...I am aware I have quoted Voldemort in my summary. I googled a lot of quotes about power and this was the one that fit, ok? My quoting of Voldemort does not mean I agree with his philosophies.
Thanks to my long suffering beta Crazybeagle.
She also told me I should label the POV, I don't think I need to so I casually ignored her, but please do let me know if it's confusing and I might actually listen.
xxx
The room is sweltering, crammed with so many sticky, sweaty bodies that she can barely move. The stench of alcohol and weed assaults her nostrils, and she's sure somewhere in the corner there's the reek of vomit. But that's ok. It distracts from the taste of semen that she can't seem to wash out of her mouth.
She takes another gulp of her vodka cranberry and pulls herself together. She's still a Junior and she's here, at a college house party with drinking games and drugs and no having to sneak what they're going to do past parents.
When she tells the tale on Monday she'll cut out anything unpleasant about it. Everyone will crowd around her and gush about how lucky she is and at prom she'll have a college boy on her arm. God, she can see the rest of the girls turning green already while the boys moan about how they can't have her.
It's worth it. All of this is worth it.
Through the haze of smoke she can make out a figure walking towards her. As he comes closer she recognises him as David's friend, the one she set Veronica up with… Bert? Brian? Ah, Brad.
"What the fuck is wrong with your friend?" he shouts over the repetitive music. "Little bitch wouldn't do anything."
She rolls her eyes. She thought she'd given Veronica enough warning to not screw things up. "Don't worry, I'll sort her out," she tells him, before storming off to find her.
Brad's a creep. Obviously. David is, too. And part of her cheers Veronica on for denying giving the jerks what they wanted, but that's not how it works. She's not going to be labelled a prude and certainly not a prude by association.
Veronica has a lot to learn.
Sometimes you have to suffer for beauty.
It's not that hard, really: hang with the right crowd, push the wrong people away and do the odd sexual favour to get your way, make the right moves and they'll all be eating out of your hand.
Do the right thing, and everyone will want to be or want to be with you. And really, what more can you want out of life than that?
xxx
"That pudwapper just stepped on my foot," say Kurt, looking as bewildered at this affront to his well-deserved respect as he is angry.
His answer is instantaneous, "Let's kick his ass."
He's already halfway off before Kurt grabs his arm, "Cool it off, we're seniors."
Kurt's right, anyway it's a funeral – fighting back will definitely mess up his suit. He retreats, settling for just a shout of, "Goddam geek!"
Said geek turns, gives him the finger and cusses at him.
Any suggestion of leaving it be is instantly gone.
"That little prick." mutters Kurt as they race over to put him in his place.
The nerve of it really, he's the best line-backer on the team and dating the hottest girl in school, nerds should be falling at their feet if they even dare to get that close. They shouldn't be talking to him, never mind insulting him.
It's no time at all before the loser is begging for mercy and outed as the fag that he is. The nerd slinks off, thoroughly put in his place, as the other students laugh. He and Kurt fist-bump, another easy victory. The world is back to right.
For now at least.
Kurt's right, they are seniors, this can't go on forever. There's only a few months until graduation and then school will be done and they'll be out on their own. As much fun as the Remington guys have, he knows they'll never be able to join them. With pitiful grades and a football talent only impressive in a town as tiny as Sherwood, there's no chance they'll get to college. In a year's time they'll have to be toadying up to their dads' friends to see if they can find work, or disappoint their parents in some minimum wage job at a gas station.
And maybe one day they'll even realise that hitting people who get in your way gets you nothing but jail time in the adult word.
But for now they're seniors and the manliest men in the school, so if nerds are challenging you, you have no choice but to protect your reputation. Anyway, it's always satisfying to see the crowds surround you and cheer you on even as your victim is fighting back tears.
They'll have to grow up one day, but for now life is good.
xxx
People have been staring at her all day.
It's thrilling.
Heather is barely in the ground and already she's been invited to four (four!) house parties.
They used to ask Heather, but Heather's gone, and now it's her, her, her that everyone looks up to. Her that everyone wants to sit next to in the lunch hall, to her that everyone spills the juiciest gossip.
She's the centre of attention and it's fucking fantastic.
Heather used to tell her no one really cared about her, that they only tolerated her because of who she hung out with, that no one actually liked someone so pudgy. Well maybe, Heather, if you cared less about me eating cake and more about not drinking Drano then you would still be here.
She looks at herself in her dresser mirror, admires her high defined cheekbones and rose red cheeks and tries not to look too giddy. She practices a charming smile, a smirk, a disdainful look. Perfect. She's perfect. Everything's perfect. She just needs to keep it that way.
Heather's David gives her a call, he wants to hang and talk about their loss. To fuck, obviously. She's always thought he was a bit of a douche, really, but he's hot and older and he wants her. If she plays her cards right she'll be able to say she has a boyfriend in college, so there's not really even a question of saying no.
She brushes her hair, applies another layer of makeup puts on a deep red dress because no one is going to stop her.
She always was prettier than Heather anyway.
xxx
The gunshot is still ringing in his ears as he runs. He hurtles through the undergrowth, pushing branches aside, bare feet stinging as they press down on the roughage of the forest floor. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except getting away.
He can run fast. He's an athlete; running is the only thing he's really good at. But still the sound of footsteps are far too close behind him, and it's hard to find the right path when the only place you want to be is the fuck away, and suddenly he finds himself back in the clearing.
Shit.
Ram lies sprawled on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Veronica is kneeling beside him, gun still in her hand. And it's like some freaky nightmare, but even though it makes no sense, it feels too real, horrifically real.
"Now." commands the voice behind him, and all he can think is that he's never going home, he left before dawn and didn't say goodbye to anyone. He won't graduate with his friends, his parents will never see him get a job and be proud of him, his little sister will grow up without a brother…
Veronica's eyes are wide, and for a second she looks almost as freaked out as him. But then it's gone, and her face screws up in concentration as she squeezes the trigger.
In the last moment of his life it strikes him how unfair this is. This is not something that is supposed to happen to him. He's the star quarterback, people cheer him on just for appearing on the field, nerds scarper when he goes near them, hot girls suck him off when he demands it and everyone invites him to their house parties or they'll regret it the next day. When it comes to Westerberg, no one is more important than him.
None of this stops the bullet from sinking into his chest.
xxx
She knows the route off by heart but it still feels odd going up to the door, as if an invisible barrier has formed between them in the past year. But, before she's even managed an "It's good to see you," Veronica has pulled her into a bear hug.
When Veronica finally lets go, she places her hands on her shoulders and smiles, "It's been too long, I'm so glad to see you."
Her smile is infectious, "Me too."
They converse for a few minutes, avoiding current topics and focusing on shared memories.
Eventually she feels like she has to ask, "So how are you? Obviously it's been a tough week, but I notice you've got something going on with the hot new kid?"
Veronica pulls a face. "Urgh, no, can we talk about anything but him? We are over. So, so over." Her friend has that detached look in her eye, the one she always gets when she's hiding something. Part of her is desperate to ask but she resists and struggles to find another topic to break the silence that has fallen.
Veronica looks around, her eyes settle on the croquet set in the yard. She marches over, grabs the mallets and tells her she's going to teach her how to be an expert player. In an instant it feels just like the old days. When it's just the two of them they don't need to be something they're not, they're just two friends who have known each other so long that they don't need to have anything in common. They are what they have in common.
Once that had been enough.
Back then, they'd never cared, not that much, that they were ignored by the general school population. They'd just observed how nice it would be if boys knew that they existed and that it would be exciting to see what an actual house party was like.
Then one of the Heathers (Duke, she thinks) noticed that their parents seemed to write in to let them off PE lessons a little too often, and thought Veronica's talents could be of use. Well, Veronica had always been beautiful enough to be one of them.
There was certain allure to it, she had to admit, when the Heathers wanted you. Suddenly there were party invites and fashion tips and no more snide comments in the corridor. In a matter of weeks, Veronica was no longer sitting next to her in a corner of the cafeteria. Instead she sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by hot guys laughing at her jokes and the rest of the student body looking at her in awe.
It occurs to her that Veronica doesn't seem any happier now. If anything, there's a slightly wild look in her eyes, that only softens when they talk about the old times.
They're just finishing the game when the two remaining Heathers come into the yard.
Veronica looks up, her face doesn't break into a smile. There are no bear hugs for them. Heather Duke doesn't seem to notice as she strides up to Veronica, barely sparing Betty a glance.
Betty excuses herself quickly.
Veronica goes with them anyway.
xxx
Her parents are shouting at each other again. This happens whenever they're near each other. Whenever they think she isn't listening. It's normally about her.
She slumps onto the bed, wraps her pillow around her ears to drown them out, but that only means she now has nothing to distract her from remembering how badly she screwed up her cheerleading routine this afternoon. No one said anything of course, no one would dare. But the stares were more hostile than they would have been a month ago.
She wants to talk. She wants someone to listen and understand and to tell her everything is going to be ok. But Veronica has become distracted and distant since Kurt and Ram died, and Heather hates her now and she doesn't know why.
Anyway, she wants someone who wouldn't judge her when she's not at her very best, and she's never had anyone like that.
There was always a place for her when she was part of the Heathers, when she was Ram's girlfriend. It was easy to drown out any doubts when the most popular people in school wanted to be your friend. But with Heather Chandler dead, Heather Duke hating her, and Ram apparently never wanting her at all (and to top it off, dead), she doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere.
Heather couldn't cope with this world, and no one really knew why. But she understands. Sometimes putting on this face in the morning is just too much. Sometimes it just doesn't seem worth it to put on a fake smile for her fake friends all day and then go home and pretend to love the parents who pretend to love her. And now she doesn't even have that. She doesn't have anyone.
If she just disappeared would she even be missed?
xxx
"Greetings and salutations."
She jumps, nearly falling off the chair she's only just clambered back onto.
He grabs her arm to steady her. "Did I surprise you? I just wanted to say hi."
He's an outsider like her, she supposes, when she thinks of a reason why he's come to talk. He'd had something going on with Veronica, but she's seems to be keeping her distance the last few days so he's probably as lonely as she is.
She's always been painfully shy but he's persistent. He talks to her like she's human, like he values what she's saying, it's been a while since someone's done that – even the teachers brush over her nowadays.
His smile is gentle and oddly enticing.
"We used to be best friends once, you know, Heather Duke and I."
He raises his eyebrows, interested, "Really?"
She hesitates for a moment or two. She's never admitted to anyone she still carries these around, but it's been so long that she's had even a semblance of a friend and it feel so good to share something. She gets out the photos.
"Here, this was us when we were little."
He takes them from her, sorts through them silently for a long time, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he says, carefully, "You know, I think I could help you. I could talk to her, show her these, remind her. I'm sure there's still something there."
Her face breaks into a smile, it's been so long it feels unfamiliar. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
He shrugs, quickly putting the photos in his bag, "Sure. Anything to make this world slightly less shit."
For a second she sees something in his gaze that she doesn't like. That, even after years of being bullied, terrifies her in a way that nothing else has. But then it's gone as suddenly as it appears, and he smiles at her again, thanks her and leaves.
It takes her precisely 3 days to realise her mistake.
Heather Duke comes storming up to her, and slams her against the lockers with all the force of the strongest jock. "You dumb cunt. Why did you give that weirdo those photos? Are you trying to ruin my life?"
She looks at the ground to hide the tears in her eyes, "He just wanted to see if we could be friends again."
Heather laughs humourlessly. "You really are stupid! He doesn't care about you. He was using them to blackmail me. Listen, I only tolerated you when we were kids because my mom would freak out if I didn't. If you ever tell anyone about this again I will make your pathetic life even more unbearable." And she's gone in an instant.
Crumpled in a heap on the floor, just staring at where Heather had been, she's not sure how that would be possible.
She sees him in the corridor after Math, summons up whatever's left of her courage and corners him.
"You lied about Heather. You used me!"
His grin is sadistic and for an instant he could be Heather Chandler returned from the grave. "The world is always going to use people like you, darling. If you're not strong enough to change it, you may as well just leave."
He looks like he quite likes the idea of his second option.
Unfortunately, so does she.
xxx
It's not so much the murder gives him the rush. True, it's part of it; watching the light disappear from the eyes of the assholes who think that they can do anything, exposing them for the mortals they really are, knowing he has decided their fate, feels like what he's like put on this Earth to do. But the real thrill is getting away with it. The school is in chaos, idols toppled, teachers scrambling to retain their illusion of authority, and it's all down to him. All these people who think they're in control fall instantly to the ground when the puppet master cuts their strings, their foolish opinions gone, forever remembered by words they never would have said.
And no one even knows, not one guilty finger is pointed at him, even though everything is going exactly the way he wants.
Everyone is struggling, everyone is fighting for power. And yet here he is, controlling it all, watching them run around and squeal like pigs, without them even knowing. It's better than it's ever been before, even better than the chaos the other schools were in when he left them still struggling to pick up the pieces. Everyone who challenged him, who tried to steal what is his is gone, or soon to be.
Or, nearly everyone…
There's one more, of course. Beautiful, intelligent, popular – poised to be a leader as soon as there was a slight tremor in the social structure. He's got her best of all: scared, trapped, back by his side any day now because she's convinced it's all her fault.
His.
It's almost a shame that all his hard work has been wasted on people who will soon be ashes.
In his mind, he's already far beyond controlling just the school, soon he will turn his focus to the country, the world…
The boy who watched his mother in the toppling building is long dead. The next time the world burns-and it won't be long now- it will be him lighting the flames. Him watching the idiots who stick by society's norms flounder in panic.
Then it will be him, only him, who is in control.
xxx
They were all playing the same game, she was just too stupid and naive to realise. It's not about teaching people real life or rebellion or about making the school a better place. It's about power. It's about climbing the ladder until you are at the top, where everyone worships you and no one can tell you what you're doing is wrong, no matter how much they secretly hate you.
He wants the same thing, really, to revel in the power, to squash anyone who challenges it. The only difference is that he skips the step of driving people to kill themselves and just does it for them.
Then there's her. Attracted to the powerful like a moth to a flame, never realising that when she got too close it would burn her. They were using her, whether it was for her forgery, her looks, or her body. And she had let them, not ever thinking how much it would cost her soul.
She thought he was different, thought something new was happening that night when she threw up on Heather and let him slither through her window and seduce her. Back then, she somehow thought they were above all the petty games high school children play, able to see something greater in the world.
Yet here she is again, sitting in her room, watching the clock as the seconds tick towards her death- this time more literally than before. If she runs, he'll be waiting for her; if she tells she'll be on death row herself, and if she screams… well, he's just proven he's not above using her parents as leverage.
Every move she has made so far has been playing right into his hands. She's sure he thinks he has her cornered. As far as he's concerned, her death warrant has been signed; even if she agrees to what he wants today (and it will be murder, it's always fucking murder with him), it's only a matter of time before she annoys him more than she entertains him.
But she still has some fight left in her, he's played all of his cards – she knows what he is, what he wants – but he doesn't know what she's capable of. If she's able to work out the right words, looks and shades of lip-gloss to make the entire school think she's very, how hard can it be to outwit one lone psychopath?
If she can't escape the game, she only has one choice left. She'll have to play.
She'll have to win.
xxx
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