Sex and Retribution ( A Dark Bully Romance)

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10

Dear Miss Kaycee Cole,

We require your presence at 9:00 am sharp with Headmaster Shaw. Please arrive 15 minutes before your appointment time to ensure punctuality. Do not be late, time is precious.

Warmest Regards,

Head Secretary,

Ivy Bloom.

Crap. The hell? What did I do now? Crap. Crap. Crap. This couldn't have arrived at a shittier time. At least gets me out of my breakfast meeting with Piper, who had somehow wormed her way under my skin. Although, she's the only person on my brief list of people who are talking to me. Well-the only one, besides Tristan.

My legs swing from the bench I've perched myself on, wringing my fingers together. Sweat forms on my palms, slickening every inch of my skin. At least, that's how it feels. Nervous sweats are the worst and I must live in this uniform all day. By the time the headmaster gets to me, I'll be a mess. A sweaty, disgusting mess.

"Miss Cole, he will see you now." The head secretary, Mrs. Bloom, clears her throat, gesturing towards the closed door to my right. She barely makes eye contact, going back to typing on the MacBook in front of her.

I shake my head, standing, and head towards the closed door. Although my research about this whole place brought me closer to the students, an unexpected piece moved into my ever-expanding puzzle, Gavin Shaw. Newly hired at the start of the term, I know next to nothing about him. And that doesn't settle well with me. My constant need for preparedness sends anxiety soaring through me.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach, whirling around and around. Flying like crazy, bashing against my stomach walls. I wish I could blame the laxative sprinkles for my unfortunate feeling, but today, it's my nerves eating away at me.

Never in my life have I had to speak to the headmaster or principal. Honestly, I'm a good girl. I keep my head down and nose out of trouble. So why do I feel like I'm about to get my ass handed to me? Maybe it's the solemn look present on Mr. Shaw's scared face.

"Ah, Miss Cole, please have a seat." Headmaster Shaw locks eyes with me, gesturing towards the two leather seats across from his desk. I nod, making my way beyond his large, dark, wooden desk.

Mr. Shaw shuffles papers on his desk, visibly swallowing hard. The air is so thick with static and silence, I almost choke on it. He sets the papers down, patting the stacked papers to perfection. His hands folded in front of him like he's praying to the Lord above for a smooth meeting. Me too, buddy, me too.

I tilt my head, his mouth opening and closing several times. He sighs, smoothing a hand over his unruly light blonde locks, taking his eyes away from me. He stalls for a few more seconds, giving my eyes time to wander around the room.

It's sparsely decorated, besides the lone family photo hanging on the plain white walls. There's one of him as a child on Christmas, a bright smile curling his lips. There are three other boys surrounding him in the photo, making it hard to figure out which one he is. Two older boys, maybe 7, a maybe three-year-old, and a toddler. All sport the same blonde hair. I tilt my head again, staring at the older woman in the background, white hair, and glasses on the tip of her nose. A tiny cigarette rests between her fingers with terse lines lining her face. It's like she's displeased, eyeing the four boys who are the focal point of the picture.

"Miss Cole," I bring my full attention back to the man in front of me. Sweat drips down his forehead, falling down the crook of his nose. It seems Mr. Shaw had been a fighter back in his day. Crooked nose, cauliflower ears, and sunken in eyes. Maybe he did some MMA. It would explain the deep scars on his cheeks and forehead. A fighter... yeah.. he fought something.

"Mr. Shaw," I nod my head, aiming for respect, and folding my hands over my lap. His brown eyes bore into me, trying to get a read, but he flusters again.

"It has come to my attention through several complaints you have made an art project out of your apartment door." My eyebrows raise up as he slides an official-looking paper towards me. "It is against school rules and considered vandalism to deface school property in such a manner." The piece of paper finally makes its way in front of me, spelling out everything I need to know.

Without thinking, per my usual, I spout the first thing that comes to mind. "You realize I didn't do it, don't you?" I eye him, inspecting the nervous tick in his jaw, and the aversion of his eyes. "But I'm guessing by the $500.00 fine you've put in place, you or these complainers don't really care if it was me. Furthermore, you won't look into the security tapes displaying that I am in fact innocent. Will you? I'm just someone to blame or... Or someone is forcing this upon you?" Oh-no. Oh-Boy. Oh, fuck me running. Why does my mouth always get ahead of my brain before it has time to fully comprehend what I should say?

I swallow hard at his eyes harden, staring daggers into my head. They've gone from brown to almost solid black. There's a demon sitting in front of me now, his horns out, ready to attack for my tongue lashing. I wish I could get my impulses under control for once. Sometimes a cat really needs to hold my tongue... for like forever.

"Miss Cole, I will not be spoken to in that tone of voice. The decision is final. I will expect you to pay the $500.00 fee for damages, and I have sent your parents an email regarding your vandalism. And I will send another one regarding your attitude. If you have any more to say, I'd be happy to escort you straight to detention for the day." I roll my lips together and nod my head. Trying to keep my eyes straight forward instead of rolling to the back of my head.

"I apologize," I whisper, but by his hardened eyes, he's not buying it. That's ok. I don't care if he buys it. I'd rather bite a rattlesnake than truly apologize for doing nothing but sticking up for myself. I did nothing wrong.

"Then you're dismissed." He waves a hand, dismissing me as fast as he accused me. His eyes drop back down to the paperwork stacked neatly together. I glower at him, trying to burn the hair from his scalp with my mind control powers. Well---if this was a fantasy novel and I could do such a thing, I would. In fact, this entire establishment would have burned to the ground 5 days ago. Reducing it to ashes, but can't exactly do that either.

I stuff my stupid fine into my backpack and head to my locker. Making a quick call to my father, explaining the fine, and it's ridiculousness. He agrees but pays it anyway with his usual grumbles. Vowing to further discuss it with Shaw later. But he believes my innocence, and that's the most important part to me. I've read books where the parents are assholes and constantly demean their children in these situations, so I'm thankful my parents care about me.

Over and over, I try to wrap my mind around my meeting with Mr. Shaw. This is bullshit, such utter, unbelievable bullshit. A fine for someone else painting my door? Ugh. I doubt they even looked into the video footage. As soon as I hit the hallway where my locker is located, I stop dead.

What is that? Did something die in the ceilings? My nose wrinkles at the nauseating stench wafting down the corridor. The farther down the hall I get, the worse the scent is. It fills the air with nothing but it. Thick. Powerful. Stomach-turning. Every student has their uniform top covering their noses, eyes darting around, trying to find the culprit responsible. My stomach drops into my butt when their eyes drift toward a certain locker. My locker. Great.

I take a hesitant step towards my locker, looking behind me, and all around. In the back of my mind, I hear that RUN song on repeat. And boy-do I wish I had listened to it instead of walking towards it.

Kids form a ring around my locker, snickering and pointing towards it. My breaths halt inside my lungs, unable to come out again. Toilet paper, precious toilet paper, hangs from my locker sticking out of the tiny gaps. The three holes on the upper part of my locker have toilet paper hanging from it too. But the worst part is, the closer I get to my locker, the stronger the smell gets.

"Looks like you missed some!" A note says on the outside of my locker, making a sigh rock through my body. How pathetic.

"So clever, ha-ha," I say aloud to no one in particular.

"Did you shit in your locker too?" I recognize Trey from Harlow's Flashgram, stalking towards me with a menacing smile on his face. Truly, if he were a cartoon character, it'd take up his entire face. He'd be the villain for sure. "Jesus, after your accident yesterday, you'd think you'd learn!" He wrinkles his nose in disgust, leaning into the locker nearest mine. He juts a thumb towards mine and rolls his eyes. Everyone around us laughs at his stupid joke like he's the world's best comedian.

I tilt my head and stare at my locker again. I don't really need anything out of it, because I took all my books for studying the night before. Knowing my luck, I'd get a fine for this too. I could open it in front of all these kids, but I'm fairly certain whoever's shit is inside will roll out the second the door opens. Not going to happen today. Never. Locker? What locker? It's dead to me now.

I purse my lips, moving my eyes to the different numbers on the lockers. "Oh well, that's not mine," I say with a shrug, turning on the ball of my feet. I make it about two steps before Trey has more idiotic things to say.

"Yes, it is! We made sure it was." I smirk, looking over my shoulder at Trey's paling face and tense muscles. He looks around at the other kids and relief spills through his eyes. Almost like... he didn't want people to hear him. I wonder why?

I walk away again. I have a class to get to and I have zero time to deal with bullies. Whatever their games are, I'll figure it out. As I walk through the classroom door again, I notice the absence of my seat. Again. No desk for me or a replacement. My eyes drift to the teacher, his eyes refuse to meet mine.

"Excuse me, sir," I say as politely as I can. "Am I going to get another desk... or?" His body stiffens, beady eyes pouring over the other students present in the room, already sitting in their comfy desks. Visibly swallowing a large lump in his throat, he shakes his head at me.

"No." He states, looking back down at his paperwork like he can't talk to me.

"No? That's it?" I ask, my jaw dropping at his pointed answer. No? Freaking no?

"That's it, Miss Cole, no desk. Now take a seat where you belong." He says again, the last part a little too loud for my liking. I look over my shoulder at the other kids, their eyes trained on me. I frown.

I run my tongue over my top teeth, staring at the tiny spot where my desk used to sit. There isn't even another desk to spare. Just the floor or... I make my way towards the window seal, propping myself up on the ledge. My feet dangle from the height of my new perch, but what doesn't make me look like a little shrimp these days?

Carter smirks as he makes his way back towards his desk. "Hanging in there, little troll?" He whispers from beside me. His warm breaths linger across my face, as I stare up at him.

His body towers over mine, like an impressive hulk. Tattoos peek out of the collar of his shirt, there's no hiding those for him. Anyone else hides them away with cover-ups and long sleeves, but not this guy. No, not this hulk of a man. My eyes connect to the ice in his eyes, shivers running down my spine.

"I suppose so," I say with a shrug, swinging my feet again. The toe of my shoe connects with his bent knee and he growls at me.

"Watch yourself," he whispers, slamming his teeth together like a rabid dog on the attack. My heart pounds into my ribs like a runaway drum. Watch myself? Carter's threatened me before, making me believe he's the one behind this. The puppeteer pulling the strings of all his little sheep, blinding following his bullying orders. But why? What kind of pull does Carter Cunningham have?

Before I came here, I looked into him. His parents. His grandparents. Anyone and everyone associated with him. Everyone surrounding him is clean. But I'm finding now. My research was lacking a lot of information. For one, his father apparently married Piper's mother over the summer, and the internet held no record of it. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Anxiety fills my mind. I didn't research enough. I'm not prepared enough for this. Why did so many unexpected pieces come into play? I had this all planned out down to the T. Every detail and it's all falling apart in front of my eyes.

The teacher again, like every teacher in this building, pays zero attention to me. I'm the invisible student in the back of the class perching on the ledge of the window. The warm sunbeams in through the window, warming my lap. I write several notes, trying to pay attention as best I can. He drones on and on and on and on about numbers. Honestly, if it weren't for the whole invisible me thing, I'd love every second of this class. Numbers. My greatest love, the one aspect of my life that makes sense. Everything runs on them. Money. Ratios. Statistics. Numbers are life.

The monotone moron finally releases us from class. I take my time packing up my books, the last thing I need is another bag dumping in the hallway. As I'm making my way out of the classroom, the moron clears his throat.

"Miss Cole, your tutoring details." He holds up a white folded piece of paper. "we require you to meet in the library three times a week from 4 to 6 every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Your pupil or pupils will meet you there at your assigned table. If you have any... That is." My fists curl at my side, fingernails biting into the palm of my hand. Rage courses through my veins at the audacity of this fucking teacher. If... if I have any?

"So very kind of you seriously." I snatch the piece of paper from his hand, stuffing into my bag. A frown forms on his lips. He seriously does not understand what he's said to offend me, but screw him. He's on my shit list too. The other teachers ignore me too, but this prick always has something bad to say.

"I'd recommend leaving that attitude checked at the door, Miss Cole," He sneers, standing to his feet. I fake salute him, scowling, as I head to the door.

"I wouldn't have such an attitude if you treated me with respect," I mutter under my breath, walking down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours later, the sun descends in the sky. Painting the clouds in its golden hues, signing the end of another horrific day. The surrounding nature soothes my soul, much like a walk in the woods. The light breeze of the late summer evening carries the sound of the other students' laughs and cries. Several students lounge in the courtyard studying or playing football or soccer. As I make my way towards the library for my first tutoring session.

The large, dome-like building sits off by itself. Windows make up most of the structure, allowing the natural light to fill the space perfect for reading. Nature surrounds the building like a beacon pulling in students. Rose bushes, greenery, and other colorful flowers line the flowerbeds. It almost seems like a slice of heaven all on its own. To me, anyway. I could probably spend hours upon hours in the library finding new books to get lost in, especially now. Magnolia and I used to spend hours buddy reading books. The most fun we had was arguing over which ones to read next and which ones to add to the list. It was our thing.

No one acknowledges me when I enter the library, not even the librarian working behind the counter. I pull out my piece of paper, making my way to a group of tables in the middle of the dome. A red "reserved" sign sits on the edge of my assigned table. Looking around, I see only a few other tutors sitting at two other tables. Only 2. Well---3, because of me. The other tables have at least 3 students to each tutor and mine? Mine has none. Are people that repulsed by me they won't even try to get better in their subjects? Ridiculous.

I set my books down on the table, sighing. If no one shows up, I'll at least have these few hours to get work done on my own. I start with my English homework. The bane of my existence. Numbers are my jam, I can work them all day long. But prepositions? Nouns? Fucking verbs and sentence structure? No. I just don't.... get it. Maybe I need a tutor for my grammar insecurities. The information filters into my head and goes right back out. I can't seem to keep English in my brain at all. If it came as easy as math, life would be good. And that-------

Books slam onto my table, skyrocketing my heart, and sending my mind back to the present. My body jumps on impact, as my eye connects with the jerkhead owner. Green menacing eyes stare back at me, rage building from his narrowing eyes.

"Fuck no," Seger growls, grabbing his books again. He stomps out of the library, throwing a tantrum. He huffs and he puffs and I'm surprised he doesn't blow down the entire library.

I stare at his retreating back, jumping again when he slams the library door. Making its deep bang echo through the glass structure.

The librarian jumps from her seat, jogging after him, shaking her hand in the air. Well-so much for the extra $50.00 a week. Screw this and screw him. First, he denies me my dinner, and then he denies me the money I need to support my hobbies.

My teeth grind as I get back to work again. But my brain is so focused on the steady anger building in my guts, I can't focus on English. Not now. I switch to math, peering at the numbers on the paper. An instant calm washes over me, cleansing me of my anxiety and anger. Holding onto this much anger and pain isn't good for my health. I'll be back in therapy before I know it, just to hang on to some sort of sanity.

I get halfway done with my math and jump again. Seger slams his books down onto the table, jostling everything around, and sits. His arms cross over his chest and he huffs in angry pants.

"I want half of whatever they're paying you to do this." He has the nerve to say, reaching to open his book.

I freeze on the spot, lifting my eyes to his. "No," I say, shaking my head. My pencil moves across the paper I'm working on, trying to ignore the douchecanoe across from me. How's he going to come into my tutoring session and demand my hard-earned money?

"I said I want it, it's the only way I'll stay here." I snort in response like I'm the one who needs to be here. A week ago, I considered him a friend, and now? No. He's like everyone else. Just like Magnolia described him.

"You are not getting $25.00 to sit here and get tutored by me. Either you take the tutoring as is or you leave." I stare up at him through my lashes, watching as he deliberates through his actions.

"Fine! But you had better be good at this." He grumbles, sliding me over his math worksheet for the same class I'm taking. A practice quiz, with a big, fat F on it. "I need to learn to do all that." He says pointing a finger over the problems.

"You're in luck, math is my forte. I can help you with this if you want." Honestly, with how cruel he's being, I should set him up for failure. Make him tank every quiz he has to take and laugh in his face when he fails out of this school. But I'm not that cruel. Even if I had the choice to take away his dinner privileges, I wouldn't. Food is necessary and so is education. There are other ways to get my revenge, just like I did to Harlow. Speaking of her, I haven't seen her since I posted her medical report on Flashgram. It took her an entire day to have that post deleted. I secretly hoped she would have had the whole account deleted, but no such luck. Guess I'll have to do it myself.

"Why?" He asks, eyebrow shooting up with confusion.

"Why what?" I ask, looking over the paper still.

"Why would you want to help me after.....?" I swallow a lump and look into his eyes. As soon as the words spill from his lips, he shakes his head. "Anyway, is there any way to salvage that?" He asks referring to the paper, but his eyes ooze forgiveness. That I instantly ignore.

"Yeah, I'll teach you a better way. They make it so complicated... I'll just... make it easier." I mumble.

After our initial conversation, we focused on his work. I show him an easier, less complicated way of figuring the problems out. And after an hour, he's corrected every problem on his practice quiz with ease. If there's one pleasant thing I can say about Seger, he's a quick study. He's smart too, I'll be surprised if he stops coming once he gets all his math straightened out.

"Alright, well, I'll see you tomorrow," I say, closing up my books. I pack everything away into my bag and stand. He strokes his jaw, adjusting his crossed legs.

"Yeah-yeah, see you tomorrow, New Girl." My heart lightens a fragment at the name he used. Stupid, annoying, but yet endearing nickname.

"Yeah," I mumble, heading towards the door.

That night in my dorm, I consume spoonfuls of leftover soup. My stomach still hasn't recovered from the poison Harlow gave me, but I know it will soon go away. I can't dwell on the damn laxatives, because I have a certain calculus teacher to take down, way down, and hopefully bury him. I'm sick and tired of the disrespect I get every day in class.

Stephen fucking Stephens. Poor bastard, I'd act the way he does too if I had the same name twice. I move through Flashgram, searching for a profile. But I come up empty. It's no surprise that a 50-year-old, overweight, math teacher doesn't have one. So I head over to the dead platform of Spaceface and search there. My Aunt CeCe has one of these, but kids in my generation don't flock to it like the grandmas and grandpas of the world.

I sift through several profiles and finally spot one. It's him and thankfully not private. I look through the photos, it's him and his sons. They stand in front of baseball stadiums with smiles on their faces. His captions are cute, "Good day with the boys." Nothing really out of the ordinary there, but that's what I get for looking on a public domain. The only thing I came for is his email, which sits in the information of his Spaceface account. Perfect. People don't understand what an email can help me do. Not only does it give me the location of the computer or phone the user uses, but it also gives me access to the account too.

A minute later, I'm elbows deep into his emails. But there's nothing there. Nothing to nail him with like I did Harlow. Why couldn't the gods bless me with another miracle of an STD confirmation or--

"Holy shit," I whisper, leaning in towards the computer. I click on an email, my eyes examining the contents. It's a confirmation email for another email address registered to him. It's a confirmation that he approved this email address as a back-up for this new email address, and by the name, it's nothing good.

I swallow hard, typing in the recent development. Within a few keystrokes, I've broken into this new email and I want to hurl. My fingers curl over my mouth and lean back, shutting off the screen. I don't know how he's gotten away with that, but he's going down. Absolutely going down. A man in his position, in a classroom filled with kids, needs to be taken down. Way down---like buried six feet down, down.

As bile fills my mouth, I track into his home computer. The content gets worse and worse. More incriminating and perverted at every turn. I can't stomach what he's got stored in his fucking cloud from his computer, so I do what I need to. And I add more things to my ever-expanding shit list.

1. The door

2. The dining hall

3. the laxatives-Done

4. Taking down Stephans-Done.

********************

The next morning, I pop a muffin into my mouth as I walk. There's paint still on my door, the same as before. Maintenance refuses to change it or paint over it. Since they think I did it, I should have to suffer from the art. Or... someone is pulling their strings and forcing them to ignore the situation. The latter is my guess. But who is pulling those strings? I still do not understand. My guess is on the cloaked bastards who painted it in the first place.

I'm on edge at all times when I walk through campus. I'm public enemy number one at the moment and everyone's target. When I walk they snigger at me or throw things at me. I pop my headphones in, hanging onto Chase's IPOD for dear life, and try to ignore their presents, but sometimes that's hard. Just yesterday in between classes someone lobbed a full can of coke at my head, knocking me down to the ground. Kids laughed around me, not bothering to help. It's pathetic really that kids can turn that fast on another human being. I get animals; I understand them, but humans? Humans are unpredictable, horrid creatures to one another for no reason. Animals have a reason. Whether it's their territory or fighting for a mate, they have a reason.

I stop in front of Seger and Zepp in front of the busy dining hall. They cross their arms over their chests with matching scowls. Since Monday, I've stood in front of them every day for every meal. At this point, I'm not even hungry, but it's the principle of it all.

"Hello, boys, are you taking away my basic right again today?" I bite into another muffin, tracking their eye movements.

"You're a determined little shit, aren't you?" Seger mutters, wiping a hand down his disgruntled face.

I shrug a shoulder, "determination is a wonderful skill to have." I tilt my head, smiling at the two of them. My eyes drift towards the window, an empty space greeting me. Chase is missing from his normal spot, like the day before, and the day before that. In fact, he was missing in class too. From school, period, like a ghost, my cheerful guy has disappeared.

Zepp sighs, his shoulders sagging. "You know the drill, New girl, we can't---" He whispers through sadness.

"Let you in." Seger finishes his sentence, face falling. He shakes his head, running a hand through the longer strands of his brown hair.

I purse my lips, noises of joy coming from inside. Friends talking to friends with excitement about whatever riles them up these days. Maybe torturing me? Who knows? I shrug a shoulder, biting into my muffin again.

"And why is that exactly?" I ask, tilting my head again.

"It's a secret." Seger grunts back. At least he's a little more polite since I tutored him yesterday. A wicked smile falls on my lips, shooting my eyebrows into my hairline.

"I enjoy solving secrets," I say through my smile, making their bodies stiffen slightly.

"What're you up to?" Zepp finally asks, gaining his brother's attention. Zepp narrows his eyes in on me like I'm a criminal. And maybe I am. Well, not yet anyway. For the last few days, I've tracked the boy's movements and kept their schedule memorized. They're like clockwork, really. They go to class, they eat dinner, and then for the rest of the night they beat the shit out of each other on the football field. And other people, they love mowing their opponents down to the ground.

I snort, taking another bite of my muffin, finishing it. "It's a secret." I wiggle my eyebrows and turn to leave.

"Just be careful, New Girl," Seger says in a soft voice, meaning every word he said.

"You don't understand who you're messing with," Zepp says, finishing the sentence. His tone leaves it as unthreatening, more than a warning to me to back off and not do what I'm about to do. But what have I got to lose? I've successfully broken into Ainsley's room before and now... now it's the boy's turn.

I watch over my shoulder at every student who passes by. The hate and the hostility oozes off of them in waves, crashing into me, and nearly knocking me off my feet. If their hate were a tornado, I'd blow away faster than Dorothy. The anxiety builds at the tip of my toes and reaches to the top of my head. I'm buzzing with it, practically vibrating with the anticipation that something bad is going to happen.

I pass my shitty, oh yes, still shitty locker and write it off. They think they're getting to me by stashing disgusting things in there, but jokes on them. I'll just pretend my locker doesn't exist like the teachers pretend I don't. Normally math class would be my dread of the day, but today feels different. I don't know when the police will act if it's in class, or at his home, but I want a front-row seat for his utter humiliation. He's a vile piece of shit. I can only hope the boys in prison treat him well.

I take my usual perch on the window seal and swing my legs. Everyone piles in, ignoring me as usual, and takes their seats. Chase is absent. Again. My heart drops to the floor. What if something happened to him? Where is he? The students murmur amongst themselves, as my mind takes off on a wild tangent. Chase could have fallen ill or got kidnapped or... Stop. No more. He doesn't really care about you. As I come down from my freakout the fat bastard, Mr. Stephans, himself walks in. Sweat cakes his forehead and forms a line on his blue button-down. His eyes cast behind him several times, before setting his briefcase onto his desk.

He greets us, takes attendance, and gets right to work. I grin, remembering what I had set up the previous night. Everything will work out but I will end him and his rule here. Mr. Stephans thinks he's safe, but he can't hide anything from me. Let alone the FBI or the local police.

"You seem happy, Little Troll." My smile breaks into a frown.

"What do you want, Cruel?" I ask, eyeing his body up and down. If he wasn't such a cruel boy, he'd catch my eyes. Attractive is an understatement when it comes to him, but then he opened his vile mouth, ruining it all. Such a shame. His eyes inspect his nails and he shrugs.

"Quite a fucking thing you did to Harlow, huh?" He asks, raising one eyebrow, staring into my eyes. He's trying to feel me out, trying to detect a hint of a lie. But I shrug and purse my lips.

"Yeah... I saw that. That's terrible for her. Did you get your dick checked?" I ask with a smirk. His face falls into a scowl, stepping closer to me.

"I wouldn't touch that fucking bitch with a ten-foot pole." He sneers at me, inching closer and closer to my face. Really invading my personal bubble. I put a hand up, holding it against his warm chest. His heart pounds beneath my palm.

"I would hope not, I heard she has gonorrhea. You know what that can do - you know-down there." I hiss like it hurts, pointing towards his junk.

"You really keep pressing my buttons with your fucking nonsense. You're almost as bad as my cunt of a stepsister." He growls now, drawing a few of the other student's eyes towards us, nervously switching between us and the teacher. There's hope in their eyes, wanting a showdown of some sort between the two of us.

"Golly gosh, Carter, you bloated pan of cupcakes, I sure hope not." I stare into his eyes, narrowing them. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lip at my impression. His feet drag him back a step, fingers working the hard curves of his jaw.

"One of these days, Troll, you'll poke the wrong fucking button. Watch yourself, because it's coming back to bite your annoying ass." His scowl deepens, eye narrowing in on me. Like his brain is processing what's happening. His lips stay silent as he makes his way back to his desk. But his eyes occasionally slip back to me every so often.

My smile slowly fades throughout the class. I knew the authorities wouldn't act fast, but I hoped they would. Especially with what Mr. Stephans had on his computer, those vile files full of videos no one should have or see. Or make. Sometimes I wonder what drives people to be so.... gross. What in their mind makes them how they are? Did he suffer traumas as a child? Well-if that's the case, then it shouldn't affect who he is today. He should strive to be a better person and not let his demons get him...

Mr. Stephans sits at his desk, folding his hands into a prayer. His sweaty forehead touches the edges of his hands, sighing heavily. It's like the world has fallen on his shoulders and he's patiently waiting for the consequences. I guess my little note I left tucked away in his files probably has him sweating bullets too. The people pulling the strings here aren't the only ones who can leave cryptic as fuck text messages.

Ten minutes until the bell rings, I perk up. My eyes stare at the bare, dark wooden door, as a knock rings like a death bell. Knock. Knock. Knock. I look across the sea of students holding my breaths. They mutter to one another, as the click of the doorknob turns, and the most beautiful sight greets us all.

"Stephan Stephans, we're going to have to ask you to step away from your desk, with your hands in the air, and follow us." His head stays hanging low and shakes his head.

"But-But... I did EVERYTHING they asked of me!" He says in a frantic whisper, finally lifting his tear-stained cheeks. "EVERYTHING THEY ASKED ME!" His eyes search the room, not stopping on anyone in particular, just searching, and hoping his words reach the right person.

The FBI agent takes a step into the room, his hand hovering above his belt. "Mr. Stephans, please stand, place your hands on your head, and come with us." His voice remains calm and neutral despite the panic rearing in Mr. Stephan's eyes.

"No! NO! I DID EVERYTHING!!!" He shouts again, standing abruptly before the FBI agent. His palms stay flat against his desk, leaning the weight of his body forward. "Everything, why? Why do this? I was good...." He whispers again, shaking his head more.

"Last warning, Stephans, don't make me Taze you in front of the class." Students murmur more, some whooping in excitement at the thought of the FBI bringing that fat bastard down to the ground. Stephans doesn't move again, giving the FBI agents enough time to move in on him. They place the handcuffs around his wrists before he has time to react, and he's hauled off.

The sharp ring of the dismissal bell sounds above us, signaling the end of math class. And the end to Stephans rule in this classroom. I grin to myself again, images of my next math class coming into mind. My desk will be back and I won't have to perch up here or sit on the floor. Bye, bye Mr. Stephans, have fun in prison!

Jumping off my perch, I land with a thud. My hands cling tight to my books, refusing to loosen my grip. I learned my lesson the last time when they stomped all over my possessions. A tall, menacing figure strides beside me, following me down the hallway. Violence and intrigue pour off of every inch of him, and even though I keep pressing his buttons, I know what he's capable of. Seeing how he tore into Seger in the alleyway that one time, he knows how to use his fists. And he's not afraid to wrap his hand around my throat again.

A sharp tug on my shoulder stumbles my feet and stops my walking. "You wanna tell me how you fucking did that too?" I scoff, his hand tightening around my shoulder.

"Again-you're accusing me of things I know nothing about." A sharp tug in the pocket of my skirt freezes my body. I gaze around. The other students are passing by, paying us no attention. The bulk of my phone slowly slips out of my pocket, very, very slowly. He keeps grumbling words to me about how I know so much more and blah blah, while his fingers sink into my shoulder with bruising force. The sharp pain in my shoulder does exactly what he intends to do. It takes my brain away from my phone, sliding out of my pocket and onto the burning pain his fingers cause. Bastard. Finally, the weight of my phone is out of my pocket and I only have a second to plan this all out. It holds nothing incriminating, just the principle of it all. It's mine. My lifeline and no one can have it, damn it.

I whirl around, his hands going deep into his pockets. "Why were you beating Seger up?" His deep brown eyes narrow in on me. His bulky body leans forward, so his warm breaths drift across my cheek. His lips graze my ear lobe, speaking to me in such a low voice.

"Because he asked stupid fucking questions," he drawls, letting his fingers fall on my hips. He pulls me closer, still speaking into my ear. "Just like a certain troll, I know who can't keep her nose out of my fucking business. So stop fucking asking me stupid fucking idiotic questions, bitch." I sigh through his rage. He says more words, intending to hurt my feelings. He calls me all kinds of names as I work. I wonder why he's so damaged? Did his daddy not love him enough? Maybe his mother neglected him and left him to the maids to raise? Whatever the reason, they don't call him Cruel Carter for nothing. His words are as sharp as a knife cutting through my flesh, they'd sting if I believed what he had to say.

I tuck my hands into my skirt, succeeding in my mission, plus some. I tilt my head, his eyes burning into mine. He towers over me, setting me on fire with his rage. "Why're you so angry?" I ask, watching his face morph into a twisting mess. Contorting his entire presence into pure evil, fire and brimstone could form around him, and I'd completely believe he was the devil himself.

He growls, chest heaving as if he had just done 1,000 jumping jacks. The clenching and unclenching of his fists remind me of the alleyway incident. I take a step back from him, giving myself enough room to run if I have to. All part of the insane plan, though. My body jumps as his fist connects with the red lockers to our right repeatedly. A large dent forms where he pounds into the metal, crunching his knuckles. My eyes widen at the horror show before me. Stupid questions seem to set off his uncontrollable rage, my stupid questions in particular. But my plan succeeds. Carter stomps away, shoving anyone and everyone out of his way, slamming through the double doors leading outside. As he stalks down the sidewalk, his feet pounds into the pavement hard enough to crack the cement below him. Along with the hellfire wafting off of his rage, he needs to cool down. Maybe I'll pour cold water over his body the next time to cool him off before he can hurt anyone else.

Two sets of hands grab my arms and thrust me backward. A scream falls from my lips, legs kicking in every direction, and my books go flying despite the fact I've hung onto them this whole time. Students give me just a passing glance, even when I'm thrown into the boys' bathroom. My back connects with the hard wall with a thud, knocking the air from my lungs.

"That was seriously the fucking stupidest thing you've done since you started here." Seger's fuming, his arms crossed over his chest. Zepp shakes his head back and forth, locking the bathroom door so no one else will hear this tongue lashing. Zepp ducks his head underneath the two stalls and nods at his brother, giving him the "all clear".

Zepp closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Pacing up and down the small bathroom. The acidic stench of urine wrinkles my nose. I always heard the boy's bathrooms were the nastiest thing on the planet and boy---they weren't kidding. It's so disgusting in here I'm surprised guys even want to pull out their wangs. They might get contaminated or something which is shocking. You'd think a private school with people bleeding money to get their kids in would have the decency to clean their damn bath--

"Kaycee!" Zepp shouts, gaining my full attention again. Right. I'm in the boy's bathroom with pissed off twins. "What were you thinking?"

"She wasn't fucking thinking," Seger says grinding his teeth to dust. "Not fucking thinking at all."

"Give me the phone," Zepp says holding out his hand, waving his fingers at me. "I'll put it back or throw it on the ground or something. Just..."

"Give him the fucking phone. That cruel bastard is going to pound your ass into the ground and not in the good fucking way either." I blink several times at them.

"No," I say, placing my hand over my skirt pockets. "Why do you even care?" I gape. They've prevented me from entering the dining hall all week, and now they fear for my safety?

"Kaycee, seriously," Zepp says, taking a step forward, his eyes having a silent conversation with his twin.

"Fucking, Kaycee, hand it over," Seger says, advancing on me too.

"Fuck off," I say holding out my hands, palms connecting to their hard chests. They stare at me with their brows furrowed in confusion.

"Wh-what are you going to do with it?" Zepp asks, nodding towards Carter's phone nestled in my pocket, along with his keys and wallet. But they don't need to know I took everything while Carter distracted himself with his nonsense threats and name-calling. I even got my phone back too. I'm surprised I pulled it off, anyway. My first time pick-pocketing and all. But if these two saw, who else did? Looks like I'll be six feet under before I know it. Damn, what a way to die at the hands of--

"Jesus Christ, Kaycee," Zepp says through a sigh, getting my attention again. "Do you ever focus?" He asks, raising his eyebrows.

I shrug, "It comes with the territory, but yes, I focus. And to answer your other question, whatever I damn well please." I say like it's no big deal, but I'm itching to get back to my apartment. The fact is, I can't hack phones unless they're in my hands, and beside my trusted friends, my computers. So this will be an interesting night. I can check his phone logs, see who he has "family meetings with", and maybe see if he's the ringleader of this whole situation.

"You know it's almost impossible to get into those without a password if that's what you're thinking," Zepp says, taking a step back from my hand pressed into him.

"Almost," I say, a smile pulling at my lips. His eyes widen a fraction, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Almost," he agrees with a small shrug, walking to lean against the sinks on the opposite wall.

"Fucking seriously?" Seger looks back at his brother with wide eyes, gesturing towards me. "You're seriously just going to... fucking let her walk around with all that? He's going to fucking mutilate her." Seger's voice echos off the bathroom's disgusting, grimy walls.

"It's her funeral," Zepp says, stroking his jawline. "Nothing we can do."

"Fucking seriously?" Seger shouts now. "Look at her, we can just turn her upside down and fucking shake it loose." I frown at the thought of him turning me upside down, my skirt over my head, and the contents of my pockets falling to the ground.

"I'm right here." I drawl. "And I'm not giving it up, so just say nothing, and we'll be peachy."

"P-pee-peachy?" Seger screeches, throwing his arms around like a fucking drama queen. "Fucking peachy, right, right? Well, when you turn up fucking missing, don't say I didn't fucking warn you. And you? Fuck you!" He shouts, marching towards the bathroom door, unlocking it, and raging out of the bathroom altogether.

The bathroom door slams shut, echoing it through the bathroom. I look over at Zepp, who promptly rolls his eyes and sighs. "Is he always so dramatic?" I tilt my head to the side.

Zepp lets out a small laugh, "Yeah well, comes with his territory, I guess." I snort at his response and head towards the door.

"So you're going to work your way into it?" He asks pushing back from the sinks, interested in what I'm going to do with it.

I grin, looking over my shoulder. "There's no work involved, just uh---you know--"

"I won't tell a soul." He shrugs again, walking towards me. His fingers brush against the door handle and he looks down at me. "But my advice? And I'm being very serious here, don't let him find out you took it. He's not named Cruel Carter for nothing." The door bursts open and I shuffle out, trying to dodge the odd stare of the guy who walked in on us.

"Zepp?" I look over to Zepp who walks beside me, but not too close.

"Yeah?" He asks quietly, looking around towards the other nosy students.

"Thanks," I say with a curt nod. I need all the allies I can get.

"Yeah... just stay out of trouble." He says, using his long legs to carry him down the hallways and out of sight.

"No promises," I mumble, walking to my discarded books on the ground. They kicked them about, probably bypassing students. My books ended up halfway down the hall, but at least they're still here. I pick up my last book. A piece of paper falls to the ground.

Roses are Red

Violets are blue

You had your chance

Your coffin is ready for you

The games will get worse

The punishment's harsh

I will paint my hands

With your blood and many parts

If you thought this was fun

If you thought this was games

Just wait and see

Well, fuck my life. Who the fuck put this in here?

*****

Why did I decide to make these crazy people poets? I'm clearly not a poet...at all LOL. Anywayyysss thanks for reading! I enjoy everyone's commentary and theories. ❤❤

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