Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

50: like the father

I could imagine Elliot doing a lot of things.

Smiling in front of the camera, affably waving to paparazzi chasing him day and night, and expressing appreciation for his 'adoptive' family during interviews.

I could also see him turning back from a handshake, hug and a flash of a winsome smile- with a cold, irked face wiped clean of that charming mask he'd worn seconds ago.

But I couldn't have imagined this. Not until I saw it.

Feeling as if my feet were rooted to the ground, I only stared dumbly, as Elliot stood over Brooks Taylor and two of his friends, who'd fallen to the floor.

After Brooks Taylor had fallen with a stunned face and a stifled grunt, one of his friends had stepped up to stop Elliot, only to be knocked down as well.

The last one remaining even attempted to punch back, but his fist was slower than Elliot's.

Elliot's breathing was labored, and his eyes, filled with cold anger.

Pulling out his phone, Elliot took a picture of the three, as they were staggering up, swearing.

"You must be seriously out of your mind, Elliot."

Spitting blood out of his mouth, Brooks Taylor came closer to Elliot, his face contorted in pain, holding onto his jaw.

"You must be way over your head thinking you're something, just because the Lockwoods adopted you into their family. Don't forget where you really come from. To think you can lay your hand on people like us and get away with it-"

"Easton Clarke, Milo Thompson and Brooks Taylor." Elliot articulated the names with exaggerated calmness, taking his right wrist in his left hand.

The knuckles on his right hand were bleeding. So were the noses and mouths of the three boys.

"Clarke, I'm aware that your father is running to be mayor next month. And what are one of his main campaigns that he's pushing for? Strong action against school violence and advocacy for the youth, is it not?

"It never does matter to the public what exactly happened. What matters to them is that the mayor candidate's son-"

With a flippant hand movement, Elliot gestured to Easton Clarke. "Is in this state in this...remote part of the school."

Pushing back his hair, Elliot continued, softly.

"Thompson, you bought drugs from Adriel Harrison last semester. Your transaction outside the swimming club changing room with Harrison took place quite late at night when I was in school for tennis club practice.

"You're already fighting for a place in your grandfather's will with your stepbrother, who seems to have excellent track records at school. I'm sure knowledge about your transaction will save your grandfather from his dilemma on inheritance distribution."

With a slight pause, Elliot shifted his gaze to Brooks Taylor.

"And Taylor. You seem to have the hobby of taking rather compromising photographs of some of our female friends in the cohort. I'm curious to see what Judge Taylor will think about his son's pastime."

The oppressive humidity of the storage room seemed to have thickened. I felt almost giddy.

Easton Clarke, Milo Thompson and Brooks Taylor's faces were all pictures of different emotions, but they were clearly united on one sentiment.

That they had lost, and Elliot had the upper hand.

"What do you want?"

Milo Thompson growled, wincing as he rubbed his face with his knuckles.