The Perfect Murder.
Father always told me I was too soft, granted, he was a retired mob boss. But that hadnβt prohibited him from making it his soul purpose in life to critique my every move. He wanted me to be fierce, untouchableβwrong. 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 doesnβt understandβwonβt. I need a good record, especially since everyoneβs afraid of me because they know some of the things heβs done.
Heβs been in prison for years, locked up when I turned ten. Everyone was surprised he lasted that long in the shadows. After all, he doesnβt exactly scream βinnocent.β 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 itβs 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. Sheβs cared for me ever since, but itβs obvious thereβs a strong part of her that fears Iβll become just like her son. I canβt say I donβt get it, because I totally do. If my son turned out to be a crazy crime lord and I took his kid in, Iβd be overly cautious as well. But sometimes I wish sheβd just let down a bit with always reminding me to βStay calm, composed,β everyday. Iβm 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 weβd been close since before my dad was caught. Our relationship consisted of laughing, the occasional prank, and deep conversation. I trusted him, until I couldnβt anymore. Until he broke my trust. All his talk about how weβd 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 werenβt true. The day I found out was the day I stopped short in my tracks, staring at my locker with wide eyes.
_βMurderering son of a whore!β_
Those words were spray canned on my locker in dark, angry red. My breath caught in my throat. The whole school mustβve stopped just to watch. I didnβt 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 wasnβt blood, but obviously they meant it to have that appearance. I couldnβt 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 theyβll have.
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My backpack drops to the ground. My face becomes hot with anger, and blood pounds in my ears. I donβt 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.
βLora, cβmon, it was just a joke!β he holds his hands up like heβs innocent. I hardly hear him over the beat of my heart. Oddβ¦he actually seems scaredβ_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.
βYouβre a backstabbing liar, Aaron,β I whisper.
Suddenly something shiny grabs my attention. Heβs put a knife between our faces, forcing me to back away. I stifle a laugh. βWhat are you gonna do, stab me?β
He doesnβt answer. Just keeps it pointed in my direction. βIt didnβt have to be this way, Lora,β he says.
My hands fist. βYou know what, youβre right, Aaron. It _really_ didnβt.β
A part of me wonders if heβll actually plunge the knife into me. But I know him all too well. See thatβs the thing about being βfriendsβ 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 theyβll do. He wonβt stab me. I walk towards him again. He has nowhere to go. βBack awayβ!β he threatens. But thatβs really all it is, so I speak over him.
βOr what, Aaron. Whatβre you gonna do?β I shout. I run at him. He closes his eyes as my fist connects with the locker to the right of his head. βDo it, then! Stab me.β
He opens his eyes and flinches at my fury. I grab the blade from his shaking grip, and hold it just under his chin. βKILL ME, AARON. TAKE IT BACK!β But he doesnβt. Sweat drips down his face and I watch as his eyes water.
_There_. He wonβt.
βYouβre a _coward_, Gilbertβs,β I whisper through clenched teeth into his ear, before dropping the knife and turning. Students stare wide-eyed. Iβm 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. Theyβre all just selfish, scheming, lying _cowards_. The moment theyβre faced with someone who will fight back, thatβs when they relent. Thatβs when they pause. Because theyβre not prepared to lose. They donβt _want_ to lose.
Perhaps Iβve let them win. I shouldβve simply walked away with my rage and kept quiet. But maybe Iβm more like my father than I let myself think.
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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_.