Author's note - I wrote all of these shooting chapters before the tech school shooting so I didn't draw any inspiration for that event at all - but it is depressing. I drew inspiration from one tree hill and the shooting episode, no surprise right? I will say that after editing this chapter and fixing all my typing errors - and adding random lines that didn't come to be the first time through - I am seriously proud of this chapter. I think I like it the best out of all of them, this is definitely my favorite. So please review, and tell me what you liked and didn't like. I like to hear what you all have to say. There's a lot more chapters to come and I'll update again in a day or so, to give people time to review, so you better review...the next chapter's done - except for the editing so it'll be here right quick. Please enjoy, it's pretty great, if I don't say so myself.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
"We can't stay here," Melissa whispered. The teacher had left the room, to pursue the principal, to pursue help that wasn't going to come. "Jackson, Daley and Lex are still out there. We can't stay here."
"I can," Eric said loudly, receiving several approving nods from various students around the room.
"We can't go against a gun, Mel," Nathan said.
"I know but --"
"What? Whoa, whoa, whoa," Eric said, rising to his feet. Two people had just rushed into the room, one locking the door behind them.
"Jackson," Melissa said, quickly standing and moving forward to Jackson. "Are you okay?" She asked, trying to look into his eyes. Jackson shrugged, walking forward. Melissa followed him, sitting down in a chair beside him, never taking her eyes away from his downcast face.
"I'm fine, Melissa," Jackson murmured. "Stop staring at me."
Melissa frowned but looked away anyway. "You led him here," Eric told Jackson.
"Shut up, Eric," Nathan ordered.
Chad leaned back against the door, slowly itching his head with the barrel of the gun. "It sucks, doesn't it, Eric; being told to shut up?" Eric didn't answer. "Doesn't it? Doesn't it!"
"Y-yeah," Eric stuttered. "It sucks," he mumbled.
"It sucks," Chad agreed, tiredly wetting his cracked lips with a hesitant tongue. "Being ignored every day; knowing that if you never came back, no one would notice. You life is meaningless," he addressed the class as a whole. "They think they're preparing you for the world, when they know just as well as we all do - there is nothing out there. There is no meaning. Just die - no one's gonna care if you do."
"It's high school," a kid in the back of the room said. The kid was an elementry friend of Melissa's, his name was Marshal. As high school classes forced them apart they'd lost touch, but never forgot each other.
"It's inhuman," Chad disagreed. "How they...they hunt you, like you're no longer worthy of being a part of the same species as them -- like you should be ashamed, that you're not born into the same upstanding family...the same wealth. They'll never hunt, not me, not anyone. They'll never hurt again after this.
"You're supposed to let it go and grow up," Marshal countered. "Yeah, they're mean. Go home and cry and then move on."
Chad waved his gun forward, training it roughly on where Marshal was sitting. "Shut up. You can't tell me that. You can't honestly say that you don't relate to me. I've seen how they treat you. You should be happy I'm doing the thing you were to pussy to do yourself."
"I wasn't scared," Marshal said slowly. "I was taught morals," he said quietly. "What you're doing...you think this separates you from them? In the beginning, you were always higher than them, even if you were unhappy. You started higher, because you were born into this little thing we like to call reality. They never were - they still think what they do, what they are -- they still think it all matters. But you and me, we all know it doesn't. You're lowering yourself more every second you're in here - trying to intimidate us - like you're one of them. You're no longer better than them. You're worst - because you're fatal."
"I wasn't always like this," Chad told him, desperate for someone to believe him, someone to accept him.
"I know," Marshal agreed. "Everyone knows who instigated this all, no one will blame you -- when they think of you. But at your funeral - they'll still say that you should've shrugged off all the teasing -- you should've let it all go."
"I tried," Chad shouted, pacing back and forth in front of the chalk board, occassionally throwing threatening glances in Marshal's general direction as he waved the gun. Marshal flinched back slightly. "I tried to ignore it all, I tried so hard. I did. But they just...they wouldn't leave me alone. I couldn't live, I couldn't go on, knowing this was my life for another three years...it was torture...they all deserve this."
Marshal nodded. He knew that he'd gone home many days, pissed at the world; wanting nothing more than to kill off a few jocks. But he never went that extra step, that extra step that Chad had gone. "Everyone's been there," Melissa murmured softly. "You're supposed to get past it, grow up and be some...underground artist; embrace the torture -- let it shape you into something more...you're supposed to get past it."
"I don't care," Chad said. "They were supposed to treat others how they wanted to be treated. They got what was coming."
"Why are we still here?" Eric asked. "None of us teased you."
"Except for my best friend," Chad said, moving the gun from Marshal to Eric. "You."
Eric raised an eyebrow. "Dude, once," he said defensively. "Go out there and kill some of those bastards that teased you every day. I made fun of you once."
"My life was fine, Eric," Chad said. "Until you reached this peak of popularity in eighth grade. What you did to me -- people still make fun of it. You started it all. Care to end it?"
Eric shook his head. "You can't be serious."
"As serious as a gunshot wound," Chad said, recocking his gun.
"You can't shoot me," Eric said quickly, stumbling to his feet and backing up a few clumsy steps. "We've been friends since the fourth grade, Chad."
Chad shook his head aggressively. "No," he shouted, waving the gun forward. "No. The friendship means shit if you backstab them. That's not friendship, Eric!" He heaved a huge sigh. "It's not friendship..."
Eric waved a hand. "Alright, I'm sorry," Eric told him.
"Sorry's too little too late, Eric," Chad told him quietly.
"No, it's not," Eric argued. "I'm sorry I ditched you, okay? I was stupid. And Melissa, I'm sorry I completely destroyed our friendship. And I'm sorry I totally misjudged you, Jackson and treated you like something I'd just scraped off the bottom of my shoe, alright? I'm not sorry how I treated you, Nathan, because you're an overachieving know it all. And Marshal?" Eric began, turning to throw a glance at Marshal who wwas also on his feet.
"Hey, man, we were never friends." Marshal said.
Eric shrugged, turning back to Chad. "Oh yeah..."
"You're only sorry because someone confronted you, you little rat," Chad shouted. "That's not how it's supposed to be! You're supposed to be sorry before you ruin other peoples' lives; that way you can stop yourself, rodent. You knew there was no reconciliation - you knew what you did everyday could never be undone. You knew it all, Eric! And you didn't care, not until someone stood up to you."
"Hey," Eric said defensively. "I am sorry."
"He's really sorry," Melissa agreed. "He's not the same person he was a few montsh ago, Chad."
"You accepted his apology before he gave it," Chad told Melissa quietly. "I'm sorry that your friendship didn't mean that much to you but it...it did to me. He ruined my life, Mel. I can't let that go with an apology. I'm not you."
"Oh," Melissa said, unsure of how badly Chad had just insulted her.
Chad gave Melissa a sad smile before turning back to Eric and lifting the gun. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Let's see how far this apology gets you."
There is always regrets. Everything you do stimulates innumerable possibilities of alternatives, thus forcing you to acknowledge all the regrets you should have but don't (if you're lucky or a jerk). Not everyone considers the regrets before they act upon their instincts, but this doesn't make their actions accidents; this doesn't mean that people should pity them and accept their too easy apology, this doesn't mean they deserve forgiveness.
The gun shot echoed loudly in the closed quarters but when the students recovered from the smoke and noise, it was not only Eric who was injured, lying on the ground. The movement had happened so quickly that no one quite managed to register it. Marshal had moved forward, already mentally preparing himself for this before the time had come; now Eric was sprawled on the floor, dazed and confused.
"Oh my god, Marshal," Melissa said, moving from her chair to Marshal.
Chad stumbled back. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
"That's what happens when you bring a gun to school," Nathan told him angrily.
"Shut up," Chad shouted. "Sit down," he ordered the students that had moved to see the damage. "Sit down," he shouted when few complied and then he shot into the ceiling. The students fell away, moving like a sheep flock, but Melissa remained, and Jackson slowly moved to her side. He pulled her into a huge, deep hug that seemed to last forever, unbound by the silence of the room. When they pulled away he inspected Marshal's wound.
"It looks bad," Melissa said quietly, as Jackson pressed his hands hard against the wound in Marshal's shoulder, successfully ignoring the young boy's grunts of pain; the blood flowing quickly through his fingers. "He needs a doctor, Chad," she told him softly.
"I don't care. He got in the way," Chad said.
"You're shooting the wrong people," Jackson said, but Chad didn't grace him with a glance. "He's bleeding."
"He'll die," Taylor said. She had moved to the ground too, hovering over Eric, who had taken a shot to the arm, she followed Jackson's example and managed to almost stop the blood from escaping the wound.
Chad waved his gun toward Taylor who visibly shrank back, closer to Eric; and then Jackson who held Chad's gaze steadily. "I can't let another student go. I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," Melissa said angrily, glancing over her shoulder at Chad. "He will bleed to death and it will be your fault, Chad. You must know what happens when you shoot people." She paused but Chad didn't answer her. "He was your friend," she said sadly, glancing down at Marshal's pale face and unfocused eyes. "He was our friend."
"Fine," Chad shouted. "Okay!" He waved the gun toward Taylor. "You, princess, take him out."
"Okay," Taylor said loudly, jumping to her feet.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Jackson and Nathan were the ones that had helped Marshal to his feet, Melissa shying away, covered in his blood, trembling uncontrollably as though she too could convey his pain. But Marshal was weak and Taylor exerted more energy than she was used to -- trying to help him down the hall, but he still sagged against her - the strain of his efforts evident on his face, his blood smeering her shirt. Melissa had showed Taylor how to apply pressure to his wound and Taylor proceeded to do so, Marshal gripping an arm across her shoulders tightly, moaning softly - his breath slipping across her ears and down her burning cheeks every time her grip on his wound shifted and a new surge of pain raged across his body. Trembles kept raking across his frame, and Taylor couldn't help assuring him that everything was in fact going to be just fine, but the cracks and trembles in her voice told him a different story.
"You're a better person than I took you for," Marshal slurred, dipping his head down slightly, feeling his energy quickly disintegrating.
"It was," Taylor began but stopped herself. "Thank you for...doing what you did for Eric," she murmured. "It was very heroic, especially since he didn't really deserve it."
Marshal attempted to shrug, grimacing in pain. "He used to be such a good kid," he muttered spacedly, his unfocused eyes remaining glued to the ground, but still not really seeing the tiles as they disappeared under their feet, covered in the blood trail that they were leaving behind.
"Eric?" Taylor asked, glancing down at Marshal's pasty face with a look of confusion. She looked away before he could muster the energy to reply.
Marshal gave her a pained smile but she didn't see it. "Chad. I never thought he'd be able to..." he paused, coughing, trying to turn his head away from Taylor. "He never would've been able to do this to people," he said quietly, his voice raspy, raw. "Not before high school...the kid buried road kill...for god's sake...he held little...individual funerals for all the...he called them less fortunates...like they were orphans of...animals..."
"I'm sorry," Taylor told him, pausing to pull open a door. She inched the two of them through it, steadying Marshal when he stumbled and didn't quite manage to catch himself, his feet slipping easily on the blood that he left in their wake. "I'm sorry for the things I've said to you, or anyone else, ever...I don't want to be the cause of something like this. The things I did to people, I guess I never thought of how it felt. I was so stupid."
Marshal nodded - a mere bob of his head that didn't quite manage to pull it back up to the starting height. He let it sink further down, almost resting against Taylor's shoulder. "Problems begin at home," he told her, his voice barely above a harsh whisper as she pulled open the front door. The cops were still there, but they didn't rush her like they had rushed Beaver -- they helped the two away from the door, rushing Marshal away to the waiting ambulence, almost dragging him before they managed to pick him up and carry him, insisting that Taylor come too, she might need medical help. She told them that she didn't, then she saw Beaver, sitting a few feet away at an isolated wooden table. Taylor cut through the cops to go to him.
"What are you doing here, Beaver?" Taylor asked, mentally noting her own suprise at how calm her voice suddenly was, as she sat on the table beside him. He was no longer handcuffed, but she took notice of the faint red marks around his wrists.
"Who's blood is that?" Beaver asked, taking in Taylor's blood soaked shirt; the smeers of blood across her neck and arms, the dots along her cheeks and forehead.
Taylor shook her head. "It's, uh, a classmate's," she answered. "Marshal. Eric could die, Beaver. And I just left them."
Beaver shook his head. "I left too," he murmured.
Taylor leaned against Beaver, pressing her sweat soaked head against his suddenly strong chest. "People like me...we started all of this," Taylor mumbled against his chest. "It's people like me, Beaver. I'm so ugly inside, how could you ever like me?"
Beaver raised an arm and slowly stroked the back of Taylor's head, pressing her closer to him. "You're just so darn hot on the outside," he joked. "I don't know why people insult each other," he told her softly, his attitude changing completely. He sighed deeply, feeling her head move with him, and liking the pressure that he put on his chest - liking the presence that she represented. "You guys feel like you fit in, so you seclude everyone who doesn't - because it makes your fit that much more tighter. It's probably our animal instinct. But the fact that you know it's wrong, Taylor -- you don't understand how valuable that really is." He bent his head and kissed her hair softly. "I like you, Taylor. I like you alot."