Twisted Heart: A Crushed Love Novel

Twisted Heart (Part 4 - Tearless Lies)

I upload in so many parts :S anyway, this is just the continuation... I hope you like it. This is when the whole plot is actually moving (the first three parts were all just an introduction) I will definitely try to upload in bigger parts!!! I love you all!! Please carry on reading!!!

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Crushed Love (Part 4)

Chapter 2: Tearless Lies

Scarlett

Alex bought cocaine. Apparently we were going into dealing now.

Before, our gang had always been private terrorisation. You know the type, guys in hoodies with caps, smoking in alleys and drinking beer. Frightening old ladies and kids. I'd never been part of the actual scaring. That wasn't why I was part of this. I was part of this for the thrill I missed during my sheltered childhood, and mainly to make my father mad.

You may call someone who hates there family a monster, but what's so wrong for hating something that so dark and despicable that you should be called a monster for not hating it?

I was against selling cocaine. I didn't want to do anything to harm anyone who didn't deserve to be harmed, and fifteen-year-old kids just "experimenting" or a single mother with no other way to the stop pain, were definitely not on my "deserve to be harmed" list.

I didn't know why Alex was suddenly dealing now. Usually all his moves were calculated and skilled. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought he'd had experience in leading a gang. But that was impossible. He was my cool, calm, step-brother Alex. I'd known him for so long, almost four years. He was the one who was closest to the wall I had put up around myself.

When I asked, he just said that he was bored, in that nonchalant way of his. This was also completely wrong. Alex never does anything for no reason. He is never nonchalant in anything to do with his precious gang.

Dealing is easy. It's so simple to get the drugs out there. Spread the word to the pimps first. Blackmail and bribery always works in our world. They start leaking our stuff to the public. Every gang has their own special mixture - add a pinch of heroin there, a bit of cannabis there, and then the people you deal to will be addicted your special mixture forever, because they can't find it anywhere else. Dealing good for gaining a bit of cash here and there, but why Alex needs cash, is beyond me. He has a platinum, no-limit credit card, for God's sake. It is identical to mine. It is completely unimaginable for him to need any more money.

Maybe he just wants the drugs? With the amount he bought, it would be easy to slip away a gram or two. No, that's impossible. Alex couldn't be an addict. He was too lucid, too clear-headed.

A girl, dressed in black and a cap that covered most of her face, shuffled into our alley. The boys jeered at her, showing her their teeth, while fingering their lighters like some sort of weapon. It was just an intimidation method. Addicts, who are desperate, are not fazed by this. Cops, on the other hand...

Up close, her face was a mess. Giant dark rings shadowed her eyes, and her brow was slick with sweat, her pale, bloodless face trembling. She would have been pretty, a seventeen or eighteen-year-old, had it not been for the fact that she was suffering from drug withdrawals. Her fingers shook as she reached for her pocket, and drew out a thick wad of notes. Alex was the one who took it from her, checked it, and then pocketed it. He nodded at the guys, who immediately reached into the backpack loaded with coke.

She left, shuffling faster now, looking forward to the next drug-dosed cigarette. She was so pitiable.

Well, who am I to judge, really? In many ways, I am a much more despicable human being than she could ever be.

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Taylor

I feel younger. The halls, the lockers, the classrooms. It was all part of the past. Only this time, I wasn't respected by the students because of my background, but because of the hard work I'd put into University. This fact made me smile.

Teaching was incredibly draining. I'd never really liked being looked at, or glared at. I'm treated with total suspicion here - after all, I am the enemy. I am the untrustworthy teacher, ready to wipe their minds and force them to change their lazy ways.

During third period, they stick me in the infirmary. High schools have gotten a lot more dangerous for girls since the last time I've stepped through any high school halls. So many female students came up to me in this period, with complaints about legs, arms and teeth. It feels good to help people, though. That's why I decided to teach. Because teaching is a form of helping, right? I want to help as many people as I can, to make up for all those years of selfishness.

I was let out of the infirmary and stuck in another classroom. St. Eleanor's is much bigger than I expected, for an elite private school. I was always really bad with maps.

Being Biology Practical leader is surprisingly easy. Just some basic dissections I covered in high school and the first year of Uni.

"Okay, class, does everyone have their lab coat? Today we will be dissecting a cow's eye," I waited until the predicted grumbling and the "gross" noises died out, then continued. "For this week's homework I will be expecting a detailed labelled diagram of an eye, so make sure you do it right."

The usual groans disrupted the calm silence all teachers loved, and instead if waiting, I went to the front table where there was all the equipment I need for my demonstration. The eye was a lot bloodier than expected, and I couldn't help flinching. I didn't like blood. I could never be a surgeon, when even just looking at things I have to cut up makes me squirm.

I picked up my scalpel absentmindedly as the students slowly filed into a clump around the table with my demonstration on it.

"Ouch!" The sharp edge of blade, the wrong end of the scalpel, had dug into the soft flesh of my hand. Even though I immediately let it go, I could tell it had cut in deep. I hurriedly pressed some tissue to the bleeding cut, worried about some of the more squeamish kids, but my eyes stung with the sharp pain.

"It's okay," I said, as the whole class started to mutter worriedly. I reached for the scalpel again. My hand brushed against another, who had helpfully tried to reach for it the same time.

I looked into her eyes, with a thankful smile ready.

It was her. The one, so many years ago, who inspired me to become a doctor. Red.