Rage

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

D ays turn into weeks, a blur of healing and revelation. Jaz becomes my constant, my anchor in the storm of recovery. He tends to my wounds with practiced care, continuing to apply his salves that sting and soothe in equal measure. His hands, calloused and strong, are infinitely gentle as they ghost over my bruised skin.

Slowly, painfully, my body knits itself back together. The bruises fade from violent purples to sickly yellows, then vanish altogether. But the marks on my soul remain raw and weeping.

I wake screaming some nights, phantom hands grasping at my flesh. Jaz is always there, and when I beg him to hold me, his arms become a fortress against the terrors that haunt me.

As my strength returns, so do the memories, replaying like jagged shards of glass, cutting deep. They come in flashes, vivid and cruel. The bonfire's warmth on my skin. The sweet taste of the drink in my red cup. The dizziness that wasn't just from alcohol. Three faces, leering and predatory, emerging from the shadows between the trees.

I come to consciousness screaming again, clawing at phantoms. Jaz holds me, his embrace both a cage and a sanctuary. "Let it out," he whispers fiercely. "Your pain is your power. Use it."

And so I do. I rage, weep and curse the universe for its cruelty. Jaz weathers it all, a rock against which my storm breaks.

Time passes, measured in small victories. The day I can sit up without assistance. The first steps I take, wobbling like a newborn fawn. The morning I look in the mirror and recognize the face staring back at me, battered but unbroken.

Jaz becomes my protector, my confidant, my dark angel. He teaches me to channel my pain into purpose, to forge my anger into a weapon.

"Revenge isn't just about violence," he tells me one night, his eyes glinting in the lamplight. "It's about reclaiming what was taken from you. Your power. Your autonomy. Your future."

I absorb his words like a sponge, letting them fill the hollow spaces inside me. With each passing day, my resolve hardens. I will not be defined by what was done to me. I will rise, and I will make them pay.

It's on a quiet evening, as Jaz changes my bandages, that the final pieces click into place. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, sharp and clinical. His fingers brush against my skin, and suddenly, I'm there again. The bonfire. The trees. The laughter that turned to screams.

"I remember," I whisper, my voice hoarse with the weight of revelation. "I remember their faces.”

Jaz's hands still, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Tell me, little fighter," he urges softly.

The words spill out of me like blood from a wound, each memory a fresh cut on my psyche. "The bonfire... it was a party, a bunch of us from the same college. I can see the flames dancing, hear the music pulsing. My red cup... the drink tasted off, but I ignored it. Everything went fuzzy after that."

Jaz nods, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he listens. His fingers resume their ministrations, gentle yet grounding.

"There were three of them," I whisper, my voice cracking. "They... they followed me when I stumbled away from the party. Into the trees."

I trail off, choking on the words. Jaz's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "You're safe now," he reminds me. "Keep going. Let it out."

Drawing strength from his touch, I press on. "They took turns. I could smell the ocean nearby, hear the waves crashing. But no one heard me. No one came." Tears stream down my face, hot and bitter. "When they were done, they beat me. Fists and feet and cruel laughter. Then... nothing. Just darkness."

Silence falls between us, heavy with shared understanding. Jaz's thumb traces soothing circles on the back of my hand. "I found you there in the morning. You survived," he says finally, his voice thick with emotion. "You're stronger than they could ever imagine, little fighter. And so damn brave."

I nod, a shaky breath escaping my lips. "They were in some of my classes," I whisper, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

Jaz's eyes widen, a spark of dangerous interest igniting in their depths. "You know their names?" he asks, his voice low and urgent.

I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. The lecture hall comes into focus, its tiered seats filled with faceless students. But three faces stand out with cruel clarity, etched into my mind like a brand.

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely audible. "I know their names."

The room seems to shrink around us, the air growing thick and heavy. Outside, the wind picks up, whistling through the trees and rattling the windowpane. It's as if nature itself is responding to the tension building between us.

Jaz leans in closer, his presence both comforting and intimidating. The scent of him—sandalwood and something darker, more primal—envelops me. His breath is warm against my cheek as he speaks. "Tell me, little Bee. Give me their names."

I open my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The world narrows to just us two, everything else fading into insignificance. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a war drum urging me forward.

"Tyler Matheson," I say, the name like poison on my lips. "He sat two rows behind me in Psych 101. Always cracking jokes, acting like the class clown."

Jaz nods, his expression hardening. "Go on," he encourages softly.

"Marcus Delgado," I continue, my voice growing stronger. "We shared a Creative Writing seminar. He... he used to compliment my stories. Said I had a way with words."

A bitter laugh escapes me, the irony of it all threatening to choke me. Jaz's hand finds mine, his grip firm and grounding.

"And the third?" he prompts gently.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Ethan Reeves," I spit out, hatred coursing through me. "Captain of the lacrosse team. We had Calculus together. He was always surrounded by his adoring fans."

As I speak their names, it's as if I'm casting a spell. The air around us seems to crackle with energy, dark and potent. Jaz's eyes glitter dangerously, a predatory smile curving his lips.

"You've done well, little fighter," he murmurs, pride evident in his voice. "You've given us the key to your vengeance."

I shiver, both from the intensity of his gaze and the weight of what we're about to embark on. "What happens now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jaz reaches out, his calloused fingers tracing the line of my jaw. The touch is electric, sending sparks skittering across my skin. "Now," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates in my chest, "we plan. We prepare. We become the nightmare they never saw coming."

His words ignite something primal within me, a dark flame that threatens to consume everything in its path. I lean into his touch, craving the strength and certainty he exudes. "How?" I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Jaz's eyes soften, a hint of tenderness breaking through his hardened exterior. "First, we gather information," he explains, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. "We learn their routines, their weaknesses, their darkest secrets. Knowledge is power, little Bee, and we're going to arm ourselves to the teeth."

I nod, drinking in his words like a parched traveler in the desert. The room around us seems to fade away, leaving only Jaz and the promise of retribution hanging between us. Outside, the wind howls, a mournful sound that echoes the turmoil in my soul.

"What then?" I ask, my voice stronger now, fueled by the growing resolve within me.

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Jaz's face, his eyes glinting with dark promise. "Then," he says, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin, "we strike. We take everything from them, piece by piece, until they're left with nothing but the knowledge of their own depravity."

His words paint vivid pictures in my mind—Tyler, Marcus, and Ethan brought low, stripped of their arrogance and false bravado. I see them cowering, begging for mercy they don't deserve. The images should horrify me, but instead, they fill me with a fierce, terrible joy.

"Will it hurt?" I ask, surprising myself with the eagerness in my voice. "Will they suffer?"

Jaz's smile widens, revealing a flash of white teeth. "Oh yes," he purrs, the words dripping with dark satisfaction. "They'll feel every ounce of pain they inflicted on you, magnified a thousand times over. We'll make sure of that."

A shiver runs down my spine, not entirely from fear. There's something intoxicating about the darkness Jaz offers, a seductive pull that I'm powerless to resist. I find myself leaning closer, drawn into his orbit like a moth to a flame.

His hand slides from my jaw to the nape of my neck, his grip firm but gentle. "Tell me about them," he urges, his words a caress against my skin. "Every detail you can remember. Their habits, their weaknesses, their sins."

I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. The lecture hall comes into focus, its tiered seats filled with faceless students. But three faces stand out with cruel clarity, etched into my mind like a brand.

"Tyler," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's always late to class, rushing in with some elaborate excuse. He sits in the back, surrounded by his cronies. They laugh too loud at his jokes, preen under his attention."

Jaz nods, encouraging me to continue. His thumb traces soothing circles at the base of my skull, grounding me in the present even as I delve into the past.

"Marcus," I say, my voice growing stronger. "He's quieter, more calculated. Always has his nose in a book, but his eyes... they wander. I've seen him staring at girls when he thinks no one's looking. There's a hunger in his gaze that makes my skin crawl."

A low growl rumbles in Jaz's chest, his grip tightening slightly. The sound sends a thrill through me, a mix of fear and something darker, more primal.

"And Ethan?" Jaz prompts, his breath hot against my ear.

I shudder, memories of that night threatening to overwhelm me. Jaz's presence anchors me, his steady heartbeat a counterpoint to my racing pulse.

"Ethan's the worst," I whisper, hatred coating my words. "He struts around campus like he owns it. Girls fawn over him, guys want to be him. But there's a cruelty in him, barely hidden beneath the surface. I've seen how he treats people he thinks are beneath him."

As I speak, it's as if a dam has broken. Words pour out of me, a torrent of observations and suspicions I didn't even realize I had. I tell Jaz about Tyler's drug habit, poorly concealed and eagerly indulged. About Marcus's obsession with a freshman girl, his eyes following her with a predatory gleam. About the rumors swirling around Ethan—hushed whispers of other girls who've stumbled away from parties, dazed and confused.

Jaz listens intently, his dark eyes gleaming with each new revelation. His fingers card through my hair, the gentle touch at odds with the violence brewing between us.

"You've done well, little Bee," he murmurs, pride evident in his voice. "This is exactly what we need."

I lean into his touch, craving the comfort and strength he offers. "What's next?" I ask, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within me.

Jaz's lips curve into a dangerous smile. "Now," he says, his voice low and rich with promise, "we start to build our web. We'll gather more information, create a detailed picture of their lives. And then, when the time is right, we'll begin to dismantle them piece by piece."

A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts fear and anticipation. "How long will it take?" I ask, impatience coloring my words.

Jaz chuckles, the sound dark and velvety. "Revenge is a dish best served cold, little fighter. We can't rush this. It needs to be perfect."

I nod, understanding the wisdom in his words even as frustration burns in my chest. "I want them to suffer," I whisper, surprised by the vehemence in my voice.

"And they will," Jaz assures me, his eyes glittering dangerously. "I promise you, by the time we're done with them, they'll be begging for death."

His words should horrify me, but instead, they send a thrill of dark satisfaction through my body. I lean in closer, drawn to the promise of vengeance like a moth to flame.

"Teach me," I breathe, my lips barely brushing against his. "Show me how to make them pay."

Jaz's breath hitches, his pupils dilating with desire–for revenge or for me, I'm not sure. Maybe both. He cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle yet possessive.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "Once we start down this path, there's no turning back. You'll be changed forever."

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, steel in my voice as I reply, "I'm already changed. They saw to that. Now it's time to show them exactly what they've created."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Jaz's face. "Then let the lessons begin," he purrs, sealing our dark pact with a kiss that tastes of vengeance and forbidden desire.

As his lips claim mine, I feel something shift inside me. The last remnants of the old Bee–naive, trusting, vulnerable–crumble away. In her place rises someone new, forged in the fire of pain and trauma.