Unrequited Death (Death #6)

Unrequited Death (Death #6) Page 5

Carson was gunning for Tiff. Had been gunning for her. School was over and he hadn't forgotten her school girl taunting, his almost-revenge. Of course, Tiff had laid it where it hurt the most. For Carson, his prick was his pride.

And the awful truth was, he was right.

We couldn't always be there. Tiff's words had proven that.

I knew I couldn't be responsible for plugging the holes of the group's vulnerabilities.

It didn't help my rage issues.

What did?

CHAPTER 4

then

senior year

Tiff walked to her locker, pulsereader swinging in a loose grip. It was between classes and she had all the lame ones from prior years satisfied. Now she was taking all underwater basketweaving types now. Autopilot Mode for senior year was awesomesauce squared. The only class that was prerequisite core was AFTD which totally worked because she and Caleb could play catnip with old Dave Smith. It was tight. She'd roll her gum in her mouth like a cow chewing its cud and Smith would have a cow and she'd spit it into the separator. Rinse and repeat.

Priceless.

Tiff was usually pretty good about noticing her surroundings but had let the quiet of the hall lull her into a false sense of security as she made a self-absorbed beeline to her locker.

When Hamilton barreled into her from behind, slamming her into the locker and pinning her against it using his body weight like an effective anchor, she thought she'd pee on the spot.

Tiff knew it was him.

It'd only been a couple of weeks since she'd called him the Dickless Wonder. His lack of a penis was not his fault but Tiff was honor bound to tell him.

Hamilton hadn't forgotten, his eyes followed her everywhere she went since her last jibe. Hamilton had just been biding his time. She bit off the whimper that rose in response to her automatic fight and flight response.

"Bitch," he seethed, grinding against her posterior.

Gawd... effing ick, she thought with sick revulsion.

However, Tiff had no sense of self-preservation. "I'm not feeling it now either..."

"What?" Carson hissed, pressing his hips into her back. He was such an evil turd.

"Your dick, dumbass," she said in the slow tones you use with a child or someone that doesn't understand English as a first language.

Snatching a handful of her hair, he slammed her forehead into the locker, and Tiff saw stars.

Shit, not smart on the tongue lashing, she thought in a daze. And horror of horrors, she could feel his dick and it made her armpits sweat. Her heart began beating wildly in an attempt to escape her ribcage. The perv was getting off on hurting her.

No surprise there, the fucking freak.

Tiff let her head tip forward and then used it like a battering ram (it had been very effective with the brothers), launching it backward into his forehead. She had to hop a little as she did it, guessing at his height, ignoring the latent dizziness of the abuse of her head.

She nailed him, and his gross tool and body fell away from her.

Tiff laid a palm on the cool metal of the lockers, a knot of flesh forming above her eye and turned to him.

They faced off: a one hundred fifteen pound, five feet four pissed off girl against two hundred pounds and six feet one of perv.

Just then, students poured out from their portals, released from the classes they'd been learning in. They flowed between the pair, unaware of what had transpired. Carson gave her a shitty smirk and with a finger like a gun, took a shot like a bull's eye aimed at her chest.

Clearly, this was just going to be the beginning of the harassment. He sauntered off, adjusting his junk as he did. Just another day in the park, the bastard.

She clutched her own hands together to stop their shaking from the residual surge of sick adrenaline brought on by the fun little encounter with Dickless.

Tiff stared after his retreating back, wondering how many other girls he'd scared, coerced or worse. Why he was focused on her... she was a pain in his ass. Chicks were throwing themselves at his feet. Good looking, rich... ah- Pyro. Kinda attractive bad boy combo.

Not to her. Bad boys that beat girls' heads into lockers were on her Do Not Date list.

Guys that were mirror-lovers were on the list too. Besides, she had a guy she kinda liked.

That she'd always liked. Tears burned the back of her eyelids with unshed tears. She was scared. And Tiff was pissed that he'd scared her. She was not gonna be intimidated by his punk-ass.

She sure as shit wasn't going to be caught with her head wedged up her ass again. True dat.

Tiff hesitated in the middle of the hall as the teens swirled around her, jostling her with their gear packs. She wasn't sure what to do. Her head was throbbing like a rotting tooth, but she didn't want to alert the guys (especially Bry who would have ten different kinds of cows) that her antagonism had gotten her into this fucked up bind with Hamilton. She had a guilty flash when she thought of saying anything. Nah, she'd take care of it in her own way. She especially didn't want John to know. Tiff wasn't a coward who begged for a guy's protection.

It was somehow easier not to say anything when she knew that any one of them would kill Carson if they knew. It made it easier for Tiff to be brave. She took a deep breath in the middle of the herd of moving flesh, regaining her composure through sheer grit.

She pressed a hand to her head, flinching at the tenderness. Yeah, this was an in-house deal. The group didn't need to know about it. Tiff could handle it. Besides, she'd look like an ass. She flipped up the hood on her screaming pink hoodie and moved down the hallway, her pulsereader clutched in her hand, fighting nausea, her head down like a rudder cutting its path in the water.

After a few meters, Tiff paused, touching a passing locker, steadying herself. She couldn't remember another time in her life when she'd wanted to toss her cookies more than now. Oh yeah, when she and Caleb were working that serial killer thing with the cops.

This was a different kind of puking, though. It was brought on by a chick beater. Look at where his wounded ego had taken him? He was such a small jerk.

When Randi walked up and asked if she was alright, Tiff hesitated. Randi's eyes widened at the purple knob on her brow line.

Maybe just one person could know, Tiff conceded. She'd keep her yap shut, principal's kid and all. Randi would never bend the truth.

Uh... yeah.

Tiff told her and Randi listened, her face a kaleidoscope of reactions as the story unfolded. The last one mimicked Tiff's.

Anger with a chaser of injustice.

An alliance was formed. However unlikely, the two girls became better friends.

Secrets had a way of forging distance.

Especially confidences of the violent sort.

Caleb

Tiff was subdued at lunch and the general table noticed. John especially, his eyes were watching her slumped shoulders closely.

"How'd you get that bump?" I asked casually, eying it up. It looked like somebody had crammed an egg under her skin like a cyclops with a coating of purple on top.

"Hell yeah, Tiff, ya klutz, what's doin'?" Jonesy asked around a slurp of chocolate milk. Tiff flipped him off and he barked out a laugh.

"She hit her head on the locker," Randi explained, pushing her gross salad around on the plate.

I knew Tiff could answer for herself.

Jade looked across the table at Tiff and opened her mouth to say something as Tiff looked up. "It was a lame fall, I know," she said with a tight smile.

"Yeah, like a banana peel slip?" Jonesy said, digging around on Sophie's tray for some leftovers.

"Hey!" Sophie slapped his hand, "let me eat my lunch ya pig!"

"Oink!" Jonesy said, stabbing a tater tot off her tray with his spork.

"Ugh!" Sophie cried at his thievery.

"Looks like it hurts," John observed quietly.

I noticed Tiff's lip give the slightest tremble and her eyes got shiny. "Yeah, it hurt's like a bitch." She cast her eyes on her tray and pushed food around in an attempt to look like she was eating.

"They've got a level three Organic in the nurse's station today," Alex said.

We all looked at him.

"Now let me ask why you'd know that, Alex?" Archer gave him steady gray eyes.

"I like to be prepared for stuff."

I laughed. "Yeah, ya never know around here what fun may erupt."

"Uh-huh, that's right Hart. Your level of shit slides in one direction."

"Downhill?" Lewis Archer asked the obvious.

Jonesy pointed his spork at him and said, "You got it, Archer."

I frowned and Jonesy grinned like a fool. "No offense, Hart, but you're a magnet for violent weirdness."

Uh-huh, I thought, getting peeved.

I watched as Carson Hamilton strolled up. That was never a good thing.

He balanced his foot on the bench and pegged Archer with a stare. Lewis didn't flinch at the guy who'd tortured him in the past.

Tiff did.

My mind began putting together dots but that almost-realization died when Carson said, "Hey butt-humper." The comment was aimed like a Bigotry Torpedo at Archer. I wonder if Carson Hamilton got the memo on what assholes bullies were?Probably not.

Extra asshole points for his lack of originality, it was painful to observe.

Archer stared at him. Finally, because Lewis was way brighter than Hamilton, he said, "How would you know, Carson?"

Well, wasn't that just clever as hell, I observed with a sick thrill.

Of course, Jonesy couldn't let Archer fend for himself. He was a homophobe but he didn't dig unfairness; it rubbed his fur the wrong way. And like a cat, he arched and took a swipe at Hamilton.

"Pulse. It. In," Jonesy told Carson.

"What... ya moron, pulse what in?" Carson asked, totally stepping into the Jonester Logic.

Nice. Move.

"1-800-Reach Around," Jonesy said, completely pleased with himself. Archer groaned, knowing that was just the tip of the homosexual iceberg.

"He's calling ya a fag, man," Brody explained, having sidled up behind Carson, honing in on the potential for a violent episode like a vulture circling carrion.

Carson's eyes narrowed to slits as he reached for Jonesy's shirt, his knuckles grazing the big ass cast littered with colorful signatures on Jonesy's forearm.

It didn't help that John had fallen off the cafeteria bench, landing in an ungainly pile on the floor, tears streaming at Carson's expense. As usual.

"Colon cowboy!" Jonesy chortled, barking out a laugh as he neatly avoided Carson's reach. Jonesy even managed to look graceful while using his bulky cast to his own advantage.

"Oh shit," Tiff said in soft horrified fascination, an odd look on her face while snapping gum like machine gun fire.

"Man-wrangler," Archer added and Jonesy stopped in his tracks with an open mouth and stared at Lewis. So did Hamilton.

Lewis shrugged at his flagrant surprise. "Gay guys come up with the best G, Jonesy."

"Nice, Archer," the Jonester said with open admiration. That cool mutual regard was shattered when the bull that was Carson charged.

"Hell!" Carson trumpeted, stalking Jonesy, "he's fucking gay!" He whipped an arm in Archer's direction. "Why are you telling me what to do?" Carson asked as he inched closer to Jonesy.

Probably because it was so much more fun, I thought, taking a sip of chocolate milk while keeping my body between Carson and Jade. Insurance was key.

"Because, man," Jonesy answered, pinwheeling in graceful backward arcs, "we know he's gay... we suspect your ass..."

"Deeply suspect," Alex said with a wink, then added contemplatively, "your ass."

"Yeah," Tiff said in a compulsive one word answer, keeping a safe distance as Carson's eyes rested on the third eye above her brows. She backed away further, muttering, "What he said, Hamilton."

Carson got a weird smile on his face for a moment but turned his attention to Jonesy again. "You!" Carson bellowed, gathering his momentum and charging after Jonesy in a loose circle through the cafeteria. Jonesy swept the loose lunch trays from the cafeteria tables in a trail behind him for Carson to trip over. They clattered like plastic sleet against the floor as the gang watched Carson implode in the cafeteria.

"Chen didn't buy your victim act?" I asked Jonesy outside. All of us were standing underneath the eaves along the perimeter of the school. They were too narrow to help much with the sheeting rain; it bounced up and nailed our shins, soaking our jeans as we stood around.

November in Kent: hovering above freezing and raining. Unpleasant as hell.

"Hell no she didn't," he said morosely. "I wanna know why that jag-up Hamilton always gets the free card."

"His dad," Tiff said softly, not a gum bubble in sight.