A Cruel Streak

Summary:
AU. While other girls have to deal with the ordinary issues of puberty, Lisa Reisert tries to survive the daily cruelties of the senior student Jackson Rippner. But when an unforeseen atrocity rips through the lives of both of them, they have to realize that even hate has limits.

Disclaimer: "Red Eye" and its characters belong to Wes Craven (or to Dreamworks or whatever, just not to me)

Part 1: Pain

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First Chapter

„Are you sure you don't want to go to the dance with me?" Jackson Rippner's smug voice scoffed at me.

My hands tightened around the chemistry book I was holding and I dared not to turn around, my eyes blindly staring into the dark inside space of my locker. I knew he saw how the muscles in my shoulder tensed and gave away my anxiety.

"Because no one else is gonna ask you, you know?"

I bit the inside of my cheek as I heard the peals of laughter of other senior students and took my scribbling pad, ignoring his words. He was right, I knew it. Painfully so. No boy would every toss a second glance my way, not when they could instead look at those full bosomed girls in form-fitting tops and bold skirts that whipped around their perfectly tanned thighs.

I on the other hand was pale and delicate and rather wore causal jeans and t-shirts than showing my femininity. Not that someone would care. I was sure that even in a more showy outfit, people would easily oversee me. I was too ordinary, too boring, too colorless.

No boy wanted to go to the school dance with me. Least of all Jackson Rippner. His words were only to humiliate me.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've already been asked to the dance" I lied calmly and turned around, clutching my scribbling pad to my body like a protective shield.

In the backround some of Jackson's friends raised their eyebrows or shot quick glances at each other and I could see that they were all thinking the same. "Yeah right"

My eyes flickered back to Jackson's and I forced myself not to flinch under his icy glare. He had the bluest eyes I had every seen. For many girls, they were the most breathtaking thing in the world, but for me they were just the cruelest.

"You're lying, Lisa" He stated and I could see that there was not a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. And he wanted me to know that. Jackson wasn't easily readable. Others only saw what he wanted them to see. If he decided to appear incapable of emotion then no one was able to interpret the closed expression in his eyes.

"I'm not!" I hissed lamely and thunked the door of my locker shut. Unlike him, I was very readable. Predictable too, maybe.

An arrogant smirk tugged at the corners of his full lips and he came closer, forcing me to press my back against the locker to avoid any body contact.

"Yes, you are" He whispered dangerously and despite the smirk on his lips I could hear his anger clearly. "And I don't like it when people lie to me!"

Under any other circumstances I might have laughed at his ridiculous words, but right now they sounded like a real thread. Escaping my conscious will, goose bumps erupted all over the skin of my arms and I quickly lifted my hands to my forearms to cover the little hairs standing up. No need to show Rippner that I was startled.

"Go out of my way!" I warned and shuffled a bit to the left to put some space between us, but he followed my movements.

"Say that you're sorry!" He demanded and the group of people behind him roared with laughter.

"Fuck you!" I spat and tried to move past him, but he took my shoulders and slammed me back into the locker. It didn't hurt but my eyes widened in shock.

"What's wrong, red?" He asked and tugged at one of my auburn curls, creating just the slightest pull on my scalp and I shivered at the use of the hated nickname he had given me once. Weeks, no month ago. In the beginning.

"Get out of the way, Ripper!" I replied, using the equally hated nickname I had created for him and finally managed to slip past him. Jackson Rippner. Jack the Ripper. Not very nice of his parents.

I tried hard to appear unimpressed, bored even, as I walked away, but Jackson's taunting comments, followed by the guffaw of his friends, made me increase the speed of my steps.

Someone bumped into me and I dropped my scribbling pad. Being forced to pick it up off the floor under Jackson's merciless eyes was the worst thing that could happen to me this day. Why wouldn't god concede some dignity to me?

Bending down I hastily grabbed the scribbling pad and straightened again, glad to be at everyone's eye level again. This way I was equal with the others, if only physically.

The corridor seemed longer than usually and the uninvolved eyes of students that had witnessed my encounter, followed me until I rounded the corner and paused, pressing my back against the wall like I pressed the scribbling pad against my chest. A shield in the back and the front.

Not enough, yet.

I felt my eyes burning with tears, but I didn't allow myself to cry. Every day the same torture.

Whatever I did to try to avoid him, nothing seemed to help. He was always right there, surrounded by a gaggle of friends, all ready to make sure my life was a living hell.

My vision blurred and I flew to the toilet, shutting myself in in one of the dirty cabins before somebody could see my cry. I hated this guy. I hated him.

I wished I had never met him. From day one he had been nothing but cruel, despiteous and ruthless.

It happened on a sunny summer day, about 14 month ago. It was unnaturally hot that day and the airy shirt I wore already stuck to my skin, only downgrading my mood even more. I didn't like hot days, when all the girls wore particularly short skirts, showing even more skin than usually and popular pool party invitations worked a circuit each weekend, from which I never got one. I preferred the cold. When I could hide my self-consciousness behind thick, warm clothes.

Walls of fabric between me and the outside world. Save.

But back then the temperature left me absolutely no opportunity to hide my body with the excuse of coldness. And that was awful.

The only thing that cheered me up a bit was the ice-cold moccha from Starbucks I had bought during my free period. The cool plastic chilled my heated skin and I could almost taste the rich fluid running down my dry throat already. But I resisted the urge to down the whole thing right now and kept the drink for later. My next class maybe. Or the lunch break. Or...

I was immediately ripped out of my thoughts as a heavy weight crashed into me nearly knocking me over and making me fall down the stairs. The sweet flavor of chocolate filled my nostrils and I felt the contents of my Starbucks cup drench my shirt and run down my neckline.

"Watch were you're going!" I exclaimed angrily and looked up at the culprit, who was busy with wiping away what little bit Moccha he had gotten onto his shirt, rather than offering an excuse to me.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, idiot!" I groused, glad to be able to vent my pleen on someone. Surprised, the guy looked up and for a moment I was shocked at how handsome he was. Sharp, masculine facial features, soft, full lips and the bluest eyes I had ever seen.

But still. He had ruined my Starbucks ice cool-down session. And I was expecting an apology

The guy however was not aware of any guilt and his beautiful eyes quickly narrowed to an icy stare. Now I noticed four other guys behind him, all staring at me with big, disbelieving eyes. His friends, obviously.

"You ran into me!" I explained angrily, not impressed by the dark look he was giving me.

"Oh really?" He said sarcastically and shot a quick glance at my completely ruined - and wet... oh geez... - shirt, before I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Well, I'm sorry, sweetness" He continued and I saw an ambiguous smile playing around his lips. Behind him, one of his friends nudged the guy next to him and whispered something in his ear. The guy laughed.

I couldn't believe that he had the nerve to call me a pet name. Right now not only his arrogance but also his ignorance to my obvious discomfort evoked a rebellious anger within me. This guy was no difference from the sport jerks of my year that everyone seemed to love.

"Listen, you jerk!" I began and he raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by my boldness. "Either you give me two dollars for the lost drink or you buy me a new one!" I demanded and the second those words left my lips, I knew it was a mistake.

I knew this sort of guys. They didn't like it when someone else told them what to do. Especially not a girl.

„And what if not?" He asked, his eyes daring me to be cheeky. He somehow intimidated me by this. Like he was trying to control me.

„Just get out of my way" I said, realizing that this conversation was reaching a ridiculous extent for a spilled drink.

But Ice-eye guy seemed to take a shine to arguing with me, because he made no attempt to follow my order. Well, maybe he was just looking for trouble.

„Hmm. Red's got a temper" He called over his shoulder to his friends, eying my hair colour. My eyebrows raised at the nickname. I felt offended somehow.

„Just shut up, you moron" I hissed and turned away from him, since he was still blocking my way, but the short moment I was still looking at him was enough for me to see the anger in his eyes.

I shivered. What a creep.

„Come on, Jackson, let's go back to class" I heard one of his friends say.

„Sure" Jackson replied and I believed to detect a hint of dissatisfaction under his nonchalance. I bit my lower lip, because knowing this sort of guys, I knew he would just need to have the final say.

And while I was ready for his words, the threatening undertone hit me harder than their actual meaning.

„We'll talk again."

So here it is, friends. The first chapter. I hope it piqued your interest, so let me know what you think.

.K