So. I had a plan;

1. Kill Ryder Daniels painfully

2. Get away with it

It wasn't a detailed plan. But what I did know was that I'd need help. And who would I go to, other than the one person in my life I trust more than even myself? And as a plus side, he may not seem it, but he's just as fucked up in the head as me.

Beck Oliver has been my boyfriend since I was a little snitty 8th grader. We met at the auditions to HA and just clicked. He's my rock. I can't keep a secret from him if I tried. And this one would be a doozy. So, after mechanically pulling out a selection of dresses, blazers, shoes and jewellery and taking them down to the Vega's, I left to give them privacy.

Taking the diary with me.

Now, I didn't have any clue what I'd do. My mind was still just a blank. I couldn't really wrap my head around it; that something like that could have happened to Tori. And by Ryder?! The boy who, while I wasn't exactly his closest friend, was someone I trusted at least marginally?! He'd lived next door to me since I was 12. We'd had sleepovers together when our dads were going to adult only parties. When we were old enough to get dragged to them, we snuck off together with champagne. The boy I'd done all that with was no worse than a disgusting, perverted criminal.

I hated him. I still do, even though he's buried 6 feet in the ground with worms eating his eyeballs.

Beck would know what to do, I kept telling myself. I may have been technically smarter than Beck, with a higher IQ and better grades. But Beck was emotionally smart. He was street smart. He'd know what to do. He'd get we couldn't go to the police; there was no fucking evidence minus the diary written by a girl who killed herself. No police report or medical bill. Just the written words of one girl, who didn't even know who it was, against a pretty rich boy who's daddy could sweep it all under the rug. It wouldn't even be a case.

I don't know what was up with me when I got to his RV. Never in the entire four years of us dating, have I knocked on his RV door, other than to slam my hand on it hard when it was locked. But I'd never knocked politely or anything. But here I was, clutching that damn diary like a life vest and knocking blankly on Beck's door.

When he opened the door, he got this split second boyish grin on his face, the same one he always has for a moment or two when he sees me (yeah, I won't lie. It kind of makes my heart speed up a bit but he'll never know) before confusion registers – most likely at me knocking instead of storming inside like I normally do.

"Jay? What's up? How was everything over at Tori-…" He cut himself off. "At the Vega's?"

"Beck...I found something." I told him in a hushed tone, barging past him into the RV and pacing back and forth, staring down at the diary. "When I was looking in her closet I...I found her diary." I rushed the words out, not wanting to drag this whole thing out. "I know Beck. I know why...why she did it."

"What?!" He exclaimed, rushing over to me and leading me to the sofa, pushing my down onto it and kneeling in front of me. "Are you...are you sure?"

"Believe me. Read it." I shoved the diary into his hands, with it open at the first entry after the party. The one in which she confessed to her diary things she'd never been able to confess to her friends or family. I watched as Beck, still kneeling in front of me, paled as he read the diary entry. It was always odd to see Beck go pale under his natural tan. "He sent her video clips Beck. The sick bastard sent her video clips of it." I managed to get out through gritted teeth and when his eyes met mine, I know that my voice had waivered a little, not as strong as I'd like. His eyes shone with concern and worry; rape is a touchy and sensitive subject for anyone, there's no doubting that. But for someone like me? Well, Beck wasn't wrong for looking at me like he was worried I'd have a panic attack.

"OK. OK. We can...we should go to the police right?" Beck suggested, running his hands through his hair.

"There's no point. I know who it is. And this would never even get to court, and if it did, it'd be a sham trial. No witness, no victim, no evidence other than a suicidal teenager. All against the word of her attacker." I shook my head and reached out, gripping his bicep tightly. "It was Ryder, Beck."

"Ryder?!" Beck's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Jade...you know that I hate him and wouldn't ever really come to his defense but...I don't think Ryder would-"

"It was him Beck." I cut him off – Beck hated Ryder, sure, but just like me he probably had a hard time knowing someone we knew could do such a thing. "It adds up. He was at that party. The ring of thorns tattooed on his ribs and the scar above his belly button that Tori remembered? Ryder has both of those things – it was him."

"Fuck." Beck hissed through his teeth, shaking his head and I knew he had realised what I meant when I said 'sham trial'. Ryder would see almost no punishment for his crime. Money and power were quite expert at washing little things like rape aside. It was sickening.

"I want to hurt him Beck. I want him dead for this." I told him, my voice steady and clear. And it was true. He deserved worse than jail, for what he had done. He deserved to rot in the ground for the rest of time, and I'd put him there myself if I had too. And I knew from the look in Beck's eyes, on his face, he did too. I know some part of him feels powerless due to my past – despite the fact it was years before he even knew of my existence, he still feels guilt that he wasn't there for me. That he couldn't help me. And he would want revenge just as much as I did – sure, call it transference if you must. We couldn't physically punish my moms boyfriend, but we could punish Ryder Daniels.

We spent two days straight in his RV, only ever leaving to pick up some take out for dinner and to grab slushies. We curled up on the bed and talked and planned, my body wrapped around his like a damn python – not that he had any complaints about it. And we came up with a, if I do say so myself, ingenious plan. One that would expose him for what he was. It would also mean that we would have no worries or fear about it coming back to haunt us one day if a body was found or something. If we could pull it off, it would be fool proof.

Ryder Daniels was about to become my stalker.

It was easy to get the ball rolling. One party at Ryders house, sans Beck, where I let him put his arm around me – that was the start. I never really let him touch me before, because why would I? He wasn't Beck. But that made him think maybe I was giving him a chance.

Then opening up to him, telling him about how insecure I felt with Beck, how sometimes he scared me with how angry he could get when we were alone – all lies, of course. I felt more secure with Beck than any other person on the planet and he got angry, sure but it never scared me. His anger excited me and we both knew it. But Ryder didn't know that. It planted a seed in his head that I carefully nourished with secretive texts and meetings – Beck couldn't know, he would get angry and not understand why I wanted to see Ryder, talk with Ryder.

It hurt a little, but I even brought Tori up – how upset Beck was over her, how I thought maybe he'd been cheating on me with her before she killed herself. As much as I was overly suspicious of Beck and Tori's friendship, I know there was no cheating. Oh don't get me wrong – if I didn't exist then I have no doubt Beck would have hooked up with Tori. He liked her and she liked him, that much was obvious. But Beck wouldn't cheat – my worry was never cheating, it was him finding out he liked someone more than me and dumped me to be with them; not cheating.

During one of our 'fun time' moments, Beck slapped me a little harder than he normally did (to be fair, we were drunk at the time and he doesn't have the same self-control when he's been drinking). It made me go off like a bottle rocket almost instantly, but when the post-orgasm stars had faded and I could see again, after he'd finished with one final toe curling moan, I could already feel the sting and heat, knowing there would be a bruise.

And that added on another layer. Beck hit me. I was so scared of him. But I couldn't leave him – oh no. We had to come up with a reason why I wouldn't just walk out of his RV for good and into Ryders arms. So of course, Beck had a whole load of dirty pictures and videos of me that he threatened to release if I ever left him. And as we had rightfully suspected, Ryder was too stupid to figure out that if that was ever the case, my dad would bury Beck within minutes. But he was so happy and excited that I was finally seeming to give him my time and attention, that it seems the logical pitfalls of our trap were invisible to him.

He followed me around like a lovesick puppy, doing whatever I asked – I wanted to keep it quiet? That was fine by him. No phone calls or texts, in case Beck found out? Well, that was fine. I bought us walkie talkies, that covered the distance from my bedroom to his bedroom. I spent more nights at home, but that just meant sneaking Beck into my room at night instead of going to his RV, so I could talk to him over the walkie talkies. I met him in the middle of the night or early hours of the morning, to talk and cuddle and kiss – which was revolting and horrific but I powered through it for the sake of the plan. Besides, Beck always made sure to mark me as his own the second I got back to the house from my little outings.

And then it was just bringing it up around our friends. Subtly of course. The presents in my locker with creepy song lyrics were perfect. The photos even better. And god, the phone calls. No one ever seemed to notice I never got those calls when Beck was around. Of course I didn't. Beck was the one making those calls, all from a pre-paid burned phone we'd got at a gas station in Camarillo– best to be safe. Couldn't be seen buying it in Hollywood or Beverly Hills. We bought a little photo printer from a computer store in Camarillo too; we couldn't exactly print them off at school or get them printed in a shop or whatever. It was a worthy investment, really.

And the photos...well, they were taken by Beck – well, the ones of just me in compromising positions; like I'd ever trust someone else to take the photos. The one of me and him fucking was the hardest one, of course, which is why there was only one. We had to set the camera on a timer, balanced on the tiny lip of a window frame outside the RV. The others, when he was with us in the group, were all from Sinjin. My fanatical stalker. But it served my purpose, much like Sinjin himself served a purpose – having a computer genius in love with you is a handy thing, so it turns out. Finding the flash drive he dropped was a stroke of unprecedented luck that made everything a lot easier – we'd just claim Ryder took those ones as well, photos of me hanging out with the gang, including Beck, were a lot more convincing to people who knew us than photos of me with the gang without Beck – I was rarely without him, after all, unless it was just me and Cat doing something together.

Everything was falling into place for the big night. That one last push and everything would be over and done with. People were suspicious of Ryder. It was quite the masterful tale me and Beck managed to weave everyone in to. And the best part was? Our friends had no idea. They all thought it was 100% true. Everyone played their parts, even unknowingly.

And when I needed them most, for the most risky and dangerous part, after the deed was done and I had to pretend to be a mess in a hospital bed; they all pulled through and unknowingly played their role to perfection.

Every fucking one of them.