No Chance for Redemption

Anyone could bulk up - hit the gym, lift a few weights, jog a couple miles. It was easy, all it took was a thirst for victory - but anyone could have that. Muscles were there one day and gone the next, learn to throw a decent punch and not taking any shit came with the territory.
 
But Dillon was more than that. He was fucking special, he laughed at the mere thought of being a bully. He wasn’t a bully. Dillon was a goddamn dictator, one for the history books, his name would be remembered.
 
That’s because Dillon knew how to play these games, how to grasp control, he’d learned the secret.
 
The only thing more powerful than brute strength was knowledge- but not the useless kind. Not the sort of things they teach in school. Algebra, American History, English, soaking that bullshit up only gave a near-death experience or two involving a pool, he could name a couple kids for reference. Knowing every capital of every state didn’t do shit when there’s a gun pressed to your head - but knowing the murderers deepest, darkest secrets, well that’s another thing entirely.
 
The world is run by people, and those people are run by the skeletons in their closets.
 
“You know what your problem is, man?” Ryder asked, leaning against the stump of the tree behind him.
 
Owen clearly didn’t care, taking a chomp out of his apple. “What?” he asked with a mouth full, rolling his eyes.
 
“You need to relax, man. Have some fun, get laid. I mean, your face could use some work but I’m sure you could score a fat one if you lightened up,” he said while grinning cheekily, ignoring the kick to his leg and the string of curses off the other boy’s lips.
 
“Not everyone is seeing how many STDs they can score, dipshit. I mean, look at Dillon, he isn’t trying to screw anything with a vagina,” Owen tried to salvage his already non-existent dignity, looking towards the silent boy hopefully.
 
“Yeah, but that’s different,” Ryder waved off his pathetic fantasy, “Dillon has that whole controlling the school thing he has going on, a chick would just make him look weak. It’s not like he can’t because he’s fucking ugly… hey, sort of like you are!”
 
Ryder barely caught the apple that was promptly hurtled at his head with one hand, chuckling and casting Owen a triumphant grin who only mumbled indignantly in response.
 
Dillon was barely listening though and instead all his attention was focused on the spiral bound notebook in his hands, reading over the blue ink with a sadistic amusement. While his face was empty, not a hint of emotion, the thoughts inside his head were chaotic. Flashes of faces continued to sprint before his eyes and the demon inside of him stirred.

This was his bible, every secret and every demand, the rules to his games. He was keeping score.
 
There was only one lingering question on his mind: who'd be next?
 
His fingers brushed over the last page, reading over the name Calvin Myers, and the edge of his lip quirked upward in amusement. Now, if he remembered right, Calvin was supposed to do a little something for him. And now that he thought a little harder, Calvin hadn’t.
 
No one could escape Dillon.  
 
“Guys,” he interrupted Owen’s relentless bitching, “I think Calvin’s time is up.”
 
As he slapped the notebook shut, silence flooded between the three of them. Ryder’s face immediately contorted into a twisted smile and Owen nodded his head, fully understanding what was about to happen. Calvin thought that the worst that could happen would be a punch to the gut, maybe a foot smashed into his face, but he was wrong.
 
Dillon was no longer going to bloody his own hands, no- that was too nice. That was too gentle. That was bully work, and Dillon wasn’t a damn bully. He was a God. Or at least, the closest thing to it.
 
“What do you got in mind?” Ryder asked eagerly, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
 
“Are you going to smash his face in at lunch?” Owen suggested, looking towards Dillon with a glint of hope in his eyes. “Everyone knows that Principle Aguilar won’t do shit.” He grinned.
 
This was true, because a person couldn’t rule over with someone else who thought they were on top. Everyone had to know that he ran things, not some pathetic middle-aged man. Dillon had already taken care of that with a couple snapshots with his phone of a scandalous affair- that man played blind puppy dog pretty good, Punch a couple faces, sure, but only secrets could ever bring this sort of power.
 
“I have a few pictures we need to print out, you got any money?”
 
Owen scavenged his pockets, producing a slick green bill. “A ten good enough?”
 
“I got fifteen,” Ryder chirped, also handing over his money and grinning smugly as Owen shot him a nasty glare.
 
“Perfect.”
 
And that’s what it was, because that’s how he made it. Anything less and it wouldn’t be his creation; he wouldn’t be where he was on that day. People preached day and night about goodness and living a wholesome life, but compared to this, he couldn’t even imagine how it could compete. He had everything he ever wanted in the palm of his hand.
 
Standing before the boy, seeing the fear etched onto his face, he didn’t need anyone else. No one else even mattered, just Dillon.
 
“Oh, come on, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Ryder quipped, grinning wildly with pride.
 
“I asked you for one, simple thing Calvin. One little thing, and you couldn’t even do that for me.” Dillon’s words almost sounded compassionate, but the look on his face told anything but. There was a sadistic glint in his eyes that was impossible to miss, it was clear to see he was thoroughly enjoying every second of watching the destroyed boy.
 
“I… I didn’t know, I thought-“ he tried to stammer out.
 
Dillon took a step closer, barely inches away from Calvin’s face, his lips curving into a devilish smile. “You thought wrong,” he spoke, voice perfectly steady. “And why didn’t you do that one thing?”
 
Ryder jumped in, cocking his head to the side with delight. “Too busy growing a vagina to match his new look?”
 
“What a pussy,” Owen murmured, leaning against one of the lockers, hands stuffed in his pockets, but it was clear to see he hung onto every second like it was his last. Everyone was, hushed whispers falling on deaf ears, shot nerves and tense muscles, eyes grazing over the abundance of pictures tacked everywhere.
 
A couple on the lockers, a couple on the walls, a whole mess littered the ground. One face stared back, lips stained red and a dark wig of flowing locks, tightly fitted red dress hugging onto tanned skin- the face of Calvin Myers. The face that, now, was marked in pain.
 
“I couldn’t, I couldn’t do that to him,” he murmured, refusing to even glance up at the looming form that stood before him, eyes focused on his hands. They were trembling. His brown hair fell over his eyes, casting a shadow, but he couldn’t hide. No one could hide.
 
“Couldn’t do what, exactly?” Dillon clarified, the edges of his lips slightly curving upwards.
 
“I couldn’t…” his voice trailed off, fingertips toying with the hem of his shirt. A thick silence choked the surrounding air but like a train wreck, no one could tear their eyes away.
 
Dillon leaned in dangerously close, his lips only inches from the boy’s ear, breath spilling across his skin. “I’d think over your next words wisely, but don’t take too long, I’m not one for patience,” he whispered, and even though only Calvin could hear, shivers danced down spines all across the room.
 
Taking a step back, he surveyed around the room, feeling the ghost of a grin on his mouth. They all waited, the air pregnant with a tense sensation, almost as if he had a gun to every single temple there. Essentially though, Dillon did.
 
“Well, what is it?” Ryder asked, both hands on his cheeks as he leaned in, eyes boring holes into the poor boy. Impatience tied into his voice. "You dumb or something, can't talk?"
 
“Cody has herpes!" the boy finally burst, eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched at his sides. His voice echoed through the room. The silence that followed was deafening.
 
Ryder, after composing himself, immediately dissolved into laughter. Clutching his stomach for dear life, the palm of his hand slapping his forehead, the malicious laughter danced off his lips. “H-herpes? Shit, man, that’s classic,” he managed to sputter out through his chuckles.
 
Dillon smirked.

“You fucking bastard! How could you sell me out like that!?” a voice splits through the laughter, followed by an accusing finger pointed at Calvin and a furious face.
 
Calvin casts a pleading look at his best friend. “I… I had to Cody, please you don’t-”
 
“I fucking hate you, okay? Don’t ever even look at me again, you disgust me, you piece of trash,” he spits out, swallowing harshly while glaring with every ounce of hatred in his being.
 
Calvin opened his mouth, forehead creased and eyes shining, but he was too late. The boy that had been there for him since the sixth grade, the one that dutifully kept his secret, was already walking away. “I… Cody…” he murmured, but it was too late, surrounded by his deepest, darkest secret glaring at him from every corner, too late.
 
Ryder’s laughter continued to dance about the room.
 
Dillon breathed in deep, satisfaction written across his face as he took a look at the broken boy. That was, until a movement caught the corner of his eye. Slowly turning, he could see a boy tearing down his hard-work, one by one, his creation being ruined.
 
“What the fuck are you doing?”