Edenham Comprehensive

Marty and Dean return to school on Friday. Marty's on crutches, and the entire school watch as he and Dean make their way painstakingly into the school building minutes before the bell rings for registration. Tyler shifts uncomfortably as they pass him, but they don't even give him a second glance.

As they walk into their form room, they're heralded with fervent cheers and applause. People they've never spoken to before in their life come up to them and ask them what it was like, being in hospital, and what actually happened to them when they were beaten up. Marty, never one to pass up an opportunity to tell a good story, laps up the attention, spinning them an embellished version of events which is so ridiculous that Dean, stationed beside him, rolls his eyes in disbelief, but he doesn't correct his friend.

It's this story, albeit a slightly different version to the original, which circulates the school all day via the shameless gossip ring, getting more and more ridiculous as it passes from person to person.

By the time it reaches Casey and Reuben, Marty and the others were fighting off a horde of violent chavs at least a hundred strong, all armed with baseball bats, intent on beating them to a pulp. Their miraculous survival is only down to Marty's bravery; he distracted them while the others made their escape, but Dean doubled back while they were tearing into Marty and tried to pull them off him, but to no avail. They both ended up being brutally beaten and left for dead, and according the doctors, they only just about survived, and had the passing bystander arrived even a few minutes later and called them an ambulance, it is unlikely they would have lived to tell the tale.

Though there may be some truth in the story, it's mostly complete bullshit. So at lunch, Casey and Reuben make their way to Marty and the others' hangout at the other end of the playground. However, they aren't alone; there's a group of people, mostly Grade 2s and 3s by the look of it, crowded around Marty, listening to him tell his gruesome story.

Reuben coughs politely as they grind to a halt in front of them. Marty glances up, notices him standing there and smiles. He makes to grab his crutches and struggle to his feet, but Reuben holds up a hand.

“It's okay, I wouldn't want to put you out,” he assures him, and Marty drops the crutches. “I just want to know what happened.”

Marty grins devilishly. “Well, if you haven't heard the story, feel free to take a pew.”

“Oh, we've heard the story,” Casey says matter-of-factly. “Plenty of them, in fact. What we want to know is the truth.”

“It is the truth,” he shrugs. “Mostly,” he adds with a mischievous grin.

“So did you see who attacked you?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.

“Nah, they were wearing balaclavas.” Marty laughs, but it sounds a little forced. “Could've been anyone. Probably just random chavs.”

“Why would a gang of random chavs want to beat the living shit out of you?” Reuben asks coolly. “Who've you pissed off recently?”

“No one. You know us, always trying to stay out of trouble.” His smile is most definitely forced this time. “We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Reuben looks at him hard for a few seconds. Marty tries to meet his stare with a defiant glare of his own, but it falters almost immediately and he glances at the floor, ashamed.

“He won't hurt you again, you know,” Reuben says softly. He doesn't need to say who. They all know who was behind it, even if no one's willing to say his name aloud. “We won't let him. Come on, Casey. Let's leave the man to wallow in his glory.”

But as he turns away, Casey at his side, Reuben's certain he can see a glimmer of gratitude in the other boy's eyes. Then he turns back to his adoring audience and it's gone.

Once they're some way off, out of earshot, Casey turns to Reuben. “Do you think it could have just been a group of random chavs with nothing better to do? I mean, it's not all that unlikely, especially around here.”

“It's Tyler,” Reuben says decisively. “Has to be. He probably hired some guys, or maybe they're part of his elite little circle. It doesn't matter; either way, it was down to him. It had to have been.”

Casey just nods, knowing better than to argue with him. But then she frowns, shrinking into the shadows, grabbing Reuben by his wrist to tug him along with her. They watch, unnoticed, as Tyler strides past them, his eyes locked on a point just in front of him. Following the intentness of his gaze leads them to one person and one person only.

“Marty,” Reuben whispers, dread seeping into his tone. “Holy shit, he's for it now.”

“Marty!” Tyler greets him, leaning forward to bump fists with the other boy. “How are you, mate? Nasty bruises you got there.”

“I'm doing okay,” Marty replies cautiously, eyeing him in the same way a deer might eye a lion that's paused halfway through leaping at it to say hello. “Thanks.”

“Rumour has it you fought off a whole bunch of chavs,” Tyler says, smiling at him. “You're a legend. People'll be talking about this for years to come.”

“Really?” Marty

Tyler reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny, laminated green card. “Here. It's yours, if you want it. I mean, after what you did, it'd be almost criminal to keep you as you are.”

A few feet away, Reuben's mouth drops open. This is the furthest thing from what he was expecting Tyler to do, and he can't for the life of him understand why he isn't humiliating Marty and his friends right now. Casey, on the other hand, is a little closer to working it out, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

Marty is similarly shocked. He reaches out tentatively, as if he’s expecting Tyler to snatch away the card at any second. When he doesn't, Marty plucks the card from his hands and gazes at it, a gleaming wonder in his eyes.

“We're screwed,” Casey whispers. “We are so completely screwed.”

“Why? What is he- I mean, is he really- What's going on?” Reuben hisses, bending down to her level. “You seem to have a better idea than I do.”

“If Tyler can get Marty onside, he'll have him,” she explains. “He'll be nothing more than a glorified puppet. The people who've started to respect him for breaking away and doing his own thing will shun him instantly. It quashes the rebellion just like that.” She clicks her fingers, and turns back to Marty and Tyler. “It's certainly a lot more efficient than beating him to a pulp.” And much more like something he would do, she adds silently.

Reuben's eyes widen, and he glances at Tyler. “The conniving little git.”

Casey can only nod glumly, and watch as the inevitable unfolds before their eyes.

“So, what do you say?” Tyler smirks, clearly convinced he's victorious. “Do you want to join us?”

Marty looks up at him finally, smiling widely, and hands the card back to him. “No thanks, mate. I'm quite happy as I am, to be honest. Now, if you don’t mind, I'm kind of in the middle of something here. See you around, yeah?”

It's hard to tell who's more shocked, Tyler or the two people watching behind him. An expression of mild displeasure clouds his features momentarily, but then he pivots on his heel and stomps away, with all the emotional maturity of a four-year-old who's had his toy car taken from him.

“You know,” Casey says, once she's partly gotten over the shock, “I think we might actually be making a difference to this place.”

***

Casey gets a text a few hours after she’s come back from school, curled up on the sofa watching TV with her mum and Ian because it’s too cold outside to hang out in the den. Assuming it’s Reuben, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and slides up the screen.

It’s not from Reuben.

come to mine. alone. we need to talk. Tyler

She bites her lip, raking a hand back through her hair. What could he want? But even as the question balloons in her mind, so too does the answer. He wants to talk. He said as much. And doubtless, he wants to talk about the plan.

“Who’s that, Case?” her mum asks, leaning over.

“Reuben,” Casey says, a lie already forming in her mouth as she snaps her phone shut. “He wants to meet up.”

“You only saw each other a few hours ago!” her mum laughs, reaching across to ruffle her hair. “Go on, go. We’ll still be here when you get back.”

Her lips are twisted into a mixture of a grimace and a smile. “Thanks Mum. See you later.”

“Be back before midnight,” her mum warns as she gets to her feet and makes to leave.

Casey tries to smile, properly this time. “I will. Don’t worry; I’m sure I won’t be long.”

“Bye!” the two of them call as she trudges out of the flat and shuts the door behind her, her smile slipping off her face as it closes. Whatever Tyler wants, it cannot be good.

***

Tyler lives far enough away that she has to catch two buses to get to his house. With a wry smile, she remembers how they used to get picked up by his mum after school whenever they wanted to hang out at his house, or get the bus if they were feeling particularly adventurous.

Jumping off the bus, Casey watches it trundle away before reluctantly heading down the road. She’s taken this route countless times, but none of them remotely recently, so she almost takes a wrong turn as she heads for Tyler’s house. However, a few minutes later, she’s standing in front of it, glancing up at the house that used to be as familiar to her as her own.

It’s not massive. Tyler’s parents aren’t especially rich, not really, and all his money goes into bank accounts. Mostly, into his sister’s medical fund. Private healthcare is mighty expensive, and their parents need every penny they can get. The house is a modest, three-bedroomed semi, identical to millions across the British suburbs. Casey used to live in a house like it, back before her parents split up and they moved into their poky flat. But she quashes this memory as soon as it bubbles to the surface, focusing instead on the situation at hand.

Taking a few deep breaths, she fixes a blasé expression on her face before striding down the path and pressing the doorbell a few times to announce her presence.

Tyler answers the door instantly, almost as if he had been hovering by it, waiting for her to arrive. He’s wearing a bright blue t-shirt over baggy jeans, and it occurs to Casey that she hasn’t seen him in casual clothes for a very long time. It changes him, somehow. It makes him look more innocent, more like the teenage boy he’s supposed to be than the shrewd businessman he likes to pretend he is.

“Casey,” he says, a tad breathless, when he sees her standing there. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I couldn’t exactly not,” she replies dryly. “I have to do everything you say, remember?”

“’Course.” There’s something in his tone, something that sounds a little like defeat. Or maybe it's resignation. She can't tell.

He steps aside, motioning for her to come in, and she does, glancing around herself as she enters. Not much has changed since she was last here; the walls have been painted a paler shade of beige, and there appears to be a different painting adorning the wall on her left, but that seems to be it. Everything is as she left it, down to the last ornamental fairy on the mahogany coffee table under the stairs.

“Is Isobel in?” she asks, smiling at the thought of the little girl. “I haven’t seen her in such a long time.”

His expression immediately darkens. “She’s been in the hospital for days,” he says shortly. “Should be discharged in a week or so.”

Casey merely nods. She knows from his taut features that he’s worried about her, that he’s always worried about her, no matter what his mouth says.

“So, what did you want?” she asks, refusing to let herself feel awkward.

He shrugs. “Just to talk.” And the strange thing is, she believes him. He inclines his head towards the ceiling. “Let’s go to my room.”

He doesn’t exactly give her any choice but to follow as he disappears up the stairs. Like the house, his room is almost identical to the last time she saw it. It’s still painted black and white, his computer is still sitting on his desk in the corner, his sofa bed is still lounging against the wall and the indeterminable stuff that always seems to accumulate in teenage boys’ rooms is still littering the floor like a fungal infection that returns the moment you think you’ve gotten rid of it.

Clearing the clothes off the sofa bed with a swoop of his hand, he motions for her to sit and she does, mentally cursing her own obedience. He doesn’t sit down; he merely stays where he is, his gaze seemingly fixed on the wall opposite him. Casey shifts uncomfortably, watching him whilst trying to pretend she isn’t.

“Do you ever miss me?” he asks softly. His profile, silhouetted against the window, looks almost innocent. “Do you ever miss us?”

She bites her lip as she looks down at the floor. “No.”

“I do,” he says, and she doesn’t doubt that it’s true. Not any more.

He turns suddenly, facing her with those startling blue eyes of his, almost daring her to look away. She holds his gaze as long as she can before dropping her eyes to the floor, clearing her throat uncomfortably. She watches his feet as they move towards her, stopping momentarily just in front of her, then swivelling around so they’re right next to hers as his body joins hers on the sofa bed. Her first instinct is to move as far away from him as possible, but a part of her, a very small part of her, won’t let her.

“Don’t you ever even think about me?” he asks, his voice still soft.

“Sometimes,” she admits, taking a deep breath. “Lot of memories, you know?”

“Good or bad?”

“Both,” she says truthfully, “but mostly bad.”

He gives a wry smile, and the minute space between them seems to disappear. “Funny. Whenever I think about you, all I can remember is the way you’d smile at me when you told me you loved me.” His voice sounds deeper than before, but she tells herself it’s just her imagination running wild.

She shifts slightly, pressing herself into the side of the sofa to open up a gap between them. “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.”

“Nine months,” he says softly. “Our baby would be born by now.”

She stiffens, any warmth towards him suddenly evaporating. “Yeah. It would’ve been,” she replies shortly, folding her arms across her chest.

He grimaces, as if in pain. “I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I am. I know I hurt you.”

“Like I said,” she stresses, “that was a long time ago. I don’t care about you any more, Tyler, no matter what you think.”

“Oh really?” He closes the gap between them once more, and she knows she isn’t imagining the huskiness in his voice this time. “So me being this close doesn’t bother you?”

“I wouldn't say it doesn’t bother me,” she says evenly. “Your very presence repulses me.”

The smirk returns. “So you don’t want me to touch you then?”

She nods resolutely. “Nope. Not at all.”

He skims his fingers down her arm, raising goose bumps in his wake. “Feel anything?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” she says firmly, swallowing hard.

He brushes a strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers rest at the nape of her neck. “Anything?” he whispers, his breath tickling her ear.

She shivers, but out of disgust, she tells herself. “Nope.”

Now his lips are on her neck, trailing kisses up her cheek. She can feel the roughness of his chin grazing her skin. “How about now?”

She swallows hard, repeatedly, but her throat’s still painfully dry. “Tyler,” she says, her voice cracking, “let me go.”

He turns her face towards him with his firm, gentle fingers, forcing her to look at him properly for the first time in she can’t even remember how long. There’s something different in his eyes, something vulnerable and desperate and needy. His face is close to hers, too close, and she wants to pull away, turn away, run away, but she’s paralysed.

“Tyler,” she says shakily, “you’ve got a girlfriend.”

“So do you,” he whispers, and she doesn’t even pick up on the sly jibe at Reuben because she’s too busy trying to look anywhere but at those hypnotic eyes or his perfect pink lips or that perpetually messy blonde hair she’s just dying to run her hands through even though she knows it’s wrong, even though every nerve in her body is screaming at her to just leave now while she still can.

But she doesn’t.

“Does Reuben ever touch you like this?” he murmurs. “Does he ever make you feel like this?”

“Tyler,” she starts, but this time he doesn’t wait for her to finish her sentence. His lips are crushing hers in an instant, lips so familiar she could trace every crack, every ridge. His hands cup her neck, pressing her closer to him so she can feel the heat radiating off him through his t-shirt. Something deserts her as she tangles her hands in her hair, twisting the strands around her fingers. There’s a tiny, tiny voice somewhere in her head wailing for her to stop, to think about what she’s doing, but for once she doesn’t want to. Tyler obviously has no such inhibitions; his hands have abandoned her neck and are exploring her body, finding all the places he used to know so well.

But then he bites her lower lip and it's like the fog clouding her mind clears and she suddenly realises what an awful mistake she’s made. She shoves him away from her, her head reeling as she gasps for the breath he’s stolen from her.

Tyler’s smirk is triumphant, but there’s something else there too. “I knew it.”

She closes her eyes, shame already filling the deep chasm in her gut. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Didn’t mean anything?” He’s incredulous. “Casey, how could you even think that?”

She grasps her hair, tugging on it as if trying to pull it out by the root. “It didn’t mean anything,” she repeats, but she doesn't sound any closer to believing it.

“Why don't you say that a few more times?” he says scathingly. “You might just start to believe it if you say it enough.”

She licks her lips, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood in her mouth. “You can't- you can't just go around kissing people like that. It's not- it's- not- it's not fair!”

He makes a derisive noise in his throat. “Just admit it, Casey. You’re still in love with me and the more you try to deny it, the more obvious it is.”

She jumps to her feet, righteous indignation scrawled across her face. “I am not in love with you!” she screeches, her voice shrill. “You have no right to do this to me! You have no right to play with me like this, like I’m just another toy to you! You have no right to mess with my emotions and make me feel things I don’t want to feel! You have no right!”

Choked sobs wrack her body as she knots her fingers in her hair, rocking backwards and forwards. He steps towards her and reaches out as if to touch her, but she steps sharply away from him.

“Don’t,” she says venomously, though her voice is barely above a whisper. “Just don’t. I don’t want you to touch me ever, ever again. You hear me?”

“Casey-”

“Don’t say my name like that. Don’t say it like it means something to you. We both know you don’t care about me, not really.” She laughs bitterly. “You’re not capable of feeling... you just take what you want and damn the consequences.”

“Don’t you dare,” he says quietly, his voice shaking with barely-controlled fury. “I won’t let you make me into some monster so it’s easier for you to hate me. I do care about you, in fact, I care about you an awful lot. And I think you’ve made it very clear how you feel about me. You just have to admit it to yourself.”

She forces herself to look up at him. He looks tired, more tired than she's seen him in a long time. The boy standing in front of her isn’t Tyler Westwood, power-hungry dictator, the boy who takes pleasure in making so many people’s lives - including hers - a misery. It’s Tyler Westwood, the boy she fell in love with so many years ago.

“Fine,” she says finally, sweeping her hair back from her eyes. “Maybe I do care about you, a little bit, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why. But I’m not the only one lying to themselves. You’re not doing all this for Isobel. Maybe it started off that way, but you’re doing this for you. So don’t justify your actions because of an innocent eight-year-old girl. None of this is down to her. It’s all you, Tyler. It’s always been about you.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he says sharply, his body tense. “And don’t even think about bringing Izzy into this.”

She gives him a strange sort of half-smile. “What are you going to do, Ty? You’ve already hurt me more than I ever thought was possible. That’s why we’ve got to stop you. It’s not about what’s right and what’s wrong, it’s not about the other students, it’s not even about me or Reuben. It’s about you. You’ve got to realise that no matter how many people you’ll hurt, it’ll never take away that pit of self-loathing inside of you. It doesn’t work that way.”

“So how do you get rid of it, then?” he asks quietly.

She glances away from him, unable to look any more. “I don’t know,” she says desperately. She flails for an answer, one that sounds stupid even inside her own head: “Love?”

“So love me then,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s pleading with her. “Be with me. I would give it all up if it meant I could have you.”

“I can’t,” she says sadly. “If I thought for one minute it would stop you, believe me, I would. But it didn’t before, so there’s no reason why it should now. Truth is, you’re too messed up to be fixed just like that. I’m sorry, Tyler.”

“No you’re not,” he mutters, but there’s no sting in his words. Just calm defeat.

“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” she asks softly. “Us?”

“I- I don’t know.” And for the first time in she doesn’t know how long, he sounds uncertain. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot, recently. I guess I just wanted to see you.”

“You see me at school every day,” she says evenly.

He shrugs, staring at the floor. “But it’s not the same, is it? And I suppose that’s my fault.”

“Yeah. I suppose it is.” She looks at him, but he’s not looking at her. “You could just give it up, you know,” she says, and this time she’s the one pleading. “You could let this all go, become just another guy. Be just Tyler Westwood and nothing else.”

“I can’t,” he says, and there’s something mocking in his tone. “It’s all I’ve got left.”

“’Course you can’t,” she sighs, resigned. She never expected him to say anything else.

He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but he can’t form the words. “You should go,” he mutters instead, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll see myself out,” she nods, offering him a brief smile. “Oh, and by the way, happy birthday for tomorrow.”

He gives a start, looking at her warily. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remembered,” she replies, sounding almost affronted. “Doing anything special?”

“Well, considering Mum and Dad will be too worried about Izzy to even remember I exist,” he says, his lightness only a thin veil for the bitter undertone, “I’m not expecting much on that front. Having a party, though. As usual.” He looks hopeful for a fraction of a second. “You could come, if you want.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she says hastily.

He nods, as if he was expecting her response. “Well, if you change your mind...” Rummaging in his pockets, he pulls out a crumpled invitation. “I meant to give it to you before, but I forgot.” He hands it to her, brushing his fingers against hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “It admits two, so you can bring someone with you, if you like.” He smiles wryly. “So long as it isn’t bloody Reuben Alcott.”

Casey almost smiles back. “I’ll think about it.” She stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on his left cheek. “Goodbye, Tyler.”

He watches her leave his room, shutting the door gently behind her, and drops his gaze to the carpet, exhaling slowly.