Page 9 of Quiet Rage
Tamson, you’re making it too easy. I’m sort of disappointed in her, even if this works well for me.
It doesn’t take long to reset the passwords to her social media accounts. When the emails come through with the reset link, I use them to give myself access to her profiles, then delete the messages. That’s all it takes. And now it’s time to have a little fun.
First, I change the email address linked to her accounts, using a random junk email that couldn’t be traced to me even if she managed to find it, which she won’t. By the time I’m finished, she won’t have any option but to create new profiles and start fresh.
Now, all I have to do is post Tiana’s memes later on, once I’m at home. I take risks, but I’m not suicidal—this is the kind of shit that could get me in serious trouble, and I’m sure there are security cameras all over the place around here. It would only take Tamson freaking out and asking questions for somebody in security to track the source to this terminal, while I was sitting at it.
Besides, I don’t want anybody walking past and seeing me do this. It’s not like I’m proud of myself. I’m proud of the reaction it’s going to get, and I’m definitely going above and beyond anything Dad would have imagined. But I’m not trying to get my ass hauled to the police station over some cyberbullying.
When I’m finished, I log out of everything the way Tamson should’ve done and get up slowly with a new plan forming in my mind. I think I just came up with another way to fuck with her.
And if it goes well, I’ll be lucky enough to watch her realize she was set up.
I can’t remember the last time I was this eager to get home and lock myself in my room. Probably when I was a kid, and there was a new video game to play. I would make a whole bag of pizza rolls and spend the night eating them while zoning out. It was my escape.
This is a different kind of escape. Now, I’m escaping to somebody else’s life, opening my MacBook on my bedroom desk and logging into Tamson’s profiles. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, but then it wouldn’t, would it? Even if she tried to log in and had to reset her passwords, the reset links would go to the junk email address I provided. Since I don’t see any of those waiting in the inbox, I’m guessing she is still clueless. What’s the saying? Ignorance is bliss? This is the last night she’ll feel blissful, then.
It doesn’t take long for me to schedule Tiana’s new memes to go out every morning at the same time, early enough for anybody following her to see them before starting their day. I knowTiana will be waiting for them, and I trust her to spread them like wildfire as soon as they go live. She got extremely creative. I hope she doesn’t expect me to pay her back or anything, especially when I know the kind of payback she would be interested in. I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole—if there was ever a pussy with teeth, it’s got to be hers.
There’s a sense of satisfaction pulsing through my veins once I’m finished. I make sure to cross-post, too, since her Facebook and Insta are linked. It won’t be long before the whole school has plenty of ammo to use against her and make her more miserable than they already have.
Now, I need to think of a way to get her to the library tomorrow night, like I came up with earlier. A random email might get overlooked—besides, I would have to send it from an address she recognizes. She might be too stupid to lock down her online presence, but I doubt she would blindly trust a message from a stranger.
Finally, it seems like the easiest way is to just send an email from my school account. I don’t even know if she knows my name yet, which might work in my favor. We do have Lit together, and I remember her email address from when I dug around earlier.
The message is short and sweet.American Lit study group in the library. Tomorrow night, nine o’clock on the second floor. We’ll break up into groups for the midterm project. Will that be enough to lure her out? I guess all I can do is wait and see.
In the meantime, I’m still logged into her accounts, and now curiosity is starting to tap at the back of my skull. Her entire life is right here in front of me, going back years. Scrolling through, I see some of the photos which Tiana used in her memes.
The first thing that hits me is how happy Tamson looked a few years ago. She would’ve been in high school, and she took her schoolwork seriously. There are photos of her standing in a row with other kids, wearing pins after getting inducted into an academic honor society. There’s another one of her with her debate team, holding up a big trophy after they won a tournament. Fucking nerds, in other words, but her smile is enormous. I can practically feel the pride that swelled in her that day.
She wasn’t the only one who was proud. One of the comments under the photo is from somebody with her last name. Jason.Way to go, sis! I always said you got all the brains.
Her brother. The one who was shot. I remember hearing about it, but it didn’t make much of an impression on me at the time. Shit like that happens sometimes, especially when you hang out in certain areas of town.
Curiosity makes me click on his profile. He didn’t spend a lot of time on here from the looks of it, in fact, all of the photos with him in them are group photos, like family pictures and stuff like that where he was tagged so they would show up under his name.
I’m the same way. I don’t have the time to check in at places just so everybody knows I’m there. Who fucking cares? I’m not trying to show off for anybody.
It’s the most recent posts that catch my attention, the ones from within the past year. Some of his friends posted memorials for him, memories. I’ve never seen so many praying hands and dove emojis in one place. People can’t even be original when they’re mourning.
Tamson’s one of the mourners. She wished him a happy birthday four months after he died and posted a picture of the two of them together when they were kids. They’re dressed in Halloween costumes. He was some generic superhero; she was a princess.
I miss you.That was her message. Three words, but they say everything. At the same time, they don’t come anywhere close to telling the whole story.
I should know. Loss is one thing I have in common with her—the only thing, besides going to the same school and having a class together. It’s like walking around with a hole in your chest, but nothing can fill it. And nobody sees it, either. Sure, at first, they tell you it’s going to be all right. Whatever you need, they’ll provide it for you. Anytime, day or night. The same generic bullshit people spout off whenever there’s a tragedy.
But after a while—not even a long while—life goes on for them. They can’t watch over you all the time, always thinking about you and checking in. Eventually, their own lives take over again, and you’re left with that same unfillable hole. Only people expect you to function like you’re normal. Like you didn’t have this massive part of your life stripped away out of nowhere.
In her case, it was a bullet fired from a random car. In mine, it was the car itself that took my mom. One of those things. How many times did I hear that in the weeks and months after the crash?Just one of those things.You never know when it’s your time.All those empty platitudes.
But nobody would ever know from looking at her that she suffered such an extreme loss. Nobody would know by watching her on campus that she’s been humiliated and bullied, either. I guess that’s called dignity. She has more of it, really, than a lot of the people I know who come from rich families and havehad everything handed to them forever. The people who take the most pleasure out of torturing her.
But that’s not my problem. I’m doing a job. And it’s not my fault her dad’s a deadbeat loser who can’t stop gambling. There are no personal feelings tied up in this. And I’m not going to stop just because we both lost somebody important to us. Shit, Dad would laugh himself sick and then smack the taste out of my mouth if I refused to keep going with this all because the girl knows how to keep her chin up.
Pushing back from my desk, I fold my hands behind my neck and blow out a sigh. I can’t think about her this way. I shouldn’t think about her at all unless I’m coming up with more ways to fuck with her until her dad gives my dad what he wants. I kind of wish I could think of a reason to hate her as a person. I only know she’s different, an outsider, and I’m doing what I have to do. It needs to be enough.
I’m uneasy, unsettled inside. Forget trying to get any homework done, not like that’s ever a priority. Funny how I was glad that Dad expects me to put all my time into taking care of Tamson, which means I’m not spending all my extra hours at the bar or one of his other businesses, keeping things in line. Now, I kind of wish I had the excuse to go somewhere and beat the shit out of somebody so I could get rid of this energy that has me bouncing my knee up and down and grinding my teeth.
