A/N~ In response to Tatertot1104's review, I'm gonna say "It's a problem/solution fic". Roy's issues will eventually be dealt with, same with Conner's and Richard's.

And now for the other half of Roy's chapter, the longest chapter by about 200 words (but it was almost the longest by a thousand words, thus why I split it up). Here we get our first glimpse of Richard, the third main character, and we learn exactly who Terror is (although, if you didn't know who he was to begin with, I feel bad for you).

No more Matt/Match, for now, because this chapter is, like the previous one, from Roy's point of view. In fact, Conner is also conspicuously absent from this chapter (but that's partially because Conner is suspended, and also because Roy only knows who he is because they both know Richard).

{Chapter 3}

[Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011]

~ (Harper) ~

School on Tuesday was hectic. Not even the usual kind of hectic, either, no. It was horrible. I remembered why I had skipped school on Monday almost immediately. Because I was well off and some of the popular chicks wanted Ollie's money for themselves, even though, of course, I wouldn't even have it until the day that Ollie died.

(That's a day that I am really not looking forward to.)

I would say that the popular chicks were plastic and fake, but they were all horrifyingly real. They were too young for me and too young to legally get cosmetic surgery anyway, so I would probably be more surprised if they were plastic. I've met some very plastic women and it was not pretty. These girls, even though I have no more than a passing interest in any of the girls at my school, are beautiful. They're beautiful and they still think that they need money to be happy.

If they could see how the boys fawn over them, perhaps, they'd feel better, but then again, the reason that they're so popular is because the boys fawn over them; I doubt that they could be unaware if they tried.

Even with all of their beauty, I really don't like them.

Why?

Because they're all skanks, the lot of them.

Honestly, I would prefer if they just left me alone, but, in today's society, teenagers need to socialize, which means that I can't just ignore them, blow them off and walk away. Which sucks, by the way, because I would absolutely love to just walk off and not listen to a word that comes out of one of their devil painted mouths.

But, whatever.

C'est la vie, I guess or, at least, such is my life.

~ (Harper) ~

"Hey, Roy," I looked up when I heard my name called.

The owner of the voice was young.

Younger than me.

Too young to be associating with me.

He had black hair and dark blue eyes, and he was young. He was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and he was short, the shortest of what we used to jokingly call "young justice", our little band of kids that defended those who needed protecting.

(What a fucking joke.)

"Hey, Dick," I replied, lifting my head off of the table and ignoring the ache across my back. He plopped down into the seat next to me, far more serious than he usually was.

I rolled my eyes and looked at him, sighing a bit.

"You should stop making that face or it's gonna get stuck that way, kid," I comment, looking away from him and leaning back a bit, my hands buried in my pockets. "Why so serious, anyway? You act like somebody got shot, or something."

He pointed to the jock table, or, more specifically, to a person sitting there. It was a guy- a really muscular guy -with a plaster across his nose. There were also dark purple crescents on the edges of his eye sockets. Something about that reminded me of something….

…oh. So, that's how it was.

He had gotten into a fight. From the plaster, I bet he got his nose broken. Somebody at this school did about twenty freshmen a favor, yesterday.

"What happened to Terror?" I asked, staring at him. I turned my gaze back to the kid in front of me, raising an eyebrow.

"Conner," the kid said, not cracking even the smallest of smiles, which was weird for him.

"….so, Conner happened?" I just stared at him, blue meeting blue.

"Terror started a fight, and Conner finished it. He got suspended, yesterday."

Huh. "When's he coming back?" I sounded like I didn't care. I sounded like I could hardly be bothered to give a damn that my blood brother's best friend was out of school, which made sense because I really don't care. I could give a fuck whether he ever came back, and it scared me.

(I need to stop.)

"He's out for a few days; he'll be back by Monday," Dick piped up. He was grinning earnestly.

"If you say so, Dick. You should keep an eye on Terror, just the same; he's not the type to take something like getting the blond beat out of him lying down."

~ (Harper) ~

I ended up going home early, making up some not-quite-bullshit story about feeling like I was going to puke. I couldn't take any more school.

(Maybe I should just drop out.)

No. I'm so close.

Just a few more months, and then I'll be out. I'll be free. There are just a few months until I get that diploma and get out of Star City.

The only question is where I would go.

~ (Harper) ~

I stared blankly at the flashing light of my cellphone, surveying my surroundings without moving. I was in the living room (the stupidly lavish and annoyingly expensive living room) and not in my bedroom, on the couch, not in bed.

(Well, that explains my neck hurting, I suppose.)

I shifted my position and sat up, staring down at my phone for a few moments more before picking it up and turning it on. I had three voice messages, one from Dick, one from Dinah, and one from….

That's not good; I may know the guy, but I don't just give out my phone number. How the hell did he even get my number?

A long drawn-out yawn escaped my throat, and I checked the messages.

"Roy, it's Dick, here." The voice was cheerful, but almost forced in its cheer. "So, hey, what's up dude? I haven't heard from you in a while…" He trailed off a bit. "Call me, Roy. Please. Something's bothering you, and I don't like it. Just talk to me, you anti-social jerk."

Fifteen seconds. If I had picked up the phone, he would've given me the third degree and I wouldn't have gotten off the phone for an hour.

"Hi, Roy, it's Dinah. I…." The voice was hesitant and feminine. "…really need to talk to you. Call me back when you get this message."

Eight seconds. With all the things that could be said about Dinah, let it never be said that she was one to belabor a point or use more words than necessary to get the point across.

(Belaboring a point was Dick's job.)

"Hello, Mr. Harper." There was a short, rather awkward pause. The voice was masculine, and very dignified; if I couldn't hear the accent and was just reading a transcript, I would've imagined the words being spoken in an English accent. "I'm just calling to inform you that I have need of your services. Respond as soon as you get this message, if you value your paycheck."

I sighed softly.

(Leave it to Lex to threaten my income in a twelve second long message on my answering machine.)

I carefully dialed the number that I'd called from payphones, Ollie's phone, Ollie's house phone, and Dick's phone, my hands shaking a bit as I tap out the memorized digits. Pressing call and waiting as it rang was probably the most annoying wait I'd ever had the displeasure of participating in.

"Luthor," said the voice on the other end of the line. I released a breath that I hadn't known I had been holding.

"This is Roy. Roy Harper, remember?" I said, acutely aware that my whole body was shaking like I had a slight chill. I need another fix, and Lex, as always, has impeccable timing.

"Of course~ How could I forget~?" The timbre of his voice made me uncomfortable, having gone from formal and business-like to casual and almost-not-quite-flirty. "So, are you calling about the Job?"

First things first… "How the hell did you get my phone number?"

"I have well-connected friends, Mr. Harper; it pays to be a CEO," I could practically hear his self-satisfied smirk on his smug voice.

"….ignoring the fact that my number is private, what exactly does this job entail?" I couldn't deny that I needed the money, but I wasn't about to kill or steal from someone. At least, not unless the item in question had been stolen in the first place.

Is it more wrong to steal from a thief than it is to steal in the first place? Or does their possession of it make it okay? If it's theirs to keep after stealing it, I don't know if I can trust this justice system, anymore. Then again, I've never really been on the right side of the law.

(I was born on the wrong side of town, on the wrong side of the law, no matter how I try to delude and lie to myself.)

"Oh, nothing big. I'd just like you to escort me to a charity event," he said smoothly, his voice charismatic in a way that Ollie's never would be (because Ollie is too good for that).

"….as what, a literal escort? You may be rich, but even you wouldn't throw your money away by hiring me as an actual escort," I said with a deadpan that was audible in my voice.

"Oh, no, no."

"What then?"

"As a date, I suppose. I would pay you double the usual price, merely because I know for a fact that the day of this charity event isn't a Wednesday or Friday."

I was at a loss for words. I actually didn't speak for two full minutes.

"Harper? Harper, did you hear me?"

"…..it sounded like you just asked me out, but that's a no, given that you're forty-something and I'm eighteen, and that would squick people out."

"Don't flatter yourself, Harper. I simply need to be seen with one of Star City's Elite, which would leave either you or Queen, and, last I checked, Queen is married."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "You say not to flatter myself when you're the one paying me fifteen-hundred bucks per session; I'd say that I'm pretty attractive, given that I quit my job and can still afford my habit with just what I make on the side."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "So?"

"So, what?"

"Will you go with me?"

"You say that like I have a choice. You and I both know that there is no choice; if I don't go with you, you could cut me off, and, if I do go, I'll have to suffer through a night in high society."

"A night in high society will make you cultured."

"It's boring as fuck."

"That's because you aren't cultured yet."

"Yeah, but you're cultured and I'm not sure I want to be cultured with you."

"Just answer the question."

"Alright, I'll go."

~ (Harper) ~

I sighed a bit, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Talking to Lex was tiring, especially when he was asking you to do something. He made it easy to feel like an idiot, because he was a genius and everyone was dumber than him.

He was a selfish jerk, an entitled rich kid, without the kid part. I hated him…. but he paid well, so I had to put up with him.

Double my rate, though…?

(That could get me an extra hit or two… maybe even three, if I can swing it right.)

….I wasn't sure that would be such a good idea.

I got up and staggered blindly to the bathroom, my eyes unfocused enough to where my entire head looked like a plume of bright vibrant orange flame.

After a few minutes standing in the bright light of the bathroom, my eyes began to adjust. I looked the same as always, which was good, I guess. I'd love to be someone else, but, then, who would be me, if I weren't me?

(Who would want to be me? Even I don't want to be me.)

I stared at my reflection for a while, touching my face with the tips of my fingers, trying to figure out when I had gotten those bags under my eyes. Trying to figure out when my eyes had become so unfocused…. Trying to figure out what the heck had happened to the person I used to be… I ran my hand through my hair, sighing a bit.

That person was dead; the person that I used to be died while I was becoming what I am now. I would never be that person again, even though I wanted very dearly to just let go and go back to that. I don't care what others think… but it's impossible.

I'm so close to being a drop-out that I don't even know what I'm doing in school anymore. I want to get out, but I have nowhere to go.

I want to die…

(Maybe I should; no one would mourn for me.)