Ctrl + Alt + Dalt (BxB)

Ctrl + Alt + Dalt + 4

"Brogan," I cut him off, already knowing full well and long before coming here that he's the true reason, the driving force, the sole person that's responsible for my banishment from the group.

"Right."

"So...?" I ask, drawing out the word, signalling to him that I expect him to have much more to say than that. An annoying silence rules the theater. I wait, but he just starts fidgeting, rubbing the tip of his gray loafers into the red fluff of the carpet. "So that's it, then? He commands my banishment and it's done. You just follow all his commands? So long, Dalton—nice to know you, Dalton—we're no longer friends, Dalton—hope you're life works out, Dalton—have fun being alone—"

"That's not fair, coming from you—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, cutting him off, slightly offended but unsure about what he's getting at.

"You know exactly what it's like."

"Yeah, he's manipulated me plenty just like he does you, but it's not like you can absolve yourself of what you've done—"

"Oh, that's rich!" He rolls his eyes. "No, you're not like me. You really don't see it, do you? You really don't see yourself? You're not like me, because you're just like him. You're only mad because the tables have turned—"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" I ask—how can he say that I'm just like Brogan? I refuse to accept that.

"How many people have you banished from the realm of popularity? How many lives have you ruined? Now that it's been done to you—that's when you cry foul—"

"Whose lives have I ruined?" I ask, incredulously—honestly, other than, maybe, Jordan, I have absolutely no clue what he's on about.

"Oh, where do I start? Are you claiming you're really that innocent? Or maybe you're claiming that you don't remember—I guess banishing people and ruining their lives is as natural to you as breathing—I mean, Jordan, for one, is a prime example—"

"I wasn't the one who outed him," I cut him off—I saw that one coming.

"No, but you sure as hell gave him the boot."

"We've made up."

"Sure, after the fact, perhaps—but after what? What did you do exactly that you had to make up for? Maybe he'd still be in the group, you know, if it wasn't for you having done exactly what's happening to you now—only he wasn't so high up on the totem pole. He wasn't even able to meet with anyone no matter how hard he tried—but, oh! Look at you! You're in my house even though your not supposed to be. You're talking to me even though you're not supposed to be. Doesn't that say something to you? Or should I spell it out for you?"

"What's to spell out?" I ask—clearly, I must still be missing his point.

"You think that all the power was always with Brogan—really just Brogan, alone? Well, news flash! It was always the two of you. If anything, when it comes down to the real power, I was, at best, a third wheel. The group is what it is, not just because of Brogan, but because you made it that way," he says and my eyes drop to the red carpet beneath my feet. The irony dawns on me that in many ways, I am, in fact, the one who bears more responsibility than anyone does for what's been done to me.

"You're right, I'm the one to blame for all this—" I start to admit.

"Don't patronize me," he spits, cutting me off, his brows creasing with anger.