❝she was the girl, who bit the horizon, who peeled the stars from the sky and put them on her tongue, the girl who was hungry for the universe, who craved magic and saw the broken boy for who he truly was- a broken boy.❞
Beca...
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Chapter 30
I Realised I'm An Asshole
Jem
Ninth Grade.
"Hey, faggot." was how I usually started my mornings.
The words were breathed by Heath menacingly to exert fear, sneering at Dylan Greene, the Ohio exchange student, who jumped at the sight of Heath and I saunter over to him, our own duo of a wolf pack who had suddenly smelled victim in the atmosphere.
The cold crisp air clung to our pulsing cheeks, warm with the rush of blood, and the secreted smell of frost was a dead giveaway that winter was coming, obviously since we were in November. Our daily harassment target of the day seemed infinitesimally small in his too-large sweater and baggy jeans, seeming to shrink marginally into his clothes as our shark grins manifested. Autumn coloured leaves moving fluidly for such stiff bodies. The dry crumpled grass crunched beneath our feet, resounding with bravado.
I remembered how I used to think we were so cool in ninth grade. With girls throwing themselves at me, the boys being ultimately terrified of me and the crown plastered on my forehead, I was the epitome of my life. I was where everybody wanted to be.
Our bodies enclosed him in a formidable circle as Dylan pressed his math book to his chest like it would serve as some form of protection against the two most athletic boys in the grade. Heath's icy vigilant eyes traced the significantly weaker boy, bathing in the satisfaction of a kill, the bullied. "Where do you think you're going without saying good morning to us?"
A frightened whimper escaped out of Dylan's mouth, like a cornered animal. Wedded in the lust of my dominance, I lazily flicked my mahogany dark hair out of my eyes as I neared him, so that I could taste the clear inferiority rolling of his pores. It was nice, being king of the school, but it wasn't easy. To assert dominance was to weed out the weak. "I think he was assuming he could outrun us," a smirk played over my lips. I was fifteen, obnoxious, ruthless, young with no idea of consequences. I glanced at Heath, who had the same idea, the same wit, same level of total douchebag. "Before class."
Heath clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Dyl," Heath laid a hand over Dylan, who flinched at the contact, expecting the next one to be a punch or a rough shove into the toilet bowl. Heath was smiling like they were old friends talking trash as if there was no harm to be done, but the glittering glint in his Siberian blue eyes said otherwise. "You know that's rude. Jem, do you think he deserves to know that we're not to be tricked?"
"W-why-" Dylan stuttered, "Why are you doing this to me-" "Because," I grounded my teeth, my cold skin by the lack of physical violence, yearning to feel the sharp thrill of slamming somebody against the locker, the blooming of a black eye from an imperfectly justified right hook, "Now, Dyl-"
"Jem! Heath!" The vague outline of Caleb marching our way across the empty school courtyard emerged from the end of the area. Caleb's lips tightened when he noticed Dylan, cowering from us. White replaced the natural redness of Caleb's numb cheekbones. "What are you doing?"
