A/N: The latest chapter (meant to be fresh off the press)! I've added an extra segment and I've been super busy recently, so that's why it's taken REALLY long to get out. Honestly, the rewrite kinda fell onto the backburner. Really, really sorry guys. Real life just got the best of me with a lot of my current WIP fics.
Gucci Mane LaFlare - Heather and anything is an evil combo. She's pretty much always plotting to stay on top - but it is a pretty good skill. Also, I'm glad you spotted the TDI callback along with how I've switched up the plot a little from here. There's quite a few more changes coming up.
Till next time,
D.L.D
Comfort, Failure, Guilt and Anger
Courtney's P.O.V
Like always I wake up early today. Outside, the sun is just peeking through my curtains, a few birds annoyingly chirping away in the early morning air. My room is suspended in half-gloom, like a magical amber glow, and I can make out the familiar outlines of my closet, bookshelf and violin case. Picture frames line the top-most shelves, a few being family photos but most being of friends, and me and Duncan. In all, everything is normal, everything is as usual.
Everything except me.
Stretching, I yawn as I rub at my eyes. Recently, sleep hasn't been great for me. Ever since that day in the park, standing in the pouring rain, I've been having the same sad dream. The same sad vision. Silver mist would fill the air and I would walk through it, trying to find an exit, only to end up spotting Duncan. Every time I spot him, I give chase. I follow him through the swirling mist and fog, tripping over roots and scratching myself on brambles. Then, once I've caught up with him, I'd look around and spot that we're in an area that looks a lot like the park.
"You're just like him," He would say, glaring at me. Glaring at me. The sort of glare that feels like daggers, knives, and makes you know that you've messed up, made one of the worst possible mistakes you ever could in your lifetime. Every time it pins me to the spot, stabs right through my gut, my heart, piercing me with pain.
When Duncan does that, glares at me, all my explanations and excuses immediately evaporate. Disappear. Instead of acting, speaking, I would just stand there, rooted to the spot, letting the painful sting of the icy rain envelope me in the middle of the overgrown forest, watching as a flash of neon green fades into the gloom. Then there would be nothing.
Each night, I find myself awake after that, staring at the ceiling, thinking about him, about what he's doing, and wondering why I chose to let it all go. To let him go.
'You know why,' My brain sings out every time, always chiming in whenever I get particularly carried away. 'You know exactly why we needed to toss him away.'
The plan... Of course my brain prioritizes the plan over Duncan. From a logical point of view, Duncan is something that we don't need. Duncan is someone who only offers petty distractions, a small escape from the crushing reality of being successful and driven and perfect. If I want to succeed and take over from Heather, then I need to get rid of distractions. I need to be entirely focused and concentrated on my goals.
But I still regret the way in which we split. Doing it in the way I did was wrong. Acting like Duncan's father, talking to him like a condescending asshole, was just plain wrong. Immoral. I should know better.
'He's not trash!' I snap in response, frowning as I stretch my arms again. A small click echoes around the empty bedroom. 'We both know that he makes us happy and being that harsh on him was stupid.'
'Happy isn't always best,' My brain rebuts, its tone somber and stern. 'You should know that best of all, Courtney dear.'
Huffing, I roll my eyes and decide to tune out my brain. However, the only way to do that is by focusing on the stupid plan, on taking down Heather. That means checking on Heather's 'borrowed' USB, that I managed to snatch from her bag, and kick-starting the second phase of my whole little scheme. After all, the best way to get back at someone is through their deepest darkest secrets. Heather taught me that.
Grabbing my laptop from the top of my bedside table, I turn it on and plug in the little red USB. Easily, I tap on my keyboard and log in, clicking on the little file logo on the taskbar. As soon as I do, Heather's USB titled 'Secret Schemes' pops up on the little sidebar. Smiling, I click onto it and wait for it to load. For a long time, the little blue circle rotates round and round. Then, after around a million years, the files pops up one by one.
"Looks like I've hit the jackpot..." I breathe as I scroll through the array of files and plans. Most of these date back to last year, but a couple of them are recent. Some are even snippets of information that Heather has kept secret from us all.
Smiling, I click onto the oldest file. Instantly, a small menu popped up, demanding that I enter a password. Below it is a small warning, informing me about the three attempts I had to guess correctly before the entire file system as placed under lock down. Sighing, I close my laptop, setting it aside. Great. Just great. Of course Heather would have a backup policy just in case her prized USB went missing. She's just made my job about a million times worse...
Grabbing my phone, I scroll through my call history. Soon it's by my ear and I'm waiting for my only solution to pick up.
"Hello?" A sleep-toned husky voice answers my call. I'm not surprised. I'm one of the few people I know who bother to wake up so early in the morning.
"Hey," I answer, trying to keep my voice entirely professional. However, I catch the small slip into casualness. "Sorry for calling so early, but I just wanted to know if that deal we had is still open. You know, the one about Heather?"
A moment of pause. I hear a bit of shuffling, most likely rifling through papers or getting up from bed. If I cared enough, I would have asked if I should call back later, but I don't. This person isn't really important to me; ultimately, I'm just using him to advance - just like how he's using me. Between us it's a mutual use-use partnership.
"Yeah, it's still open," He finally responds, sounding a bit more alert. Carefully, he adds, "Can I ask why you want to agree now?"
Now it's my turn to pause. I feel the air rush into my lungs, a deep breath, as I close my eyes and try not reveal the growing stress and tension within me. The last thing I need is for him to think that I need his help. That I'm struggling to do this all alone.
"I need a new ace up my sleeve," I respond simply, smoothly. Each syllable slides effortlessly off my tongue. "I have the USB, but it's not enough. I need a backup, just in case. Plus, I'm still willing to arrange payment."
"Sounds great," My accomplice answers, their smile evident. I hear the heavy click of keyboard keys, something else like a mouse joining it. "I'll find another lead on Heather, although it shouldn't be too hard. I know a few people."
"Thanks," I smile, genuinely meaning it. Whether they know it or not, my accomplice is helping me a lot. Now that I've hit a dead end with the USB, their lead is the only hope I have at sending Heather her first message on time. While that mess happened, I could then secure her password.
"No problem," My accomplice responds, sounding somewhat sincere. Surprising for them as they usually forget to acknowledge other people. "We'll talk payment later."
The line then goes dead and I'm left alone in my room, the birds chirping in the background and the sun just resting in its first position. As I place down my phone and decide to have a shower, I couldn't help but smile. Grin.
Soon, Heather's leading the crowd days will be just a bitter memory in the mind's of Wawanakwa's student body - and I will be the one I top. I will be the one wearing her golden crown, laughing at the fallen empire of Wawanakwa's former Queen Bee.
Heather's P.O.V
When I arrive at school I'm immediately joined by my Squad - plus Katie and Sadie. Like every other basic day, they're all excited, chattering and squealing while sharing pieces of gossip and accessories and advice. Their complete opposite, I'm quiet and pensive as I lock up my car and glare at the familiar outlines of the school building. In that moment, everyone is oblivious to the simmering rage within me.
Four years. This place has stolen four years from me.
At first, I had thought that Wawanakwa High would be a place for me. With its glossy facility and state-of-the-art equipment, it hadn't taken much for me to sign the stupid contract and agree to attend the school. Little middle school me, filled with her awkward middle school ways, had seen Wawanakwa as a chance to change herself. Mold herself. High school was my opportunity to become one of the glitzy mean girls instead of one of the depressing bullied girls.
Seniors had taken me under their wing - the top-shot, Prom Queen contender mean girls. Over the past three years, they have been my guidance, my preparation for the day when I would take over the high school crown. One by one, my passions were changed, swapped for more 'acceptable' pastimes. Fashion was expanded on, expensive makeup and jewelry being introduced from day one; later came parties, college boys, sneaking out late to stay in with the crowd.
That brings me here to now. Year Four. Senior Year. After all the work I've done to get here, why is it so difficult to keep it all the same? Why is it so hard to whip the masses into shape? Seniors before me have done it, their successors, then the next successors, have all done it flawlessly, fabulously, faultlessly. But here I am, the fourth generation of the line, and I couldn't even keep Freshmen from snickering behind my back.
When did I start failing so badly?
Frowning, I toss my car keys into my bag and stomp toward the main building. Currently, I'm not in the mood to watch people pass by, nor do I feel like seeing their hidden smirks. If anything, it's all just a sign of their loosening obedience - their slipping concentration. If Courtney doesn't do as I've asked soon, then I'll become the first dethroned Queen in the history of Wawankwa's line. I'll be the first ever failure in the flawless file.
"Heather!" Speak of the devil.
Scoffing, I roll my eyes as Courtney approaches. She looks a little scattered today, her white blouse untucked from her pants and her hair-clips askew. Wisps of mocha hair escape her otherwise perfect bun, a few black hairpins keeping her baby hairs pressed into the style. In her hands is a pile of papers, the front printed with 'Vote for Courtney!' and emblazoned in big silver letters. Below the letters is a picture of her and what looked like a crowd of raised hands. Creative. Not creative enough though. She's slipping.
"What do you want?" I sigh, walking through the open double doors. Not willing to lose me in the crowds, Courtney follows, her breathing rapid and loud.
"I can't do it!" She rasps, trying to recollect her breath. She adjusts the stack of papers, nudging her shoulder to slide her satchel toward her back. "I just can't. It's not fair to Duncan and it's not fair to Gwen."
That's why she's taking so long: Courtney is having second thoughts. Of course Courtney is having second thoughts! Courtney has always been one to think her actions through, calculate her path and her chances of success. She doesn't listen and she doesn't leave things to chance. Everything Courtney does has to be done the 'right way' - the Courtney way. She never likes diverging from her usual mannerisms and morals.
But that's too bad here. Courtney isn't the ruler; Courtney isn't the queen. I am the queen and what I say goes. If I tell Courtney to do something, then she has to find a way to do it. I don't give a damn if her beloved delinquent gets pissed at her; I don't care if her friend-ish bond with Gothball goes bad. It's none of my business; it's none of my concern. All I care about is my power and that my damn underlings carry out my bidding.
"Not fair?" I raise a brow, my lips tugging with distaste. "Shaving off my eyebrows isn't fair. But here we are, Courtney: you have to do something you don't want to and I have shaved off eyebrows. I guess life isn't all that fair when considering what we want!"
"Can't you think of anything else?" Courtney tries again, her expression pleading. She peers at me, pulling her paper-filled arms closer to her chest, almost as if she has hope, a deluded sense of misplaced optimism in my humanity. "Please? I really don't want to ruin my chances with Duncan. Plus Gwen is- "
"Hold up," I stop in my tracks, my brows already pulling in at a sharp angle. Swiftly, I turn to her, narrowing my gaze as she almost shrinks, lips pressed into a tight line. "Since when did you care about what Gwen thinks? Don't you insult her half of the time?"
Courtney's mouth opens and then closes with a small popping sound, her features slackening. For a moment, she's silent, opening her mouth and closing it once more, as she fidgets with her papers and stares at the passing students. But after a moment, she gains clarity and straightens her posture, staring me directly in the eye.
"I don't care what Gwen thinks," She states, her voice toneless and plain. Promptly, she clears her throat, "I just think that she's already paid enough. No-one really talks to her anymore and everyone still remembers what happened last year. Her reputation is solidly dead."
My gaze remains skeptical, "So how could it harm her to poke it a little more?"
"It won't."
Exactly. It won't hurt Gwen's reputation to teach her a lesson once more. She's already socially dead and everyone avoids her like a plague. What happened just before summer hit last year lit the way for Gwen to disappear; her explosion in front of the whole school led to her being outcast. Do I feel sorry for her? Part of me is tempted to say yes - she did go through some crazy shit - but mostly no. I don't. Everything that happens to Gwen, she has coming. She deserves it.
"Well then, it seems we don't have a problem," I flash Courtney my best smile. Then, I dig out my phone and wave it in front of Courtney. "Plus if you're ever feeling like having second thoughts, I always have motivation."
"Yeah, right," Courtney scoffs, rolling her eyes. "What could you possibly have to blackmail me with?"
"A lot more than you think, Courtney," I grin, sauntering away from her. "A lot more than you think."
Leaving her, I disappear down the hall and head toward Alejandro's usual hangout - a hallway nearby the Announcement room. As expected he's there, talking to another student, leaning against the wall. The student looks like a Sophomore, maybe a girl who works for the school newspaper, her red curls being twisted around her finger as she nods intently at his every word. Like every younger female student, she looks up at Alejandro with those stupid ga-ga eyes.
Instinctively, bile rises up my throat and I have to swallow it down before smiling and calling out to the Spanish turd.
"Hey, Ale-jerko!"
Immediately, he turns and flashes me a wide smile, "Heather!"
The act continues as I come closer to the pair, solidly planting myself between the girl and Alejandro. She should know her place: beneath me. Sophomores don't get the same social privilege as a Senior, they don't even get to mingle most times. All the lower grades are meant to scurry around, serve the social order of the building, before growing and replacing the Seniors. That's how it's been for years; that's how it will remain.
"What brings you here?" Alejandro questions me, an incredulous twinkle in his eyes. I know it is really intent. He knows why I'm here - it's obvious from how he places an arm around my shoulder and tries to act as if we're buddies.
"I just wanted to ask you a favour," I say casually, keeping up the smile. Subtly, I nudge his hand away and shoot him a little glare. "I want you to keep an eye on a student for me."
"A student?" He hums, his brows dropping. A hand comes to his chin, framing his features with thought. "Which one?"
The Sophomore, awkward as ever, coughs a little, drawing our attention. Her cheeks flushed as she peers at us, her red hair hiding her features as she speaks in a timid little squeak of a voice.
"I guess I should speak to you later, right Alejandro?"
An eye roll. That's what I give this oblivious Sophomore. She seems totally unaware of the dangerous snake this gorgeous Spanish hunk could be; just one bite from him and you could end up permanently damaged. But like all the silly younger girls, she's completely smitten with him. She's in love with the idea of an unreadable and manipulative jerk who would walk all over her. Poor dear. If she wasn't so susceptible to Alejandro, I may have seen potential in her.
"Yes, we'll catch up later, Cataleya," He nods absentmindedly, still thinking about the student, still appearing pensive.
The girl then nods and scurries off, taking her bag and awkwardness with her. With a final, fleeting glance of worry, she disappears around the corner, looking as if she's ready to chew her nails off with anxiety. All too soon, it's just me and Alejandro left in the corridor, the silence hanging between us.
"Didn't know you liked minors," I smirk, turning to face him. I raise a brow as I nudge him in the side with my elbow. "Aren't you a little old for her, Alejandro?"
This time I get an eye roll. A pretty big and playful one.
"She's a relative," He sighs, shaking his head. His green eyes are still filled with thought as he laughs a little, taking amusement from my assumptions. "A cousin, actually. She recently transferred."
"Oh," Suddenly all smart remarks feel dead in my mouth. Instead, I feel like I have to dive straight into business. Important matters. Alejandro must not catch my daze, my uncertainty. "Anyway, I need you to keep an eye on Courtney for me. She's becoming a bit... rebellious."
"Isn't she always rebellious?" Alejandro puffs out a chuckle, a grin growing on his lips. I scowl. Still grinning, he can't help but continue the jab as he adds, "This is our famously opinionated class president we're talking about."
"So?" I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. He really doesn't get it - why would he ever get it? Alejandro joined here late, he was popular from the beginning. He doesn't know what it's like to prove your worth as Queen Bee material. He doesn't know about getting teased and mocked and laughed at. He doesn't even get how it feels to be... outcast. Rejected. Left to rot away in the shadows and shame. I know what it feels like and I don't want to feel that again. EVER.
"I just need to make sure that Courtney doesn't slip out of control."
"Consider it done, mi vida," Alejandro gives me a low, swooping bow, his smirk not at all hidden as he winks, "I am at your service, after all."
I roll my eyes, "Just get up."
Duncan's P.O.V
"Come on, Pasty! Stop being such a drag!" I roll my eyes, trying to drag Gwen along with me to kill some time. "This is gonna be fun, I promise."
School's out, the day's ended and I'm ready to be a menace to the locals. Too much shit has gone down in the past few days for me to just sit there, pretending to be content as fuck, when I'm raring for the chance to pick a fight with anything I can: going home will only be a massive fight with the Geezer; staying back at school will result in a highly-likely suspension; everyone else would probably dump my sorry ass at the closest gas station or diner.
So, rather predictably, poor Gwennie is stuck with me. Indefinitely - or at least until I can sort out the shitstorm currently ransacking my brain.
"Why?" Gwen sets into interrogation mode, instantly throwing a wrench into my havoc-wreaking plans. Typical Gwen - she always has been the more sensible out of the pair of us. When I would charge headfirst into danger, she's always been there to stop me or record my royal failure for a future lesson. Speaking of, I should ask if she has that recording of Halloween 2012; that night is definitely one we should keep immortalized on tape.
"Cause, I'm bored," I groan, exaggerating on just how obvious that is. Tugging on her arm, I attempt to drag Gwen toward the closest exit. "There's nothing to do in this old ass town."
"Well, find someone else to kill your boredom with," Gwen yanks her arm free from me, her face pulling into a firm frown. Placing a hand on her hip, she shakes her head as she pulls out her phone, typing something. "I have shit to do."
Since when has Gwen too busy to follow me about town? Usually, even when she does protest hanging out, Gwen would be right behind me, grinning as she laughs and documents every moment of our misadventures in this hellscape. Entire days could be passed with just the pair of us wandering about town, sometimes heckling the public, other times being more functional members of society - it depends on the day.
Today, however, Gwen appears to be more hesitant, reserved. Did I push her too far with the party invite? Was it a wrong move to try and distract her from Elvis?
Looking at her right now, shrinking even more into her brair-thorned shell, part of me couldn't help but think that I might have made things worse. Like I always do.
"What shit?" Frowning, I try to probe the answer out of her. Gwen always was a master at hiding her true actions and intentions. With her well-practiced poker-face and natural sarcasm, Gwen could make a million of her worries poof into zero. That's something I've always found difficult about her: her ability to hide the truth.
"Homework," Gwen deadpans, serious and plain. Grinning, she then pokes me in the face, her pale finger jabbing the tip of my nose as she jokes with a sly smile, "Unlike you, Dunk, I want a real job that makes me real money."
"Very funny," I chuckle, relieved that she actually appears to be somewhat ok. A good sign. A great sign. Joining her joking behaviour, I ruffle her already scruffy-looking hair, making it stick up in random spots. "But I'm pretty sure working in the Dollar Store doesn't count, Pasty."
"Hey!" Gwen gasps, her eyes wide as she bats my hand away. Smoothing down her hair, she shoots me a glare. "That's where you're going!"
"We can be coworkers then," I grin, looping my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side. Laughing, she shakes her head, rolling her eyes lightheartedly as I continue with the idea, "Employees of the month every month!"
"You're so stupid," Gwen sighs, a tiny smile cracking onto her face.
"So... you wanna go or not?" I try again, hoping that her good mood would make Gwen more willing to kill time. But, of course, I should have known better.
"I told you, I have shit to do," Gwen remains firm and fixed, now creating space between us. That hand is back on her hip again, the other pocketing her phone as she raises a brow at me. "But if you're so desperate for attention, why don't you actually try talking to your dad for once?"
Talk to him, huh? The last time that happened I spent the night behind bars. Never happening again. All night, more than anything, I remember staring at my hands, the split knuckles on each one, wondering how things managed to get to where they were. All night, while the cops switched out with each other, while the seconds passed like millions of years, I remember waiting for my folks to come and deliver the bail.
In the end, it wasn't even them who delivered it: Gwen saved my ass that day.
"No way," I shake my head, my entire mood souring instantly. Not again. Not ever again. That is a line that I'm never going to cross again; even if the Geezer is on his deathbed, his dying wish being to see his black sheep son, I wouldn't even try to reach out to him. To me, he's already dead and gone. "You know exactly why- "
"I know," Gwen cut in, her tone gentle and hushed - just like how Ma's is every time we speak about this. Biting her lip, she places a small hand on my shoulder, seeming careful with her wording as she continues, "But it's only a suggestion. Now if you'll excuse me, I have shit to do."
"You mean you haven't got shit to do!" I yell after her. But she's gone. Aware of how I'd explode, aware of the incoming shitstorm, Gwen has well and truly scurried away, leaving me to brave it all alone once more.
Agitated, I kick at the wall, my foot meeting pure brick. Fuck! Why is being mature so damn hard!
Anne-Maria's P.O.V
Fuck yeah! School's out for the day and I've got a whole evening aside to perfect all the final details for my killer weekend bash. Not to mention with the wind blowing through my hair, and the steady thrum of my bike below me, my veins are pumping, full.
I've always loved taking my motorbike out for a spin, especially during rush hour, when I can twist, turn and maneuver through traffic like a maniac. It's the one time I can let out the aggressive Jersey in me without being an outright bitch. But today is different. Fresher. Maybe it's because Heather couldn't dictate shit to me anymore. Perhaps it's because I know that soon enough I'll be on top, on the throne, right where I belong. Whatever it is, it gets me high. Buzzing.
Just as I pull up outside the family biz, my ringtone pierces through the afternoon traffic. Immediately, I pull my phone out of my jeans pocket and stare at the incoming caller: Dakota. Dakota, or Koats as I often call her, rarely calls these days. Being a member of the Squad, and a reluctant lackey of Heather, she never gets to hang out anymore. Sometimes she could spare a decent video call, or hang around out of town, but Heather doesn't really like us doing 'individual stuff'. She always thinks that someone is out to get her.
Well, she's not wrong. People are out to get her - because she's a bitch.
Locking up my bike, I sigh as I answer the call, "Hey, Koats. What's up?"
"I've done something bad," A huge sniff; she's crying. Sobbing. I could tell from the way she breathes, the heavy sniffs that punctuate her silence. "I've done something really bad, Annie."
I knew it. I fucking knew it. There's been this terrible feeling in my gut all day, that sorta heavy, sinking feeling people talk about when something bad happens, and I knew it had something to do with Dakota. With Heather. I've been feeling it since earlier today when I was getting ready for school; it's lingered and grown since I've spotted Heather whispering away during school. Deep down, I knew, I knew, that Heather was going to tangle Dakota further into her web. Trap her. I just didn't think she'd do it so soon.
"Fuck..." I breathe, pulling out my pack of cigarettes. What? Don't look at me like that - I need 'em right now. "What did you do, Koats? What's got Heather breathing down ya neck?"
More breathing. Heavy, panicked, hiccuping breathing. I could imagine her on the other side of the phone, her green eyes red and her tan skin flushed as she stubbornly scrubs away her tears and sniffles away the snot. Maybe she's at home. Maybe she's out in public, hiding away in the tiny walls of a public bathroom stall. Either way no-one will hear her out or try to comfort her; Dakota's alone.
"I- " She pauses, gulps, sniffs. "I've sent Courtney on a killing spree. She's gonna kill them! She's gonna kill me!"
Huge sobs take over, drowning out the sound of the nearby traffic, and I find myself frowning as I take a heavy drag from my cigarette. Clearly, Heather has pushed Dakota too far. Too, too far. Whatever shit she's entangled her in, Kota's in deep. Very deep. I don't know if I could do it anymore; I don't know if I can pull her out unscathed anymore.
Breathing out, I let my lungs fill with smokey nicotine, clearing my head, before responding. For once, I need to be levelheaded. I need to give Dakota decent advice, like she has for me, because it's only fair to call it even. It's only fair to do for her as she's done for me - even if I'm not the usual mushy, gushy type.
"Dakota," I begin, taking another draw of my cigarette. My hands shake; I really do need it now. "Listen to me, hun."
She sniffs, quietening down, "Mhm."
"Who is Courtney gonna kill?" I raise a brow, breathing out again. I feel like one of those cheesy detectives, the PIs who always have a stupid New York accent and some sorta Italian decent. Black suit on, gun hidden in its holster, they always have to seem smug. The cigarette doesn't help, its ash and smoke giving me a smokey downtown slum vibe. Neither did my Italian heritage. "Why, specifically, is she gonna kill you?"
"Heather," A dead tone. A plain answer. Yet, it is filled with fear, obedience. "Heather. She got me to record Gwen and Duncan, and I know that she's going to manipulate it. I know that she's going to- "
"Don't worry your pretty blonde head about it," I speak before she can panic again, cry again. My voice leaves soft, gentle, as I stub out my cigarette and watch the traffic flow outside the car park. The final wisps of nicotine leave my lips. "I'll deal with it. I'll warn Gwen and Dunk. I'll make sure that Heather and Courtney lay off ya, kay?"
No answer - just a sniff.
"I said, kay?"
Another small pause. Then a sigh. "Ok. I think that would be best."
"You're damn straight it is," I huff, tossing the stub of my cigarette onto the sidewalk. I put it out with my shoe. "So don't worry about it anymore. Annie's here to fix your mess."
"Thanks, Annie," She says it so softly, so lightly, that I could imagine her brightening up a little. I could see her tears stopping and a small, sheepish smile fixing onto her face. "I just... I want to say sorry for all those things I've done for Heather, you know? I want to take it all back..."
Take it all back? I've never thought about it like that before: taking it all back. I mean, with Heather you always feel like you're doing the right thing, being a bringer of justice. With Heather, you don't question right and wrong; you don't think about how that girl with the tacky skirt feels, or how the boy with the proactive stuffed into his backpack feels; you don't question how you'd feel if the roles are reversed; you don't think about anything.
I still don't.
"I know, Koats, I know. We all kinda do," I eventually sigh, pushing open the family restaurant's front door. The bell tinkles as I step inside. "But some of those people deserved it. Even you can't deny that."
Another pause. Another small, uncertain sniff.
"Yeah, I know," Dakota sighs too. However, hers is more thoughtful. Reflective. "I know."
Sam's P.O.V
After school is when I head to Dakota's to start a new session of Cryno. Like every usual visit, I make sure to approach her house around the back, where she has her own little secret entrance through the garden. Every Friday we have this ritual of meeting up, playing some pretty good games (new and old) and then recording some footage it for her online content. It's nice sharing the secret; it's nice being trusted.
When I first learned that Dakota was a huge gamer at heart, I couldn't believe it. At first I thought she was lying, just trying to get to me like those girls who like to pretend to be my friend, but she was different. Genuine. Dakota has the skills of a pro-gamer, someone who takes gaming to heart, and I immediately recognised her talent when she challenged me to game of classic Street Fighter after school one day. Since then we've pretty much been solid buddies and I cover for her by saying I help her out with homework - if only she really did need my help!
Dakota, like many of the kinder popular girls of our school, used to be quite normal. I remember her from middle school - her embarrassing brace-face kiss with Greg Olsen. Even back then I always thought that Dakota was pretty nice, very different from other girls of her caliber, but she shrunk away after the brace-kiss. She shrunk within herself completely, becoming Heather's complete puppet.
However, years after, she's better. Her confidence is coming back, she's made a few good friends, and she's blossoming in her gaming career. I'd say in a season or two she'll be a fully fledged pro, a fully-paid competitor.
"Sam!" Dakota ambushes me as soon as the door opens, flinging both of her arms around my neck. "I've made such a bad mistake!"
"What?" Immediately shock takes over my system, forcing my arms to stiffly try and comfort her. Fortunately, I'm used to her emotional outbursts and manage to land a few solid pats on the top of her blonde head. "Dakota, you're the nicest and most honest person I've met. Sure, you've made a terrible mistake, but we all do. It's part of being human."
"But I-I've sealed someone's fate!" She hiccups, sniffing harshly. Her green eyes are glassy as she pulls away from me, shaking her head. "I've helped Heather to destroy someone's life!"
"So?" I retort, knowing very well that Heather is someone who tends to make Dakota feel much worse about her actions than she really should. Whenever Heather makes Dakota act, she always has some sort of relapse - a breakdown - worrying about how bad she is and how she shouldn't be so easy to control. Each and every time I have to remind her that it isn't her fault; each every time I have to remind her that she was a good person. "You're sorry about it, right?"
"Yeah," Dakota nods, swallowing thickly. Sniffing once more, she wipes her eyes, spreading the red ring and dark eyeliner around them. The back of her hand comes back with smears of makeup. "Yeah, I am. I'm really, really sorry. I even told Annie that I am."
"Then just let them know that," I tell her, believing that it was the best course of action. If other people know about Dakota's situation, about how Heather uses her, then they wouldn't blame her. They couldn't blame her. I know that I don't. "Once you explain it all, I'm sure they'll understand."
"Really?" Dakota asks, a little bit of joy creeping back into her system. She's hopeful, clinging to the small chance of redemption that I have presented to her, and the sight of it both makes and breaks my day. Dakota is someone who shouldn't have to prove that she is a good person; Dakota is a good person. She is a good person who had been dealt some terrible, terrible cards in the intricate game that we call life.
"Really," I nod, giving her my most supportive and kind smile. "And if you don't believe me, call Anne-Maria. I'm sure she'll say the same."
"She already did," Dakota laughs and for a second it's like the old days. It's just like back then, when no-one cared about popularity or payback, when no-one was obsessing over public image - all they cared about was having good fun. Good, pure fun that would tickle your insides and make you smile. But that feeling is fleeting. It is short. Lasts only for a second.
"See!" I grin, nudging her. "I told you! Now let's get started on those matches. They'll definitely cheer you up."
Humming, Dakota nods, ready to lead the way to her room. Hopefully a good game of Cryno will cheer her up.