Shawn was a pretty big risk. We knew that there was a chance he'd be called – he was Ryder's best friend, after all. I won't lie – I had really hoped that Shawn wouldn't be involved because he was something I really didn't need in this plan; he was a variable. We couldn't direct his interactions with Ryder, we couldn't manipulate what he was seeing because when Ryder and Shawn hung out, they hung out alone. Other than West or Daniels parties, I never really interacted with Shawn. We never got on much, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why.
Shawn Becker hated me.
And I get it. I really do. Because if the roles were reversed, and it was Cat who was madly in love with some boy, and the boy just kind of used her and led her on before going back to his girlfriend, or even just sweet talked her into doing favours for him, I'd be on a killing spree. I respect the hell out of Shawn for it, to be honest – he didn't suck up because of my talent or because my dad was rich or because he was scared of The Wicked Witch of West Hollywood. He was civil to me at all times, he never directly insulted me but he also didn't hide his distain for me.
It was refreshing.
But that didn't change the fact that he was a variable. The one thing me or Beck, not even with all our smarts put together, could manipulate and control.
The only notable time I could control what he saw, couldn't have gone any better; it gave a jumping off point for Ryder's increased obsession with me – Shawn saw the first time I allowed Ryder to touch me.
I hated all the parties I had to go to with my dad. At least the ones held at the West Manor, I could invite Beck and hang with him all night. I couldn't really invite anyone to one of the Daniels' parties, as it'd throw off the seating arrangements. And it was kind of rude, I guess, to rub in Mr and Mrs Daniels face that I was totally uninterested in their son, since I know that both them and my own dad were hardcore on the 'Ryder/Jade' ship.
It was the first party I'd gone too since Tori. I'd not long before found her diary and, whilst my first reaction to going to the party was one of pure hate-filled refusal, after talking it over with Beck, we decided that it could be used to our advantage. It wasn't a guarantee that Shawn would be there, because even back then, we knew there was a chance he'd be a bit of trouble. But even if he wasn't, it was still an organic chance to start sowing the seeds of obsession; it'd be odd if I just went over and started hanging out there.
I figured, it was as good a time as any to start things off.
So I got ready and headed to the party. It was a delicate process really, getting ready. I had to make sure I looked off, like I wasn't quite right yet, but still look good enough to get Ryders attention (although I'm pretty sure that mega-simp would think I was hot in a burlap sack, for Christ's sake). So I put on a dress, heels and curled my hair...but did my lips in a paler tone than normal and forwent bronze or blush, instead just doing simple eye makeup, not using concealer to cover up the bags under my eyes – just foundation – giving the impression I had tried hard to cover the tell-tale sign of sleepless nights and exhaustion, but hadn't quite succeeded – somehow all of the random rubbish Cat spewed about her stage make up techniques had sunk into my brain I guess.
Anyway. The party was pretty standard, to be honest. Rich idiots feeling good about themselves because the ticket they'd bought for the party was going to a charity – smirking social climbers who sipping champagne and guffawed about how good they were because they gave so much to charities. They didn't care about which charity it was; they just wanted to show off to all their friends and colleagues that they cared so much about the suffering of the poor and unfortunate.
But as per my habit, I split apart from my dad and Julia almost instantly, and zero'd in on Ryder and Shawn, standing at the edge of the hall sipping no-doubt vodka-laced punch. And then, in a move that still makes me shiver just thinking about it...I leant into Ryder's side and let him put an arm around me. I could see out of the corner of my eye how his face lit up at the simple gesture and wrinkled my nose internally. How could this idiot, this giant Simp be the monster who raped Tori? This pathetic, sad sack who would bend over backwards for the smallest thing I asked, was actually no better than a rabid animal who needed to be put down. It was mind boggling.
I could see Shawn roll his eyes and purse his lips a little at Ryder; did Shawn know? Did he know what Ryder had done to Tori? I'd like to think he didn't, that no one else would do something or be part in something so cruel. At the trial, when the video had been shown, he'd looked shocked and horrified. And Shawn was never that good an actor, despite being at Hollywood Arts, so I don't think it was fake. But I'll never know, I guess.
We managed to sneak away from the party and hang out in private, sipping champagne from the bottle, hidden away in a little den. And then, after dinner (where I was sat with my parents and thus, didn't have to pretend to be interested or comforted by Ryder Daniels) I left. Because it was too much. I wasn't ready, wasn't prepared to dive into the plan right now. I thought I'd manage it, because as Lane Alexander once said, he was pretty sure a lot of the time I ran on pure spite and anger, with this unquenchable need to prove others wrong and prove that I could do anything. But apparently, anger and spite and hate weren't enough fuel yet, not right now in a crowded party with Shawn no doubt hanging around. I lied to my dad and Julia, told them I was feeling tired and wanted to go home – they had been kind of shocked I'd even agreed to go to this thing in the first place, and thus, had no issue with ducking out early – I'd said I'd head off myself if they wanted to stay since like, it was a 25 minute walk back to house, 10 if I used the gate that led from the Daniels garden into the West garden directly. But I guess they wanted to make sure I was really OK, because they decided to leave too, meaning we'd take the car back.
It was kind of nice, that evening. I didn't go over to Becks (although I'd facetime him when I went to my room that night) and instead curled up on the arm chair, with my dad and Julia sitting on the sofa, and we watched some dramatic crime thriller together with popcorn and everything – like a real family. It was weird as hell, but nice.
So that was the start. The first move in the chess game of lies and manipulation.
Of course, the stuff with my locker was all staged. Before leaving the day before, either me or Beck put the things in my locker, and then the next day act shocked and surprised about it. Beck was often going into my locker so it didn't raise any eyebrows anyway. This way, in case anyone saw me opening my locker in the morning, they'd be able to back up my story – everything that could be acted out within this plan, was acted out, even if it was just for the peasants around us. The first time, with the flowers, had been fully planned out – right down to Beck making sure to be sitting with Andre when I confronted him about leaving the flowers. Because Andre was our best friend. He'd automatically go on the defensive, even if he wasn't in love with me – but because he was, he was even more annoyed by it, especially due to the lyrics on the card. Andre had given up hope on ever actually being with me, I could tell; but that was only because of Beck. Anyone else, I have no doubt he would have worked his charm and managed to wrangle me away from my boyfriend. But he'd never do that to Beck, or to me. But someone else who had the audacity to send flowers and creepy poems? I dunno, maybe he just didn't see it as 'fair' or something.
Or maybe I'm just being egotistical and he'd be just as annoyed and worried if it was Cat getting creepy song lyrics sent to her; I kind of doubt it though. Sure he'd be overprotective, but he wouldn't be so angry about it. But either way, Andre was more than happy to accuse Ryder with just one or two little hints.
The hospital trip, after the whole...culmination of our idea was one of the single hardest roles I've ever played. I think I finally understood exactly why Sikowitz and our acting teachers always warned us not to get too invested. Method acting wasn't for everyone, especially people who had been through dark or troubling times; it was the reason Method Acting was one of the only acting classes I've never taken at HA, throughout my four years there – Beck had taken the class, and liked it well enough but he reaffirmed my suspicion that I shouldn't take the risk.
Sikowitz always told us to never get too connected with a role if it rang too close to our own personal experiences – it could be damaging and cause some serious mental health issues. But for my time in the hospital, and any time I spoke to anyone about that night, I method acted my heart out; I got in touch with my past, smashed the walls of concrete and bullet proof glass and metal spikes that kept the nightmares at bay in my head and let them run wild.
It was horrific. And it was a mistake.
Memories of feelings, of my fear and pain and hate and hurt rushed back as I slept, waking me up screaming and sobbing every few hours. The nurses and policeman on the door obviously assumed it was because of Ryder – which was admittedly part of the plan. Only me and Beck knew it wasn't. I had always thought I had a, relatively, good grasp on my mental health over the last few years – and yes, I know, my plan of revenge via murder didn't exactly scream 'Mentally Healthy' but I was better than I used to be. Sure, my touch avoidance wasn't going anywhere any time soon, but I thought I had at least built myself up to be strong enough to handle the horrors and nightmares. But I wasn't.
It was both a blessing and a curse, this unforeseen weakness. It tore me up and shook my to the core. I was remembering things I had blocked out years ago, incidents and moments, in my dreams they seemed to be happening in real time, like I was experiencing them again, with everything in hyper colour saturation. I couldn't sleep without waking up screaming. I still have issues sleeping through the whole night, to be honest – during the day, now, I'm OK; I can draw the tattered remains of my concrete-bullet proof glass-metal spiked shield around me like a cloak. I can deal when I'm awake. But I really can't sleep alone anymore.
The blessing was obvious. It really sold my act. The crying, the sobbing, the shaking...hell, I hadn't even aimed on getting those valiums to calm me down from the doctors originally, they were needed for real. After it all happened, after my mom was dead and Jared was locked up, I hadn't really...processed the events that happened from age 7 to 12. I had blocked them out, locked them away in a steal box in the back of my mind and never even wiped away the metaphorical dust that had gathered until that night when I killed Ryder. And I guess even after 6 years, the wounds were still raw. And it all hit me, too hard and too fast for me to process properly, like I should have done as a kid.
Like I said. Breaking down those mental blocks, letting my past surge back up and gnaw at my bones was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it. I have no clue when the nightmares will finally stop, those horrific memories.
But would I do it again? For Tori?
You can fucking bet on it.