How would you describe fear?

The last time I felt fear...

It killed me.

"Welcome to your tape, Darkstalker Smith"

"Do you visit her grave?"

Deathbringer chewed his food before turning. Tsunami stared at the person behind him in disbelief, and silence overwhelmed the lunch table. The only person that didn't seem to mind was Clay.

Kestrel.

"I do," he replied blankly.

Kestrel scowled, but then, it was probably her normal face. "I need you to say something to her."

When Deathbringer looked at his friends, they all seemed surprised. "What can you possibly say to her?" He said coolly.

Kestrel flinched. "A lot of things." She glared at him, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

He leaned forward in interest. "Really? Tell me one."

"Tell her I'm sorry, " She said bravely, meeting his eyes with determination. For a moment, he admired her for her courage. "Tell her I'm never going to punch anyone ever again. Never." She inhaled deeply. "Tell her she made a good character in the play. Tell her...Tell her I miss her." She then pressed her lips together and turned away without waiting for an answer.

He replied too late: "I will."

Deathbringer felt his heart thump loudly. The tapes are changing everything.

The next in line was Kestrel's sister, Peril Goldenberg.

The proud, rich Goldenberg sisters. Powerful people in the school. One strikingly beautiful, one extremely powerful. And they were all overlooking their reputation for one girl.

For Glory Bright.

The girl who committed suicide.

Peril gave Deathbringer a small smile. She stared at Riptide's sandwich, wetting her lips. Then she bowed her head and stared at her shoes, looking uncomfortable. "I want to say something to someone in this table."

Tsunami seemed to bristle next to him, but he motioned her to calm down. Sunny raised a calm eyebrow.

"Go ahead," he said softly.

Peril didn't reply for a long time. Then she clenched her fists. "Clay, I have something to say to you. Actually, I want to thank you. Thanks for standing up for me when I made the big fire in kindergarten. Thanks for talking to me when nobody else did."

Deathbringer blinked, surprised. He didn't even remember what happened in kindergarten. That seemed centuries ago.

"I...I admire you a lot," Peril stammered. " you're nice, and all. "

Clay stared at her blankly, he mouth open but no sound coming out.

Peril breathed in deeply.

"I like you, Clay."

I wanted to prove to Deathbringer, to my friends, that I could get along fine without them.

Stupid? Heck, yes. Predictable? Yes.

So when you, Darkstalker Smith, asked me out, I said yes.

You were quite handsome. Sharp features. Elegant eyes. Amused smile. Neat black hair.

That time, I didn't know you had eyes on my money and my money only.

That time, I didn't even imagine you knew about my parents. I never told anyone, not even my friends.

My parents were business owners. Quite rich. But the money didn't roll in until I was eighteen. That was the rule.

Probably a few million dollars, or more. I didn't remember my parents well. I wish I could.

I guess my tongue slipped when I was near you. You had that sort of effect on people, I guess. You soothed them until they told you what you wanted to know. Needed to know.

I didn't think about your background much. I knew your father had died years ago.

Hm, I wonder why.

Your sister was mentally ill. Everyone knew that. Your mother abandoned both of you when you were little kids. Your ex-girlfriend Clearsight Everfrost had moved away to a different country.

I guess I just assumed you understood me better than anyone else. We were both a wreck. Both of us had no parents. We had issues with life.

In a few months, it felt natural. Natural to share secrets with you. To love you. To kiss you. To let you control me and do anything you wanted to me.

I give you credit, Darkstalker, you were an amazing listener. You never got tired of my crying. You never got irritated with me. You just sympathized with me, with my life, with my situation.

But, you know. Satan used to be an Angel. Or so I hear.

It never crossed my mind you never told me your secrets. It never crossed my mind how your eyes glimmered dangerously whenever you caught my eye. It never crossed my mind how our kisses became more calculating, more forceful, more horrifying.

Inside the perfect, handsome boy, there was a monster.

One day, you told me to meet you at a club. I tried to refuse, but you wouldn't take no for an answer. You snapped at me. You growled at me. You even threatened me.

I suddenly realized right then and there how powerful you were. How many things you knew about me. How horrifying you have become.

I came. You bought me a drink, and when I didn't drink it, you grabbed me and forced it down my throat. People laughed. They pointed. You laughed too. At how weak I was. How stupid.

You smiled in amusement as I sputtered for air. You forced more alcohol down my throat. I begged you to stop. I was scared.

You didn't stop.

I drank and drank and drank until I puked. My mind was foggy. You just watched me with narrowed, calculating eyes, lighting up a cigarette and breathing the smoke in.

It disgusted me. That moment, everything about you disgusted me. And you still do.

"Stop!" I screamed at you. Anger blinded my common sense. I did what was expected in this sort of situation: I pulled my hand back and slapped you across the face.

You hissed, and anger erupted in your eyes. "Hey, pretty girl," you whispered as you pulled me close to you. It made me sick. You then wrapped your hands around my throat.

You were a murderer. A monster. A killer.

My eyes widened. I was truly afraid. Afraid for my life.

You nodded at the crowd, and a few men came to us and grabbed my arm. I screamed, and they covered my mouth with rough hands.

You sat down, running your hands through your dark hair. "Sign this," you said softly, dangerously. You handed me a paper.

My eyes skipped over the words. My hands trembled as you handed me a pen, smiling.

"You will give your fortune to me," you said calmly, like we were discussing the weather. "It's fairly simple. You sign it, you live. You don't, we slit your pretty throat. " You flashed me a wolfish grin. "Surely you can spare some coins for your sweetheart?"

I searched my mind for words. In the corner of my eye I saw a knife, and that ended my silent debate.

"I'll s-sign it!" I sobbed. I grabbed the pen and wrote my name on it shakily, hiccuping.

You tapped your finger on the table and snatched the paper away from me. "If anyone asks, you weren't here tonight." You gave me a charming grin and nodded at your friends.

They dragged me out of the club, and I ran away from you. I didn't call the police. I didn't tell anyone.

That made me even more afraid. Afraid you would kill me. Afraid you would spill my secrets.

Fear.

Depression with fear isn't a pretty sight, folks.

Because then you get insane.

I had nightmares. I stayed awake at night, shuddering. Crying. Cutting.

But don't worry, dear Darkstalker.

I never told anyone. and if someone happened to ask me where I was that night, my answer was fairly simple:

"Hell."