Page 28 of Revenge At Raleigh High
“So. That’s it, then. Your reasoning? You forced your fingers up inside a girl…you brutally raped her because ofsocial standing?”
“No! No, you’re not listening to m—wait, wh—what the hell? Where are you going?”
I’m guessing there are about a hundred and forty feet, total, between here and the entrance back into Raleigh. It won’t be impossible for Cillian to make it back inside, but it sure as hell won’t be fun. His chair’s pretty much useless to him now. He won’t be able to wheel himself back along the path without assistance, and I sure as fuck am not going to be giving it to him. I’ve already started to make my way back toward the building. I pause briefly, turning back to face him.
“You raped a girl, and yet here you are, getting left behind anyway. And, from what I hear, you’refullyparalyzed from the waist down, huh, Dupris. I’m no doctor, but even I know that means your dick’ll never work again. I’d say that’s pretty fucking poetic, wouldn’t you?”
“C’mon, man, please! If you leave me here, I’m gonna fucking freeze to death!”
“Ahhh, don’t be such a defeatist, Cillian. What’s the point in giving up before you’ve even tried? There’s every chance you’ll make it inside before you freeze to death. You’re right, though. Itispretty cold. If I were you, I’d get crawling.”
11
ALEX
My conscience is like an underdeveloped muscle. It rarely gets used, so it’s atrophied over the years. It still kicks and twinges every once in a while, though, when I’m pondering something really terrible from my past…or when I’m plotting something truly fucking vile for the future. I feel absolutely nothing as I stalk back into Raleigh today, though, relishing the warmth as I head for statistics. The idea of Cillian sitting out in the cold, waiting for someone to come and find him, to rescue him and wheel him inside, so he doesn’t have to flop to the ground on his belly and worm his way back into school like the fucking snake that he is? I’m crowing with delight overthatone. The temperatures are sub-zero outside. The students of Raleigh High aren’t stupid enough to go traipsing around out there for the hell of it in this kind of weather, which means the chances of someone stumbling across him are dismally low. He’s going to have to weigh his pride against his will to live, and eventually he’ll make the decision. He’ll crawl, and he’ll know for a second what it feels like to be vulnerable, degraded and humiliated.
What I’ve just done is definitely bending the rules Silver set out. I haven’t officially broken them, per se. At least I don’t think I have. I, personally, didn’t lay a finger on Cillian, so I can’t really be blamed for hurting him. Declining to assist someone if they find themselves in a tricky situation? Hmm. That one’s a bit of a grey area. There are two sides to that issue—a heads and a tails on a coin of morality that could potentially fall either way. I don’t give a fuck, though. I have zero fucking regrets.
It could be argued that the universe has already meted out justice to Cillian, taking his ability to walk, preventing him from ever having sex again, but I don’t believe in karma or the divine judgement of the universe. My mother believed in God and all the saints of the Catholic church. She chose to see the hand of divinity in her everyday life, attributing even the smallest coincidences and mishaps as the pleasure or disapproval of her almighty maker.
I don’t know if God exists. What I do know is this: if we were created by some higher power, and thereissome sort of balance to be answered to for our actions, we sure as fuck aren’t asked to answer for our sins in this life. Good people die horrific deaths, while the evilest creatures imaginable walk around with the sun on their faces, fortune favoring them at every turn.
This life is chaos. Every path, action, decision, and consequence is a crap shoot, and there’s no one watching over us, stacking the deck, tweaking our outcomes, guiding the course of our lives one way or another. Call me callous. Call me wretched. Call me whatever the fuck you want to call me. It doesn’t matter. I won’t be relying on omnipotent deities, faeries, divine spirits, yin, yang or the ever-expanding universe to teach the bastards who hurt Silver that there will be consequences for what they did to Silver. No, one way or another I’m gonna take care of this one personally.
Statistics passes in a blur. The bell for lunch buzzes, and everyone charges for the cafeteria. I’m about to make my own way to the library—Ha! Me, in a fucking library!—where Silver and I have been meeting up for lunch every day, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
SILVER: Music room. Five minutes?
Huh. Looks like she’s after a change of scenery today. A strange choice of location, though. I change course, going against the flow of bodies that are all heading in the same direction toward the cafeteria, a salmon swimming against the current. It isn’t difficult to push my way through. The crowd parts for me like the red sea, students hugging the walls, tripping over each other to get out of my way as I beeline for the stairway that leads up to the music rooms.
When I was first sentenced to finish out my high school career here in Raleigh, the other kids looked at me like I was a curiosity. A mystery box wrapped up in leather an ink, and they weren’t entirely sure what was inside. A couple of people poked and prodded at the box, shaking it to see if they could guess at what it contained, but all of that changed after the shooting. Now, people seemed to have decided that I am, in actual fact,Pandora’sbox, and I should be left well alone at all costs lest I bring about the end of the fucking world.
Again.
Hah. Fucking. Hah.
I take the stairs three at a time. Having long legs is a blessing. Inside the music room, Silver sits by the window with a guitar on her lap, playing a slow, melancholy tune as she stares out of the glass at the white world beyond. I look at her and every single thought that was rushing around my head a second ago fades to black.
She’s bathed in cold winter sun, the profile of her face outlined in brilliant white. From this angle, the light’s refracted through the lens of her eye, picking out and illuminating only the faintest hint of blue. Stands of her hair catch at the light, glowing like fine filaments of gold around her head. The sight of her like that, playing so absently, fingers moving up and down the neck of the guitar, telling their sad story, the collar of her plain grey t-shirt hanging loose, exposing her shoulder…god, it makes my chest ache. I’m still getting used to feeling like this about another person. Love has been a stranger to me since I was six-years-old, and now it’s swept into my world like a goddamn hurricane, blowing the doors off my sanity and upending everything I thought I ever knew.
“You planning on just standing there, or are you gonna come play with me?” Silver asks softly. So much for her not realizing I’d arrived. I master a stern expression as I enter the music room properly, coming to a halt in front of the instruments, making a show of picking out the perfect one. Silver laughs quietly under her breath, her fingers still plucking at the strings of the guitar she chose for herself; she left her own at home today.
With a flourish, I take the oldest, most battered looking guitar from the wall, brandishing it like a trophy as I pull up a stool opposite Silver.
“Interesting choice,” she observes.
I test the strings, correcting their tuning one at a time. When I’m happy that it’s ready, I allow myself a tiny smile. “Old guitars are the best. The wood’s warm. It’s done all its shifting and warping. Old guitars like this have absorbed a lot of music. They always carry the sweetest notes.”
It sounds stupid, but Silver doesn’t laugh. She cants her head to one side, her eyes narrowed, like she’s seeing the instrument for the first time. “Show me,” she says.
My turn to laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Your wish is my command.”
* * *
SILVER
They say music runs in families, in your blood, but I don’t know if that’s particularly true. I’m the only musical person in my family. Dad waxes lyrical about playing the drums in a band with his friends in high school, but I’ve seen the man tap out a rhythm against his desk and trust me…I thinkhemight have been the reason the band broke up their senior year.
