shameful place." 

"It's a motel, and it's the most we can afford with our suffocating budget," Mr. Kent, the head teacher of form 5-B, explained. 

"That's disgraceful," Hillary followed up with a flat tone.

"Not only does the bus break down halfway through this trip, but we also have to spend the night in this beat down motel." Steven, a close friend of Hillary's, joined him to gripe. 

"You can complain all you want, it remains a reality that we're spending the night here." Kent thanked the receptionist with a quick smile before taking the key cards spread on the counter. 

He took a quick headcount to ensure the presence of every kid under his custody. Calling that his fiftieth headcount would be a miscalculated understatement. He must have at least taken over a hundred idle headcounts since departure. It was his first time playing the role of a supervising teacher on an excursion anyway. Kent believed he was right to be paranoid and a bit anxious even though it was at the risk of appearing overbearing to the kids. 

He released an inaudible sigh of relief when the total number of teenage heads summed up to fourteen; every kid was accounted for. He had booked nine rooms; two students to a room, one for himself, and one for the assistant form teacher, Mrs. Whittle, who couldn't stop beaming and cheering at every single observation no matter how little.

Despite her hyperactivity being considerably disturbing, Mr. Kent bore gratitude for her attempts to turn a mishap into something fun for the kids. Or 'lit' as Dolan, one of his kids would always say. 

"Hillary, Steven. Charlotte, Adrianna. Dolan and…" he began handing the key cards out, pairing the students the exact same way he knew they wanted to be paired. 

"Can Hillary sleep with us?" Adrianna teased, sending the boy a flirtatious look.

"Let's not do that, Adrianna. Not today. Please," Kent pleaded with his most importunate student who just giggled and rolled her eyes. Thankfully, she refrained from pulling his legs any further.

Teens being teens, they would blame the adults for anything even if their bus was caught in a meteor shower. Kent being quite the antsy teen he was during his years was well aware of this and tried his best to stay on their good side. Jeremie, the one kid whom he could never use his gift of acute perception on, kept his vacant gaze on the already apprehensive form teacher all this while.

Mr. Kent was well aware of the boy's eyes on him. He could almost feel his fixed stare searing a hole in his chest, but shrugged it off like he always had since he became the form teacher of form 5-B and Jeremie had decided to torment him in such a characteristic way. 

"Umm..." Mr. Kent trailed off, skeptical. "That leaves Jeremie and Gerald." He looked up at Gerald with apologetic eyes, hoping he would understand. 

It was either Gerald agreed to stay with Jeremie whom not many of the kids were fond of, or squats with an already established pair. 

"Sure. I don't see why not," Gerald complied with an unanticipated cheer in his voice, draping an arm over Jeremie who practically knocked it off instantly. "Okay." He withdrew and kept to himself instead. 

"That's all. Now get comfortable!" Mr. Kent concluded and motioned with his hands to dismiss the kids who did not hesitate to run off. "Thank you," he mouthed to Gerald just before he fled with the other kids. 

Gerald simply waved it off, indifferent. He didn't seem to think too much of his current residential situation. It was just for a night, anyway. Anyone could tolerate Jeremie for a night, perhaps not Hillary. Anyone but Hillary could tolerate Jeremie for a night. 

"I'll see you later tonight!" Adrianna yelled over her shoulders, a seductive pitch in her voice.

"No, you mustn't speak like that, Adrianna. Please!" Mr. Kent rebuked, fed up with how inappropriate this one student of his could be. 

"Have fun! A lot of fun! Oh, but not too much fun. Just enough to make you forget the incident with the bus, and also not ruin anything in your respective rooms!" Mrs. Whittle called out frantically behind them as they skedaddled. 

Luckily for the form teacher, the students were way too exhausted to stay up late and stir up trouble with frequent trips to the pool and Mini Mart store, so he turned in earlier than he originally hoped. 

It was a few past zero hours when his motel room door creaked open. Everything in the motel seemed to make a lot of noise— from the washed wooden floors to the cranky, useless ceiling fan, and, apparently, the rusted door hinges. 

***

He'd purposely left his door unlocked. There was no particular reason behind that decision of his, but being the paranoid, inexperienced form teacher he was, he thought it the best course of action for imagined emergencies. Mr. Kent wasn't such a light sleeper, however, having fourteen teenagers under your care keeps one on their toes. 

Darting his head in the direction of the room entrance, he quickly turned on the bedside lamp which took a few more clicks than it normally should and a little punch to achieve optimum brightness and sufficiently illuminate the room. He heaved a little sigh of frustration when he noticed it was one of his students, rubbing his face to fully awake himself.

At that point, he thought it silly of himself to think he could sleep peacefully the whole night with a bunch of hormonal teenagers under his custody. Mr. Kent never really thought of parenthood, but this definitely made him start, and not in a positive perspective. 

Just as quickly as he'd eased up, his entire body worked up a ton of nerves when he recognised which of his students it was. 

Jeremie closed the door behind him and robotically made his way to the middle of the room, coming to stand a few inches away from the bed which Mr. Kent was still sprawled out on.

Alert, Kent sprung up from the bed, his ever attentive eyes taking in the full image of the boy in front of him. His dirty brown hair was more disheveled than it usually was, his nearly undersized t-shirt had a gaping hole around the shoulder area like someone had attempted to rip it apart. A bit distressed, Kent took a closer look at his face. There was a fresh mouth cut wound and bruises on his right temple, beads of sweat and blood cascaded the side of his face, trailing from his forehead and the fresh temple injury.

"What happened to you? How did you get those bruises? Did something happen with Gerald?" Mr. Kent spammed questions. For the first time since the moment of embarkation, having a perceived reason to be worried.

"You're welcome," Jeremie responded in his usual monotone, ignoring the teacher's questions. 

"What for?" Kent's eyebrows furrowed in aversion. 

Jeremie had picked up that little change in his facial expression and began to fidget slightly. "You don't sound happy," he pointed out with a shaky voice implying tears. 

"What on Earth gave you those bruises?" Kent repeated his question, but the boy remained silent, almost at the verge of tears.

The form teacher then realised he was doing a terrible job at hiding his perception of the peculiar boy, his countenance showed it all. 

Schooling a straight face, he gave it another try. "My apologies. I'm just unsure of what I should be grateful for." 

"Adrianna," beamed Jeremie with a sly smile, regaining his composure. 

"What about her?" Mr. Kent furrowed his eyebrows once again, but this time in concentration while he tried to deduce the points from Jeremie's devoid single word replies. 

"She always bothers you, right?" His face was still lit with a smile.

"I still don't get what you're trying to say, Jeremie," Kent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And the bruises?"

Displeased at his esteemed form teacher for his mental sluggishness, Jeremie took a deep breath and began. "On the sixteenth of April, which is precisely three weeks and four days ago, you explicitly said she was such a bother in class. Even today, I noticed the way she made you sigh every time she spoke." Jeremie finally gave a full answer all whilst tapping the floor impatiently with his feet. 

"I admit she can be quite a handful, but why should I be grateful to you for her?"  There was a hint of vexation in Kent's voice at this point. "Look, Jeremie, if you don't want to tell me if someone bullied you, it's fine, but it's barely past midnight. Let's talk about Adrianna in the morning. Hopefully, by then I'll have the energy to get the truth behind your bruises out of you," he finished under his breath.

"Are you upset?" Like a dysfunctional robot, the smile fell from Jeremie's face and his voice grew weak once again. 

Kent knew he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon. He at least held on to the idea of getting more sleep, but he couldn't afford the leisure of that thought any longer.

"No. No, I'm not. I'm sorry. It's just... It's just the sleep talking through me." At that instant, Mr. Kent noticed something he hadn't paid any attention to until then. 

Both of Jeremie's hands were hidden behind him like in a decorous stance, but that wasn't it. He seemed to be hiding something. 

"Are you trying to say something?" Mr. Kent took an impulsive step back, utterly wary.

"I handled her," Jeremie answered just before he revealed his hands. 

The sight of them made Kent's heart skip a chorus of beats as he took even more hasty steps back, stumbling on his bed and plumping down hard with his behind. 

"What did you do?" He attempted to yell, but it came out more like a harsh whisper. 

"I told you I handled her. She's lying on the toilet floor in her room, quiet and cold. I doubt she'll ever be a bother to you in that state," Jeremie said in a flat tone, genuinely confused as to why his form teacher looked terrified. 

Mr. Kent kept staring at the boy's bloody hands in complete horror. Unable to make out words through his shuddering lips.

"You killed Adrianna." Wide-eyed, he finally admitted the truth he'd been struggling with.

Jeremie couldn't believe how ungrateful his form teacher was being. He'd just told him that Adrianna would never bother him anymore, and this was his reaction? "I just made her quiet, I didn't kill her!" He shrieked, stomping his feet and throwing his bloody hands while maintaining a firm grip on the knife he held. 

Comporting himself with as much elegance as he could muster as a form teacher and guardian of fourteen teenagers, he pushed himself off the bed and started taking tentative steps towards Jeremie who began backing away.

"Thank you for handling Adrianna," he spoke slowly, dragging every word. "Where did you say you left her? Was she moving when you left?"

"No. I made sure she stopped moving and trying to scream before I left. Does this mean you're grateful for what I've done for you?" Taking more steps away from Mr. Kent who tried to close the distance between them, he inquired.

"I'm not." Kent couldn't play this game anymore. He was only a form teacher, possibly one who had just lost a student on his first excursion. "You killed Adrianna and that is not justifiable by the fact that she was a bother to me." He tried to talk calmly but even the sound of his own voice marvelled him.

He was overcome by fear and rage, mostly rage, he didn't notice that Jeremie had begun trembling and crying all while holding the knife out to protect himself from his form teacher.

"I need you to put that knife down," Kent ordered. "I don't even want to know where you got it from, but I need you to put it down and step away from the door."

"No!" Just a few steps away from the door with no place to retreat to anymore, Jeremie assumed a defensive posture. "I always carry a knife around because I'm always thinking about making people go quiet and cold. Especially those who annoy me, like Adrianna or Hillary. Sometimes Steven, but he's a complete nincompoop, it's negligible. I also hate seeing the people I cherish suffer at the hands of other people. You were suffering at the hands of Adrianna so I made her quiet." The boy went on with a tear-filled voice.

Mr. Kent wasn't sure he could stomach one more minute of this. Seeing how bloody the boy's hands were made him more nauseous than the pungent hospital smell does.

"I'll say it one more time; please put the knife down."

Jeremie remained adamant, trembling and crying like a child being scolded at. 

"Jeremie?" It wasn't until Kent called his name out the fourth time that he responded. 

"Tell me you cherish me, too," he sputtered, choking on his tears.

"What?" Kent was left befuddled

"Tell me you cherish me, too, and that you're grateful to me for handling Adrianna," Jeremie repeated, regaining a little bit of his innate countenance which always frightened the dilettante form teacher.

Taken aback, Kent dreaded the situation he'd found himself in. "I don't understand what you mean by cherish. However, I do care about you like I do for every other student under my care, and I'm certainly not grateful to you for murdering Adrianna!" His voice rose as he neared the end of his sentence. "Now drop that knife or—"

"Shut up," Jeremie muttered, cutting his form teacher short.

"What?"

"I said shut up!" He barked this time, angered. 

Jeremie could see the look of disgust on his form teacher's face. One whom he'd admired from the very first day he was introduced to the class. The one person whom he often tried to impress, was disgusted by him and couldn't even say those simple words to him. 

Meanwhile, Kent had already simulated a number of ways he could overpower this unmistakably troubled teenager and get him to drop the knife. After a bout of silence, he concluded and went right for it. 

Unfortunately, the form teacher had no combat knowledge, not even the very basics. Before he could make a full leap towards Jeremie, he struck out and drove the knife right into his side, hitting his ribs and tearing the flesh. 

Everything appeared to have happened in less than a second, because Kent couldn't keep track of the events that transpired within that short period. However, the next instant, he had his hand pressed against his side as he faltered backwards. Mouth gaped, eyes flickering with pain and horror, he stared at Jeremie whose knife now had fresher blood on it. 

"J-Jeremie..." He couldn't get that out without stuttering. Hoping no serious damage was done, he couldn't ignore the pain that shot all over his body, originating from his side.

There it was. That loud, excruciating ringing in his ears, only this time it wasn't because he needed to make someone go quiet and cold, but because he'd injured the person he cherished.

"You shouldn't have done that. You just had to say what I wanted to hear. You just had to say it," falling to his knees, he pressed both hands over his ears whilst holding on to the knife and taking deep shaky breaths. 

"You killed your classmate. Don't you realise that?!" Kent tried to scream, but instantly regretted it.

"I handled her for you," Jeremie trembled, eyes tightly shut. "Please make it stop, the ringing. Make it stop."

"What ringing?" 

"Please make it stop," he began to chorus. "Make it stop. Make it stop." On and on he went. 

"You know what, I'm calling the local bobbies. We all need medical attention, and as much as you're physically passable, you need a mental evaluation." Leaning over with a hand over the stab injury, Kent pulled himself to get his phone. 

"Am I in trouble?" Jeremie mumbled under his breath.

"Depends on who you ask." 

"Do you cherish me now?" 

"I still don't understand what you mean by that," Kent replied with a strained voice, wincing as he reached for his phone. 

"You're welcome," Jeremie muttered one more time.

The inexperienced form teacher still could not understand why this teenage boy had a strong impression that he'd done him a favour.

"Look, I'm telling you..." He'd already dialled the necessary number and held the phone against his ear, but when he turned around and saw his student, the device slipped right out of his hands and fell to the floor.

"Jeremie?" He quavered, breaking the eerie silence which fell over the room. There was still no response from the boy. Unable to apply logic, Kent sped towards the motionless boy bleeding from his chest. "Goodness! What did you do? Jeremie?!" Panic and despair oozing from every word he spoke.

Jeremie had stabbed himself right through the chest, bursting through his heart. He'd also pulled out the blade right after, which only quickened his death. Completely forgetting that he'd called the police, it dawned on him that he'd lost two kids on this trip.

The quiet, peculiar teenage boy right under his supervision had been crying for help all this while and he didn't even notice. So much for being the form teacher of Form 5-B. 

How would he narrate the story to the police when they arrive? Kent was hit by a turbulent wave of emotions, he wished he'd stayed back in the countryside and worked in the local library for the rest of his life.