by Hart, Callie
I barely recognized myself last night. I have no idea what possessed me to ask him to be so rough with me. I’d been laying there in bed, every single, messed up text I’ve received over the past few weeks repeating themselves in my mind, and I’d wanted to feel like I was in control for just one second. I knew what I needed to make myself feel better, and I was right. It made me feel electric, alive, and I don’t regret it for a second—even if I did wake up with a very obvious bite mark just below my collar bone. I’m not planning on showing it off, of course. The round-necked sweater I pulled out of the back of my closet hides it well enough without looking too obvious. Alex isn’t stupid, though. He took one look at me in the sweater when he stumbled into this kitchen earlier, hair all over the place, and a deeply unhappy scowl darkened his handsome face.
Things are slightly better on Sunday. The storm subsides and the sun even makes an appearance. I spend the afternoon sporadically checking on the Raleigh High Portal, waiting to see the dreaded blue box at the top of the screen, announcing that school will be back in session tomorrow. It’s nearly dusk by the time the site’s updated and the box appears, confirming that life will be continuing on as normal in the morning. When I see it, I’m struck by a nauseating wave of nerves. I haven’t received another text message since the one that came in on Friday morning, but walking through the doors of Raleigh High is still going to be stressful. I’m going to be walking down through the halls, staring into the other student’s faces, wondering which one of them told me to fucking kill myself.
I still haven’t told Alex about that, or any of the other messages. I am going to. I know it isn’t smart to keep something like this from him, but…I just need a moment. He’s going to flip the fuck out when I show him the texts, and I want to pretend for just one more day that things can be normal for us.
Sunday night, I pluck up enough courage to creep into the guest room again, but this time I don’t strip naked and demand to be choked. Alex is asleep. He doesn’t even stir when I lift back the covers and climb into the bed next to him. He only wakes up when I slide my hand over his chest, fitting myself into his side. His face is in profile, all shadows and highlights. When he turns to look at me, I see that the storm he’s been weathering has broken, too.
“Dolcezza,” he whispers. “Sei la mia vita.” The sheets rustle as he raises his hand and uses the tip of his index finger to stroke a line down the bridge of my nose and over my lips. I lean into him, and he places a gentle, soft kiss on my mouth, achingly sweet, but that snap of fire still exists between us, ready and waiting to ignite and burn the whole world to the ground at a moment’s notice.
“What did that mean?” I whisper, when he pulls back.
Alex dons a small, crooked smile. “It means…that I’d do anything for you. It means that I’m weak for you.”
My heart is either swelling or breaking, I can’t tell which. I’m not the only one who’s had a difficult past. Alex has had more than his fair share of unhappiness and hardship to contend with, and the experiences he’s had to endure have made him unbelievably strong. Being strong has kept him alive, kept him in one piece…so to hear him tell me that I’ve made him weak? Well…I really don’t know how to feel about that.
TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED:
+1(564) 987 3491: Bitch. U think you’re better than us? Your worthless. Keep your head down, or your gonna die screaming.
9
SILVER
The struggle for power in high school could be compared to the political strife of many South American countries. For years, a dictatorship state exists. The lower classes are ruled over by one singular tyrannical oppressor, hell bent on keeping the people in their places. The next second, the people have risen up, overthrown the despot, and everything is in complete chaos.
Different factions vie for supremacy, opposing parties battling to rise above the others. Anarchy reigns supreme. The people are finally free, but suddenly there are no rules and no consequences for poorly-thought-out actions. The people begin to whisper behind their hands that maybe things were better under the tyrant after all. At least then, they knew which way was up.
Without Kacey stalking the halls, striking fear into the hearts of her fellow students, Raleigh High is basically upside down. All of the different cliques are trying to fill the power vacuum and it looks as though things are going to get ugly soon. When Alex and I arrive on Monday morning, a huge crowd has gathered in the waterlogged parking lot and it looks like World War Three is breaking out. I’m still jittery from the shitty text I received this morning, the one that I barely managed to hide from Alex as he handed me my phone, and so my nerves are already jangling when a high-pitched scream cuts above the shouting and jeering.
“What the fuck?” Alex hisses under his breath. He won the rock-paper-scissors contest we held to see who would drive, so he kills the Nova’s engine and hands over the keys to me, getting out of the car to see what the hell is going on.
A lot of the snow that fell in the storm has already melted, and I have to hop from one patch of concrete to another to avoid stepping into any ankle deep, ice cold puddles as I follow behind Alex; even though he’s wearing his white Stan Smiths, Alex doesn’t seem to notice the fact that he’s wading through four inches of water.
“Dirty fucking slut! I’m gonna knock your fucking teeth out!”
A cheer goes up from the crowd of gathered students. They’re forming a ring, four people deep, around what sounds like a raging cat fight. One of the guys from the football team, Bronson Wright, whips around wearing an angry sneer on his face when Alex tries to push through the crowd. The second Bronson sees who jostled him, he backs down, the whites of his eyes showing.
“Sorry, man. I thought…” Bronson doesn’t finish. He just moves out of the way so Alex can get by.
It’s been like this ever since school started up again after the shooting. In every way that counted, Alex used to be an outcast like me. People were intrigued by him. They were intimidated by him, but even with Zen’s relentless pursuit of him they didn’t accept him. Now, things have changed. People still look at him with suspicion and fear, but their expressions are also tinged with begrudging respect.
Alex Moretti took on Leon Wickman and got shot for his troubles. Alex Moretti nearly died taking down a murderer. Alex Moretti is now a demi-god to our fellow classmates—a demi-god they both love and hate in equal measure.
Bronson falls into the ‘We hate Moretti camp’ since he’s on the football team, but he’s also not stupid. He knows he’ll get his ass kicked if he starts any trouble. Alex takes my hand, guiding me along beside him through the crowd. Bronson glares down at me as I shuffle past him, piercing me through with daggers sharp enough to cut. Obviously just because I’m with Alex doesn’t mean anything to him. I’m still the girl who caused trouble for the King of Raleigh High. Three guys from the football team might have died when Leon walked into school and opened fire, Sam Hawthorne amongst them, but Jacob Weaving is sadly still alive and kicking and he hasn’t changed one bit. He still wants to punish me for humiliating him as he raped me. And that means that his dumb ass cronies are all still charged with the task of making my life as miserable as possible.
I wonder what they’d say if they knew how terrified their glorious leader was in that music booth. Would they still follow him so blindly if they knew what a cowardly piece of shit he is?
Normally, I’d duck my head and avoid Bronson’s spiteful glare, but not today. I made myself a promise and I intend on keeping it. I’m not going to be cowed by these assholes anymore. I won’t be intimidated or beaten down by them. Drawing in a deep breath, I beam up at Bronson, treating him to a dazzling smile that contains the barest hint of condescension. He’s not expecting this, obviously. His scowl disappears, shock and surprise widening his eyes instead.
“Lying little bitch,” he hisses after me. I might have pretended not to hear him in the past, but this morning I cast a look back over my shoulder, arching a bo
red eyebrow at him, and the gesture has the desired effect—it looks like he has steam coming out of his ears, he's so angry.
“Arrghh! Get…the…fuck…off me!”
Alex breaks through the crowd, and there, in the middle of the circle of bodies, is Zen, doubled over, caught in a headlock by Rosa Jimenez. When Kacey was around, Rosa was second tier Raleigh Royalty. She’s been dating Laughlin Woods for the past three years, but during that time Zen must have made well over fifty plays for her boyfriend. Zen always found it entertaining to flirt with him, constantly trying to fuck him even though she knew it would hurt Rosa, because it didn’t matter back then. She was untouchable. One of Kacey Winter’s coveted Sirens. So long as she had Kacey watching her back, then Zen got away with murder. With Kacey nearly a hundred miles away in Seattle now, however, it looks like Zen’s discovering what payback feels like and she’s not enjoying it all that much.
Rosa locks her arm around Zen’s throat, jerking her down to her knees, and the girl screams as the dirty parking lot snow drenches her jeans. “Come on, cunt. What are you gonna do? What are you gonna do?” Rosa snarls. The crowd hollers, some of them chanting for Zen to get up, but most of them are siding with Rosa.
“Fuck her up!”
“Hurt her, Rosa!”
“Kill the bitch!”
I watch, horrified, as Rosa pulls a glinting piece of silver from her back pocket and suddenly she has a cruel-looking serrated hunting knife in her hand.
“Shit!” The kid standing next to me, a nerdy type from computer club, catches sight of the weapon and turns, bolting toward the school building. Half of the other the spectators do the same, backing away from the scene with their hands in the air and fear in their eyes. The other half are frozen, their feet rooted into the ground, unblinking.
Alex’s hand tightens around mine. I can already see him jumping into this melee, putting himself in another dangerous situation that might cost him his life, and horror blooms like an ugly flower in my chest. Not this time, Moretti. Not going to happen. I close my other hand around the top of his arm, digging my fingers into the leather of his jacket. He immediately looks back at me, tension in the lines of his face, and I shake my head.
“Don’t. God, please don’t. Not this time.”
Rosa holds the knife in front of Zen’s face, showing her the wicked blade. “How you gonna fuck with other people’s guys with your face all cut up, bitch?” Rosa spits. “You still think it’s funny, huh? Still think it’s your god given right to try and take what doesn’t belong to you?”
I loved Zen once. She was one of only four other people in the entire world who really, truly knew who I was. I would have done anything to protect her. A little over a year ago, I would have charged at Rosa myself, desperate to get her the hell away from my friend, but now a cold and indifferent shield goes up around my heart. This is really fucking bad, but there is such a thing as justice, there has to be, and too many people have gotten away with far too much at Raleigh High. Maybe it’s time that people started paying for their sins.
Zen screams, a high pitched, reedy, pathetic sound, and my stone-cold resolve falters. Rosa grimaces, jabbing at Zen’s face with the knife, and I see the determination in her eyes. She’s not just here to scare Zen this morning; she’s here to hurt her. Witnessing the intent on Rosa’s face is seriously fucking disturbing.
When did we become this? At what point did rape, murder and assault become acceptable to the students of this school? Was there a defining moment that made one of us snap? Did the actions of that one person then make it okay for three other people to discard common decency and take whatever they wanted? Has this all been a domino effect of pain and suffering, because of one small, defining moment that might have seemed insignificant at the time but is now responsible for eighteen lives?
Rosa slashes with the knife, but she doesn’t follow through on her threat and cut Zen’s face. She grabs a handful of Zen’s hair instead, hacking and sawing at her wild, bouncy curls, and then letting clumps of it flutter away on the breeze.
“No! No, no, no, not my hair. Pleeease!” Zen sobs. Her hair has been a part of her identity for as long as I’ve known her. Zen’s one of the vainest people I’ve ever come across, so this? Hacking off her hair? It’ll feel almost the same as scarring up her face to Zen. At least this isn’t permanent.
“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Principle Darhower’s roar of anger splits the air in two, deafening even over the shouting of the crowd. He charges into the knot of people, his navy-blue tie flapping in the wind over his shoulder. His suit pants are soaked well past the ankle. Rosa looks up at him, hesitating for second, but she doesn’t let go of Zen or the knife.
“Ms. Jimenez. What the fuck are you doing?” I’ve never heard Darhower curse. Not even after the shooting. His face is so purple, he looks like his head is about to burst open from all the pressure building up inside of it. “Haven’t we had enough of this to last a lifetime?” he demands. “What the hell are you trying to accomplish here? What do you think’s going to happen now?”
“I don’t know,” Rosa admits. “I don’t really care what comes next. This little slut just needed to pay—”
“Drop the knife, Rosa,” Darhower grinds out. His hands are on his hips, his head bowed, shoulders heaving. “I swear to you now, if you drop the knife, we’ll work together to figure this out. If you don’t, the situation will be beyond my influence.”
Zen whimpers, tears coursing down her cheek. Our eyes meet for a split second, and for the first time in over a year, I’m not met with disgust and contempt. I’m met only with fear.
“What do you mean?” Rosa demands. “Beyond your influence?”
“What do you think I mean? Sheriff Hainsworth’s on his way. Ms. Gilcrest’s calling your parents as we speak. If the Sheriff pulls into this parking lot and finds you holding another girl at knife point, things are going to be very bad for you. Very bad.”
Rosa swallows, turning the knife over in her hand. She stares the principal down, searching his face, perhaps looking for some sort of sign that he’s lying. Her shoulders relax, her body loosening, and for a second I think she’s going to let Zen go. But then she rips Zen’s head back, grabbing another giant handful of her hair, and she saws through it crazily, slashing out with the razor-sharp knife, cutting more and more of Zen’s hair away.
“ROSA!”
Next to me, Alex shakes his head, eyes hard, jaw clenched. “Holy fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s like fucking Lord of the Flies up in here. I thought Raleigh was supposed to be one of the good schools.”
Zen sobs as Rosa finishes up her insane task, throwing the last puff of Zen’s hair right into her face. Her hair is shorn so close to her scalp in places that Rosa’s blade must have nicked the skin; a thin trail of blood runs down the side of her head, following the curve of her skull, coursing around the back of her ear and down the side of her neck.
In the distance, the high-pitched wail and throb of a police siren echoes over the trees that surround Raleigh High.
Rosa Jimenez drops the knife.
Alex has been fixed on the girls the entire time.
He hasn’t noticed the grim presences of Jacob Weaving, standing apart from the crowd, shooting knives at me, like he’s plotting my very slow and painful death.
10
ALEX
Monty: Couldn’t get the bag. Bring it here by four? I have news on the Weaving situation.
It’s a running joke that Mrs. Webber, our AP math teacher, is so short-sighted that she wouldn’t be able to make out a bus before it hit her. The woman’s near-blindness works in my favor as I openly reply to Monty’s text from my seat at the back of the classroom.
Me: Sure. See you then.
I ask no questions. I say nothing about the Weaving situation, or the fact that he promised to help bring down the entire family. It’s better if I don’t even type their name in a message. According to Mont
gomery, everything still going according to plan. As per Silver’s request, whatever trick the old man has tucked up his sleeve is legal and won’t cause any physical harm to Jacob, but I’m increasingly less and less enamored by the promise I made.
I want to break the law.
I want to hurt Jacob.
I want to fucking kill him.
Thankfully, Silver doesn’t have any classes with the piece of shit. They might not have believed her when she went to Darhower and told him what had happened, but they sure as hell made sure they weren’t on the same class schedule afterward. At Mr. Weaving’s request, I seem to remember hearing. He didn’t want a lying, vindictive, spiteful little bitch anywhere near his son. Such a fucking joke. Jacob’s ass should have been beaten black and blue and then thrown in fucking jail. Instead, Silver was treated like garbage and she was moved from her classes as punishment for telling tales. How is any of that right?
Bellingham was rough. The shit that went down there would give most people nightmares, but even there the administration ran things by the book. If someone was discovered to be bullying or harassing the other students, they were gone. And sexual assault claim? Fuck, the cops would have been there before you could even breathe the word rape.
Raleigh likes to present a well-to-do façade to the outside world. A lot of rich motherfuckers send their kids here in light of the fact that the closest private school is all the way over in Seattle and they want to keep their children close. The building itself is beautiful, and the facilities are all brand spanking new…but at its core, Raleigh is a rotten fucking apple. Take a bite and you won’t struggle to come across something foul that will leave a bad taste in your mouth.
