Father always told me I was too soft, granted, he was a retired mob boss. But that hadn’t prohibited him from making it his soul purpose in life to critique my every move. He wanted me to be fierce, untouchable—wrong. He wanted me to be him. He forgets, though, that not every teen is looking to become the next world-known assassin. My current focus is my grades. To him they are expendable, but he just doesn’t understand—won’t. I need a good record, especially since everyone’s afraid of me because they know some of the things he’s done.

He’s been in prison for years, locked up when I turned ten. Everyone was surprised he lasted that long in the shadows. After all, he doesn’t exactly scream “innocent.” Scars batter his face and thick forearms, inked designs from his shoulders down to his fingers. I know what most think when they see him, and it’s scary to think whatever idea they have conjured in their heads is correct.

My grandma took me in right when she found out about my dads arrest. She’s cared for me ever since, but it’s obvious there’s a strong part of her that fears I’ll become just like her son. I can’t say I don’t get it, because I totally do. If my son turned out to be a crazy crime lord and I took his kid in, I’d be overly cautious as well. But sometimes I wish she’d just let down a bit with always reminding me to “Stay calm, composed,” everyday. I’m the top of my class, and have never gotten into any fights at school. Mostly because people are too afraid to approach me, so it also makes it difficult to find friends.

There was only one person in the whole building who took the risk to speak to me. His name was Aaron, and we’d been close since before my dad was caught. Our relationship consisted of laughing, the occasional prank, and deep conversation. I trusted him, until I couldn’t anymore. Until he broke my trust. All his talk about how we’d grow old together, it all turned out to be a big fluke. He gathered up all this information about my dad, and spread rumors through the whole school that weren’t true. The day I found out was the day I stopped short in my tracks, staring at my locker with wide eyes.

_“Murderering son of a whore!”_

Those words were spray canned on my locker in dark, angry red. My breath caught in my throat. The whole school must’ve stopped just to watch. I didn’t look at any of them as I opened my locker. A pop sounded, before hot, red liquid fell onto my head and soaked my clothes. It wasn’t blood, but obviously they meant it to have that appearance. I couldn’t believe it. And amongst the people who pointed and laughed, was Aaron. Him and his newly dyed red hair with black tips, and the gray eyes that mocked me.

If they wanted a monster, then a monster they’ll have.

——————————————

My backpack drops to the ground. My face becomes hot with anger, and blood pounds in my ears. I don’t see anyone but Aaron as I slowly stalk towards him. He stops laughing. Not so funny anymore, hmm? Raven locks stick to my face, and the odd, red fluid runs down my face as I reach out and grab his black hoodie. The crowd clears out of the way. I push him into the lockers with all my strength. Aaron grunts as his head slams against them.

“Lora, c’mon, it was just a joke!” he holds his hands up like he’s innocent. I hardly hear him over the beat of my heart. Odd…he actually seems scared—_horrified_. Its clear in every tremble of his plee, how sweat beads above his mouth. I bring my face so close to his, our lips nearly touch.

“You’re a backstabbing liar, Aaron,” I whisper.

Suddenly something shiny grabs my attention. He’s put a knife between our faces, forcing me to back away. I stifle a laugh. “What are you gonna do, stab me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps it pointed in my direction. “It didn’t have to be this way, Lora,” he says.

My hands fist. “You know what, you’re right, Aaron. It _really_ didn’t.”

A part of me wonders if he’ll actually plunge the knife into me. But I know him all too well. See that’s the thing about being “friends” with some one for years. One tends to get a clear idea of what they will do, and what they try to _make_ it look like they’ll do. He won’t stab me. I walk towards him again. He has nowhere to go. “Back away—!” he threatens. But that’s really all it is, so I speak over him.

“Or what, Aaron. What’re you gonna do?” I shout. I run at him. He closes his eyes as my fist connects with the locker to the right of his head. “Do it, then! Stab me.”

He opens his eyes and flinches at my fury. I grab the blade from his shaking grip, and hold it just under his chin. “KILL ME, AARON. TAKE IT BACK!” But he doesn’t. Sweat drips down his face and I watch as his eyes water.

_There_. He won’t.

“You’re a _coward_, Gilbert’s,” I whisper through clenched teeth into his ear, before dropping the knife and turning. Students stare wide-eyed. I’m sure the school has never been this silent in its whole existence.

I reach down and pluck my backpack from the floor. As I walk through the parting crowd of nervous individuals, I finally see them for who they are. They’re all just selfish, scheming, lying _cowards_. The moment they’re faced with someone who will fight back, that’s when they relent. That’s when they pause. Because they’re not prepared to lose. They don’t _want_ to lose.

Perhaps I’ve let them win. I should’ve simply walked away with my rage and kept quiet. But maybe I’m more like my father than I let myself think.

——————————————

Some might think nothing of that day, other than a fight between the traitor and the betrayed. And though noeone was physically murdered, someone did die that morning.

_Me_.