Chapter 44 The Past
THE PAST
CAIDEN’S CONDITIONING
Lillian was dead. Her name still echoed through the town, whispered behind hands, scribbled on bathroom stalls. She’s now just another ghost everyone pretended to mourn while they waited for the next distraction.
Even in death, she found a way to haunt me. Not that I deserved to think about her. I’d torn her apart just as much as anyone. Maybe more.
And then there was Amelia.
She moved through the crowd like she didn’t belong to anybody, but the truth was, she belonged to every cruel joke, every rumor, every filthy stare. My stares most of all. I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop tracking her, like some broken compass that always spun toward disaster.
Then that day when I found myself at her house.
I wanted to wreck her. I needed to. But I’d left her shaking in the hallway, her eyes full of something I couldn’t name. Fear, maybe. Disgust. Or the same sick want curdling my veins.
She’s been avoiding me since. Not that I blamed her. Every time I saw the curve of her jaw as she stared through me in the halls, I remembered the taste of her.
Dante had his hands on her. That part throbbed like an infected wound. I could still see his fucking face, the way he looked at her like she was something precious, something to protect.
He didn't know shit about her. He wouldn't know what to do with a girl built from trauma and barbed wire.
Amelia was mine. Mine to torment. Mine to control. Mine to break. Mine to ruin.
The next day, I caught her after last period. She was alone by the bike racks, shoving her books into her bag with more force than necessary. I saw the tremor in her fingers, the way she tried to pretend she wasn’t looking for an escape route.
I grinned, slow. “Slumming it today, Langston? Where’s your bodyguard?”
She rolled her eyes, but her spine went rigid. “Go away.”
I stepped closer. She didn’t back down, just glared, daring me. “You look like shit.”
She should’ve run. But she just squared her shoulders and glared harder, lip trembling like she was biting down on her own words. Sometimes I wondered what it would take to really break her. Sometimes I wondered if I even could.
Her jaw clenched. “Go to hell.”
“Already live there.”
For a second, we stood there, locked in some silent war, not breathing. I couldn’t look away from the way her breaths went shallow, the little pulse at her throat jumping beneath her skin.
The whole world spun around us. I waited for her to blink, to fall apart, to run. She just stared, eyes burning.
I left her there, watching me walk away.
I kept moving, ghost-shadows trailing behind. My head full of her, always. I didn’t know how to stop.
The bag swung back, heavy, stupid. I hit it again, harder. Fist—thud—recoil—thud. My body stung with sweat and old bruises. My skin reeked of rage.
This was the only place that made sense.
The gym at dawn, nobody around except some retired lifer in the corner, watching cable news with the sound off. I didn’t care. Every time my knuckles slammed into the bag, it was like the world shrank. Like all the shit inside me could explode outward, leave nothing but emptiness behind.
Didn’t work. Never did. But I kept trying. Maybe if I hit hard enough, the ghosts would finally scatter.
Amelia.
Always fucking Amelia.
I told myself I hated her. I did. But the memory of her stuck inside me like a fishhook. Then, I’d think about how her and Dante were intimate together, and my anger would augment.
Fist. Bag. Fist. Bag.
My father always said nothing soft survives. He drilled it into me the same way he drilled his fists into my ribs: Hate is strength. Love is weakness. If you have to pick, pick anger. Don’t let them see you hurt.
Funny. If he could see me now, he’d probably laugh. He’d spit in my face. Tell me I was a fucking embarrassment, letting some pathetic girl bend me out of shape. Letting her crawl under my skin, fuck with my head, ruin my appetite for destruction.
But maybe he’d be proud, too. Proud of how I made her look at me with terror and hate all mixed up. Proud that I learned how to break her, even if I never meant to.
Maybe that was the whole point.
I hit the bag again. Hard enough that my knuckles split. Blood smeared across the leather. I liked the sting. I focused on it, let it drown the rest out.
Why her? Why did it have to be her?
She was nothing. Just another soft, trembling kid, all shadows and panic attacks, barely holding herself together. I should’ve forgotten her years ago. But now every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Sometimes wanting me, just as wrecked.
It made me sick. It made me hard.
I ground my teeth. Slammed my fist until sensation blurred into numbness.
I told myself I was just wired wrong. That it was biology. My father’s voice in my skull: They’re all snakes, every last one. They’ll sink their teeth in you if you let them.
But that wasn’t it. I knew it wasn’t.
I needed her to hate me. More than I needed air. Needed her to look at me and see a monster. Needed her to understand that I’d never let her win.
But I wanted her, too. Wanted her like a sickness.
I looked down at my hands. Blood, sweat, raw skin. Nothing pretty about it. I hit the bag again.
I was a walking cliché. Abused kid, brainwashed to hate, can’t stop wrecking everything good. Maybe the only thing real about me was violence. Maybe that was all I’d ever be.
Amelia was a symptom. Not a cause. If she wasn’t around, I’d have found someone else to fuck up. Ruin. Destroy.
I wondered if she knew that.
I wondered if Dante did.
Thinking about his hands on her made me want to put my fist through his teeth.
He’d never get it. He’d never understand what it was like to be raised on violence and told it was love. He saw her as something fragile to cherish. I saw her as an addiction to kill or be killed by.
I kept pounding the bag. My arms burned. My breath came rough. Sweat ran down my spine, pooling at the waistband of my shorts. I wanted to puke, or scream, or laugh.
She was everywhere. No matter what I did, I couldn’t scrape her out.
I threw one last punch, hardest yet.
I leaned my forehead against the bag, heart rattling in my chest. Nothing left but the ache.
Maybe if I kept going, eventually I’d shatter. Maybe then I’d finally get some peace.
Or maybe not. Maybe this was forever.
Goddamn it.
I wiped blood on my shorts, flexed my fingers. Stepped back and glared at the bag, as if it could glare back.
I thought about that day again. I remembered what it felt like to own her, even for a second. It was the only time I’d felt whole in months.
I’d never stop wanting to ruin her.
I wrapped my hands tighter, took a breath that tasted like blood and old sweat, and started hitting again.
Harder this time.
I tracked Dante down by the benches behind McLean’s Pharmacy. He sat there, hunched, knuckles white on his phone. He looked up the moment I got close.
Didn’t jump. Didn’t run.
Of course he didn’t. He was always too steady, too fucking solid. The opposite of me in every way.
I didn’t bother slowing down. Just stopped right in front of him, let the anger splatter everywhere.
“Got a minute?” My voice cracked.
He sighed. Shoved his phone in his pocket. “Not really. But you’re gonna talk anyway.”
“Don’t get smart.”
He shrugged, jaw tight. “What do you want, Caiden?”
I could’ve said anything. Should’ve said nothing. Instead, I went straight for the only thing that mattered.
“You fucked her.” Didn’t bother making it sound nice. “You fucked Amelia.”
His brows flicked up, just for a second. “That’s what you’re here for?”
“You gonna deny it?”
He shook his head, slow. “No. I’m not denying it. You walked in and saw the aftermath for yourself.”
My fists clenched.
“You think you’re better than me?” I spat.
He looked away, out at the cars passing on Main. “I think—” He hesitated, tongue wetting his lower lip. “I think I’m done with you, man. For real.”
That stung. More than it should’ve.
“Bullshit.”
He grimaced. “You just can’t stop, can you? Wrecking her. Wrecking everyone. It was never a game for her, Caiden. You just don’t get it.”
“Oh, and you do? What, you’re her white knight now?”
He stood up, fast enough that the bench groaned. But I didn’t back down.
“I’m not trying to be anything. I just care about her.” His voice was quiet but made of stone. “I care. That’s more than you ever did.”
I laughed. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” He glared. “I saw how you looked at her. Like you wanted to break her. Maybe you succeeded. But I’m done being part of it.”
I took a step closer, shoulders bunching. “You’re gonna ditch me for her?”
He didn’t move. “Yeah. I am.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“Maybe.” He shook his head, lips pressed thin. “But not as pathetic as you.”
Everything inside me curled tight, ready to blow.
“I should put you through the wall,” I growled.
He just looked at me, tired. “Yeah. Maybe you should.”
But I couldn’t do it. Not really. Not after he said it like that.
He shook his head, shoulders slumping. “We’re not friends anymore, Caiden. Can’t do it. Not after what you did. Not after how you treat her.”
He turned to leave. No hesitation.
I shouted after him. “She’s poison! You’re too fucking blind to see it.”
Dante paused, just for a second, long enough to twist the knife.
“Maybe I’d rather be poisoned than end up like you.”
And then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the cracked sidewalk.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch something, anything.
I was alone. Again.
The taste of bitter burned my tongue. Dante, gone. Amelia, everywhere.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, fists tight around my own brokenness.
Fuck them. Fuck everyone.
All I had left was anger.
And it wasn’t nearly enough.
I found her behind the school, where the dumpsters reeked of rot and bleach. Perfect. No one would hear us. No one would care.