Chapter Twenty-OneTaylor
I could hardly breathe. I’d been beaten and knocked unconscious, and when I managed to open my eyes, they just started at it again.
Julian stood there leaning against the principal’s desk, watching with satisfaction as his two attack dogs tried to kill me. But I wasn’t dead yet. Why hadn’t they just finished me off with a bullet to the head?
As I thought this, I looked over at the body of Principal Harrison. His eyes were open wide, lifeless, witness to the whole school descending into horror.
“When you joined in that day as everybody was beating me up, I swore to myself I’d kill you,” Julian said, interrupting my frantic thoughts—thoughts that were growing cloudier as pain crept into every inch of my body. “You cool kids think you have the right to do or say anything you want. Your teachers tweak your grades because God forbid you get kicked off the team! The principal overlooks your bullshit. The other students treat you like gods. And why? Because you can throw a fucking ball into a basket?
“Ever since I started school, I was always the best in my class: straight A’s. I thought people would admire and respect me for it,but no. Let me tell you a little story about how everybody treated Julian.”
As he said this, he bent over and grabbed me by the hair, forcing me to look into his eyes. I didn’t say anything. I just listened. That was all I could do.
“You know what they used to do to me when I was ten and I was the smartest kid at school? They’d pick me up,” he continued, “and stuff my head in a toilet. Go on, try to imagine that, Taylor. The smell of shit in your hair, feeling it in your nose, in your mouth. Not being able to breathe, needing to throw up, and they just keep dunking you in over and over…”
I closed my eyes and asked myself how I could feel pity for him, despite my hatred for everything he’d done.
“It’s no picnic,” he said, “but I learned my lesson. I transferred schools, I let my grades suffer, let myself slip to getting B’s and C’s. I noticed that if you fuck up sometimes, people start liking you better. They ask you to be part of their cliques, they laugh about your shitty grades, thinking you’re so cool for not caring. That wasn’t easy for me, believe it or not. Have you ever tried failing an exam on purpose?
“I figured out another thing: If I worked on my body and joined sports teams, the girls noticed. If you can hit that six-foot mark, grow some muscles, get a six-pack, they smile at you, give you the eye, invite you to parties. Who cares about a guy’s brains when you can have a dickhead with a cool haircut and muscles?”
He let my head drop and continued walking around the room, spouting off. I had no interest in his monologue because yeah, sure, I got it. He’d had a hard time, so what? It didn’t justify killing innocent people.
“I’ve always been an observer; I like to watch people. I like to analyze their intentions, their actions, their dreams, see what makes them tick. And I realized if you understand people, youcan get what you want. It opens doors for you, you know? Not that it was easy—I must have gone through five schools before I managed to figure out what I had to do to fit in. And then I found myself here at Carsville with you all, and I had to rethink everything again. Take you, Taylor. You’re the captain of the basketball team, you’re going out with the hottest girl at school, you get good grades, and fuck, you’re even headed to Harvard. I haven’t seen anyone stuffing your head in the toilet for getting straight A’s.”
He laughed and paused for a moment. “Youchanged my whole perspective.Yougot me to look at things differently.Youmade me want to be like you. And all of a sudden, there I was, just another dumbass trying to copy the popular guy. In what universe does it make sense that I would want to be anything like you?”
With no warning, he kicked me in the chest, knocking the breath out of me. “Oh, I’m sorry, Taylor. Did that hurt? I guess you reap what you sow, as the saying goes.”
He kicked me again, and I wondered how much longer my body could hold out.
“Why don’t we just off this loser?” one of his henchmen asked, a guy I think I’d heard Julian refer to as Rapper.
“Good question,” Julian responded, nudging my head with his foot. I didn’t have the strength to fight back. I’d already given it a shot, fighting tooth and nail when they nabbed me crossing the main hallway by the stairs, but now there was no point—not when it was three against one, and not with a gun to my head. “You know why I haven’t killed you, Taylor?”
I didn’t answer him, and in the silence, I heard noise from outside. We looked toward the door, and Julian answered his own question: “Here it comes. This is why I haven’t killed you yet.”
“Let him go, Jules,” Thiago shouted. My brother’s voice momentarily made me forget how much pain I was in, but the feeling didn’t last long, not long at all. Because I knew exactlywhat would come next.
“No!” I screamed, but Julian kicked me in the face again.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Let him go,” my brother insisted again.
My eyes were practically swollen shut, but I managed to see Rapper and the other guy pointing their guns at my brother.
Why had he come back? Why would he crawl into the belly of the beast when it was almost impossible that he’d make it out alive?
Because he’d never leave you to fend for yourself, that’s why.
Julian laughed. “Why in the hell would I let him go?” He walked over to Thiago like a lion stalking his prey.
“Take me instead. I’m the one you want,” Thiago said, raising his palms to show he wouldn’t put up a fight.
“Why would I let one of you go when I can have you both?” Julian asked with a grin.
“For one simple reason,” Thiago responded. “Kate.”
