The Bullies Who Loved Me Page 10

  Eggs?

  Glancing up, I spot Avery, her friends, and a few others from school standing there with cartons of eggs. The Kings are behind them, hands in their pockets, eyes fuming with anger.

  I knew they were planning something.

  Eric tells them to go ahead, and they launch more eggs at me. I quickly protect myself with my hands, even though there’s no point. My shirt, jeans, shoes, hair, backpack are getting covered in raw eggs.

  “Stop,” I try to say, but they’re throwing them so strongly and a few egg yolks spill into my mouth.

  The kids yell as they continue their attack. It’s like they have an endless supply of eggs. I try to stand and flee the area, but the floor is slippery and I drop down, my shoulder slamming into the ground.

  They continue pelting me, calling me Pigget and warning me to watch myself. I just continue protecting my face, waiting for this to end.

  I don’t know how long it takes before they run out of ammunition. I hear footsteps as they walk off and I lower my hands. The Kings, Avery, and her friends still stand there. Humor dances in their eyes as they take a good look at their success.

  Eric glares at me, his lips pressed in a tight line. We stare at one another, like this is some sort of competition. It’s not long before he whips around, motioning for the others to follow him.

  I’m left in a pool of yolks and shells. I swipe some off my face and slowly get to my feet. This place is deserted, which is why it was the perfect spot to attack me.

  I carefully make my way home. Mom’s expecting me at the diner, but there’s no way I’m going there right now. I’m careful to walk behind the houses so no one can see me. I can’t let my parents find out.

  Or should they?

  Maybe it’s time I think long and hard about what I’m doing. I could get a good education at any school. It doesn’t need to be Leighton High. And while I don’t want to let those jerks run me off, I don’t think I could handle this anymore.

  I think…I think it’s time I have a long, long talk with my parents.

  But first, I need to change out of these clothes, take a shower, and help my mom out at the diner.

  ***

  I can’t tell them during dinner. Mom’s in such a good mood because a rich guy from New York City visited town and loved Mom’s diner so much he’s going to recommend it to his friends. And Dad’s so happy and proud listening to her gush about it.

  I roll my peas around in my plate. It still feels like there are eggs in my hair, even though I washed it three times. Mom was a little worried when I showed up late to work, but I reassured her I was working on a school project.

  How much longer do I have to lie to them? At the same time, how can I tell them? It’ll crush them.

  “Daphne, what’s wrong?” Mom asks, her smile dropping as she takes in my mostly-full plate.

  I force a smile and a forkful of chicken into my mouth. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

  Mom continues to talk about the rich man, how he loved the food, the atmosphere, the décor. Mom worked hard on that, and it’s nice to hear her get complimented. But as hard as I’m trying to be happy for her, I can’t forget about the egg attack. I hate surrendering. I know I have a right to go to that school, but none of this is worth it. And if I don’t leave now, I don’t know what’ll happen.

  I manage to wear that same smile throughout dinner. I drag myself up to my room and fall on my bed, staring at the ceiling. To tell them or not to tell them? What do I do?

  Rolling onto my side, I crush my pillow under my head and shut my eyes. The images and feeling of the kids pelting me attack my brain, and my eyes fly open. I can still feel each hit, each smack to my hands and body. They weren’t just attacking, they wanted me to bleed.

  Sitting up, I decide to do the right thing. It might worry my parents, but I need to tell them.

  As I slowly descend the stairs, I hear my parents whispering in the kitchen. Do they know about the bullying?

  I slide toward the door and strain my ears and eyes. They have piles of bills before them.

  Mom rubs the space between her brows. “How much longer can we keep the diner open, Dave? It was silly to think one rich executive could change things. No one wants to come when they have all those fast food chains around the area.”

  Dad pats her hand. “You never know what’ll happen, honey. As long as we have customers, the place will survive.”

  Mom shakes her head. “It’s costing us money instead of earning. I know your job pays well, but can we afford the diner and pay for Daphne’s college? It’s less than two years away.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  Mom dabs her eyes with a tissue. “It’s too much. I can’t handle it.”

  Dad wraps his arm around her, saying encouraging words, but I don’t think it’s doing any good.

  Leaning against the wall, I take a deep breath. I knew keeping the diner open put a strain on my parents financially, but I never thought it was this bad.

  I shut my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. My parents have a lot on their plate right now and I can’t add more. My stupid problems are nothing compared to theirs. And even if they reassure me they can handle it, we don’t have the money to send me to private school or to the one in the next town. How would I get there? The bus takes two hours. Mom and Dad would have to spend money on gas. And Dad’s job is here…would we have to move? They can’t afford that, either. I think they’re still paying mortgage on our house.

  I’ll have to…I’ll have to deal with it. Somehow, I need to make it through the days.

  Mom cries on Dad’s shoulder. I can’t bear listening, and return to my room, plopping down on my bed and hugging my pillow.

  Zoe texts me, but I ignore her. I’m not in the mood to talk to her or anyone. I just want to sleep and forget my problems for a little while.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eric

  I work a double shift on Saturdays. I’m so tired the entire week of working and taking care of Dad and Phoebe that I don’t have time for anything. Not even homework, which is why I didn’t study for yesterday’s oral quiz.

  I don’t care about school. I just care about keeping my sister safe, fed, and happy. She’s with her friends while I’m at work. Dad was snoring in front of the TV when I left. At least he didn’t yell or demand things this morning. One time he made me late for work with his bitching.

  The day passes in a blur. My friends text me to hang out, but I give them excuse after excuse. They’re not stupid and I’m worried they’ll discover my secret. Especially Caden. I noticed him looking at me funny the last few days, asking me where I’m going or what I’m doing. He also knows not to push or pry too much. I guess I can still use the dead brother card.

  I wish I could hang out after work, but I’m tired and I need to make sure Dad doesn’t burn the house down.

  After texting Phoebe that I’ll pick her up later, I take the bus home. Dad’s yelling at the TV, empty bottles and beer cans partying around him.

  His head lifts when the door shuts behind me. He narrows his eyes. “Where’s your sister?”

  I pull the fridge door open for something to eat. Damn it, we ran out again. I’ll have to go to the store tomorrow. I’m too tired now.

  Dad stomps toward me, grabbing me by the shirt. “Where’s your sister, boy?”

  I pry his fingers off. “What do you want with her?”

  “Her school called. Said she got into some sort of trouble.”

  My heart skips a beat. Did they find out my dad’s a drunk? Will they take us away and split us up?

  “What did you tell them?”

  He shrugs, downing some more beer. Then he throws it against the wall, missing me by a few inches. “Said I’d talk to her.”

  He stalks to the TV and plops down. I heave a sigh of relief. Dad might be a fucked-up drunken bastard, but he knows to keep up the façade of us being a semi-normal family.

  On my way to my room, I stop
in the living room. There are many pictures of me, Blake, and Phoebe in different stages of our childhood. My eyes zero in on the largest one, the three of us with our arms wrapped around one another. This was taken two years ago, after Blake and the swim team won the biggest competition of the season. I remember how I gazed at him with awe. I wanted to be him one day.

  The frame is shattered, probably because of Dad throwing his bottles around. When I pick it up, I realize it’s damaged and wet. “Damn bastard,” I mutter. I scoop up all the pictures and head to Blake’s room. We’ve kept it as it is, as if he’s still using it.

  I take a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The smell attacks me immediately. It’s Blake’s smell. A mixture of deodorant and chlorine. He always smelled like chlorine.

  I drop the pictures on the bed, then frown. They shouldn’t be here. They need to be somewhere safe, not out in the open like this.

  I haven’t touched his drawers in my life. He hardly let me in his room, but I need to find a place for them.

  After rummaging around a bit, I figure the closet has the most space. I gently place them inside, close the door, and lean against the wall and look around the room. The place screams Blake. It’s like he’s still alive and will return from swim practice, plop down on his bed, and listen to music.

  I shift my body, then I hear a tearing sound before one of his posters of a famous swimmer crumples to the floor. I’m about to pick it up, when something on the wall catches my attention. It’s a…safe? Why the hell does he have a safe in his room?

  Stepping closer, I notice the safe is opened a crack. Did he leave it like that on purpose? What could he be hiding in here? I tear the door open. A USB flash drive sits there.

  I dig it out, then rush to my room to stab it into my laptop. There’s a video, which is dated three months ago…the day he killed himself. I quickly click on it.

  My stomach twists when Blake appears in front of the camera. He looks messed up, hair standing up like he’s been electrocuted, clothes look like he slept in them. Hell, it doesn’t seem like he showered the past few days. His eyes are empty, and when he starts talking, it’s a monotone, like the life has left his body.

  “If you’re watching this, it means I’m gone.”

  I sit forward, my throat choking up.

  “I can’t…I can’t take it anymore. I need to tell the truth.”

  He takes a deep breath before going on, “I did something stupid. Something really, really stupid and I don’t know what to do. There was this graduation party…shit. I can’t….what have I done?”

  He shakes his head, eyes still hollow. “The party was epic. Huge. And it was all in my honor. When I party, I party hard, but it was different. It was my LAST high school party. I wanted to have fun. I drank and danced. Jackson drank, too, but he wasn’t much of a drinker. And he always felt like he had to watch over me. Damn bastard. Why was he such a damn good friend? No, a stupid friend. A fucking stupid friend.”

  “The girls were crazy about me. They liked messing around with me and I loved returning the favor. So I had three girls on each arm, living the life, right? I didn’t know their names, didn’t even care much about them. Just liked the attention.”

  “So me, Jackson, and this girl…I don’t remember her name, only that I chose her over the others because she was hot. And I mean hot. We ran to the woods because we wanted to hook up or whatever. I don’t know why Jackson came. He always tagged along, the stupid asshole. He shouldn’t have been there, then he wouldn’t have taken…shit.”

  He rubs his hand down his face, takes a deep breath, and goes on, “The girl wanted to kiss me…no, that’s a lie. I wanted to kiss her, but she pushed me away. Said she had a guy. But I didn’t care. I chose her over the others because I wanted her. Why the hell did she go to the woods with me if she had a boyfriend?”

  “She slapped me when I tried to kiss her and I got so mad…I pushed her into a large rock. I wanted to hurt her. Wanted to teach her a lesson because she rejected me.”

  “But then…then she didn’t move.”

  “She was dead.”

  “I killed her.”

  “I fucking killed her.”

  “Jackson said we needed to run before anyone would find us there. We pretended that nothing happened. They found her body the next day and traced it back to us.”

  “Jackson told me to lie that I wasn’t there. Of course I would lie. I couldn’t be charged with murder. I had a swimming scholarship to Dukan University. I wasn’t going to throw that all away because I…I...Damn, I can’t even say it.”

  He stares off into the distance. “I remember sitting in the interrogation room at the police station and sweating a storm. I don’t remember what excuse I gave the cops. But I never imagined Jackson would take the blame. He took the blame for the murder I committed. Like I said, a fucking stupid friend.”

  “I asked him why he did it. He said his life wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t get accepted to college and would probably end up in community college. He had no dreams or hopes for the future, didn’t care what happened to him. But it was different for me. I’d be this awesome swimmer and could possibly even make it to the Olympics.”

  “I…I accepted his decision. I don’t know…it just seemed like the right thing to do. I mean, I worked so hard to get to where I was. I deserved to swim for Dukan. Besides, he already made his decision. And I was okay with it.”

  He stares into the camera, face pale, eyes even more hollow. “But I’m not okay with it anymore. Every night I go to bed and think about the girl I killed. She’ll never go to college or get a job or have a future. Same with Jackson. He’ll sit in jail for the rest of his life.”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Dukan University doesn’t want me anymore. They revoked their acceptance. They found out I was super drunk that night and don’t want someone like me to represent their school.”

  “No one wants me.”

  “I’ve got nothing.”

  “I’m nothing.”

  “I can’t look at Eric or Phoebe anymore, not after what I did. They look up to me like I’m their idol. What idol am I? A loser. A liar. A murderer.”

  “I’ve got nothing left.”

  “But the worst part is that he’s rotting in jail because of me. He still won’t let me tell the truth, even after I lost my scholarship. Says I still have a chance to follow my dreams. He believes in me.”

  “I can’t live with this guilt. It’s fucking me up so badly I can’t even sleep at night or get out of bed in the morning.”

  “I can’t do this anymore. Just can’t.”

  I’m frozen in place as I rewatch the video, hoping it was a mistake, that my eyes and ears are playing tricks on me.

  Blake…he wasn’t…he couldn’t.

  “I fucking killed her.”

  The words are right there, clear as the glass on the windows.

  No. No. It can’t be.

  My brother didn’t kill her. He’s lying. There’s no way, no way in hell.

  Tears burn my eyes as I watch the video over and over again. I don’t know what I’m looking for. The words aren’t changing to what I want them to.

  He…oh god. He really killed her.

  Everyone believed Jackson, figuring it was impossible for a kid like Blake to murder someone.

  There was one person who knew the truth, but no one believed her. She tried as hard as she could to bring justice to the dead girl, but no one would listen to her.

  She was trying to do the right thing.

  And now I’m making her life a living hell.

  I slam the laptop shut, my hands tearing into my hair. “Why?” I demand, the tears rushing down my cheeks. “Why did you do it, Blake? You killed her. Fucking hell, you really did it.”

  I ram my fist into the wall, one, two three times. I’m bleeding, but don’t feel a thing. Only betrayal and anger.

  How could he?

  I sho
uldn’t blame Daphne for my shitty life. Her only crime was telling the truth. It’s Blake…he left us. He left us to rot.

  Sliding down to the floor, I bury my face in my knees. “Bastard,” I mutter. “Damn bastard. You made me…shit, I’m terrorizing a girl for no damn reason. I’m putting her through hell for you, and now I find out you really did kill that girl. I hate you, man. I fucking hate you.”

  I swipe at my eyes. “You destroyed Phoebe’s life, you selfish asshole. She’ll never be happy again. How could you do this to us? How could you force me to hurt someone else?”

  After grabbing the flash drive and shoving it into my back pocket, I charge out of the house and run. I have no idea where I’m going or why I took this damn flash drive with me, but I need to…I just need to run.

  My legs burn and body yells for me to rest, but I’m not listening. I don’t know how long I’ve been running but it’s dark out.

  My chest heaves as my lungs cry for oxygen. I don’t care. I don’t care how much pain I’m in. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve done to Daphne Pickett.

  How could I do something like that to her? She’s innocent. And even if she wasn’t, it’s not okay to torment her like that. What was I thinking? Would it bring Blake back? Of course not. Does it make me happy? No. I hate hurting people. But I haven’t been myself since he died. It’s like a curtain was pulled over my eyes. But now the curtain has lifted and I realize what I’ve done.

  I made her life a living hell. My life is a living hell. Why would I put someone else through that?

  I was blinded by revenge for my brother’s death, but I’m not blind anymore.

  My legs are on fire now and I don’t know how much longer they can support me, but I trudge on. I need to feel the pain I inflicted on her. I need to punish myself for what I’ve done.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ryder

  I’m lounging on the chair in the living room, watching Netflix. I watch too much TV, but that’s what happens when my parents are always traveling and I’m avoiding a certain snake who thinks she owns me.