SONG: Anna of The North - Playing Games
🌺
Derek Matthews
Elias Banks's actions were not the result of an everlasting affliction, hardship and rage common amid his brethren, amid his kind. It was the result of a shrewd, serpentine plan that must have taken hours to devise. He knew that murdering an estimable identity possessing a status and power rare and unlike any other will unleash a global backlash of perplexity and grief.
Because his little brother acknowledging the Decemviri, the Decagon, the Families — whatever you want to term it — is jeapordizing.
Luke never killed Bodie Banks.
It was the Everstons.
The Everstons would have offered Bodie a deal — make him famous, straightforwardly manifest his desires into reality in order to shut up. If the deal with the devils was unsuccessful, death was the last option.
What perilous knowledge died in his murder?
Was it an Everston decision, or a Decagon decision? If it was the former, then Lord Cyril Everston must have ordered the death. He has the final voice.
I suppose Lord Cyril isn't a sweet soul you claim him to be, Penny—
My heart pounds.
Penny.
God, does she know? Has she guessed? She must have. She's a smart girl. I should give her a heads up. No, my protective side argues. Don't. She's too young. Let her live.
If Bodie was truly killed by our family, during the night watch, someone on the inside killed him. A prison guard, which also means they were potentially bribed, like Tanner concluded. The prison guards are part of the Azrael.
Could we have a betrayer lurking?
Whatever Bodie was aware, it is adequate to start a revolution — which is currently occurring in the streets. Miniscule, trifling, trying to rise. If the killer were to be revealed, it still won't end this blood. We will dig, dive, run, hide and slaughter to manipulate impossibilities into possibilities, for our advantage.
What about Bodie's sexual offence?
A migraine forms.
Parking the motorcycle in an empty area of the school's parking lot, I unfastened the helmet, dangling it on an arm. In school, April's portrait of Bodie Banks was taken down, resulting in the teachers bewildered as to how such sensational hard work was directly visible to the naked eye. Principal Burrows sustained the embarrassment and vexation, albeit it was perfectly obvious as his cheeks were flushed red.
Naila and Jasmine enlightened a new dilemma. Despite the vivid, skin-chilling sunlight, the mood darkened.
Theo apprehensively skims his angst-veined hands through his hair. "Self-harming."
"I know," mutters Jasmine, stormy eyes crestfallen.
For the first time in a long, agonizing while, I am speechless.
"So what should we do?" asks Theo. "Because ... I really don't know."
"Neither do I," mumbles Ines.
"We help her help herself," answers Tanner.
"She has to love herself first," I manage to clarify. "Be comfortable in her own presence. That progress can lead to better outcomes, like security."
"Half-term is starting soon," says Naila. "I was thinking we could go to your lake house..."
"Let's see," I say. Our Security is on holiday, though I'm sure we can figure out something. "It's not a bad idea."
Jasmine smiles. "Good fun always happen when we're there."
Jackson takes off his grey-framed glasses, rubbing the lenses with the hem of his shirt — a tendency he does when he is furious. "I never liked Thiago."
Tanner eases in the chair and manspreads. "He's an arrogant piece of shit. He doesn't like girls of his own colour."
Boys are truly senseless.
Jasmine lifts her plump lips in disgust. "So he's that type."
"He's on my football team," states Theo. "It's a good thing I got practice today."
I smirk, loving what he is suggesting. "Time to have a little chat with good old Thiago."
Football practice is taking place in the fourth period. The girls are in class. Luckily for the guys and me, we have a free, sitting on the side benches of the immense soccer pitch, waiting for the players to finish. I observed Thiago Onai kicking the ball to a teammate. Theo is defending, his shirt tucked into his shorts, sweaty.
Outside is a humming lunch, squeals and chatter of recess. The afternoon light seeps in through the miniscule, spherical, hazed windows. Practice finished, we patiently waited for an unengaged locker room. Finally, Jackson silently closes the heavy door, cringing at the brief creaks of the hinges. I chuck him the key. He locks the escape. Perks of being the owners.
Theo rubs his wet hair with a towel, perfusing a fresh scent of soap. "Thiago." No amiable greeting, straight to the chase.
Thiago turns to Theo directly in front of him, both shirtless. He examines Jackson slanted on the ligneous door, slender arms crossed, averting to Tanner and me, a pair of lions. It has been exceptionally long since the last time we confronted the dim-witted.
"Hi?" drawls Thiago, baffled. "Can I help you?"
Tanner sarcastically claps his hands, flashing his perfect-white teeth. "A little birdie told us you got a list of girls."
Degrading, according to Naila. Not the alluring and consensual kind. That list he manufactured occurred months ago, around the beginning of the year. I suspect he has more.
Theo swathes the towel around his neck, grasping the saturated ends. "We want to give it a little update, amigo."
Jackson submerges his hands in his pockets, his spider tattoos menacing. "Do you have it?"
Thiago squints his dark irises, utterly perplexed. He is a dark-skinned boy, has braided hair that Bodie and Elias Banks could pull off better. "I don't have it. I stopped bare time ago."
My friends and I exchange exasperated expressions, knowing damn well this motherfucker lied.
"Thiago," I taunt, darkly smiling. "We just want to join in on the fun." The last word almost made me wince. Almost.
"I told you — I don't have it."
Theo hurls the towel onto a bench. "My guy, we're good friends, yeah?"
Thiago crosses his arms, incredulous. "Why do you want it?"
"You do have it," I note.
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"Why not let us jot down a couple of names?" insists Tanner.
Thiago flickers from one of us to the other, conjecturing.
"You scared?" mocks Jackson, pouting.
I wink. "We will not hurt you if you are nice."
"Nah, he's not a problem." Theo maliciously smiles, crossing his toned arms. "He's a good boy."
"Oh?" I muse in a chafing manner. "A good boy, huh?"
"Daddy's good little boy."
I sardonically gasp. "A kink?"
Thiago scowls. "I ain't gay, bruh."
"You had fifteen girls twerking for you." It happened at a party.
"That means nothing."
Tanner scratches his chin, deriding stupefaction. "Sort of does. It is okay to be in the closet. No pressure."
Jackson sighs sharply. "Theo, I hope you're right. My hands are too pretty to get bruised." He mumbled the last sentence for only us to hear.
Thiago scrutinises us one more time. "Tell me why you want it."
"Ay Dios mío," mutters Theo.
"We are not fucki—" Tanner pauses, closing his eyes. Aggressively inhaling in ma che vuoi, exhaling in flattened-out palms, his irritation opens and he grits out a forced, friendly grin. "We are not asking again—"
Jackson speeds past us, fed up.
"What are you—" Tanner stops as Jackson tenderly pushes Thiago sideways, wrenching his branded bag out of the locker.
"Hey!" protests Thiago. Theo steps in front of him.
Without a mess, Jackson rummages for a consecutive fifteen seconds, pulling out a folded stack of scruffy, wrinkled papers. He drops the bag onto the cold floor, unfolding the lists.
Thiago snaps, "What the hell—"
Tanner substitutes Theo, backing him against a locker wall opposite to the opened one. Jackson, Theo and I curiously peer over the blond's skinny shoulders.
A list of girls in the entire year, including previous students who left Edgewater Independent for junior and senior years. Each name is labelled with a rating out of ten. Each had revolting comments of a girl's arse, breasts, height, appearance, everything, and opinions of whether a boy would fuck the girl or not, followed by reasons.
A bloodlust of objectification. I am an atheist. This scheme is enough to believe in an abyss where monsters dwell.
A name catches my eye. I snatch the paper off Jackson. "I beg your fucking pardon — April is a two out of ten?"
Excuse me?
Then I see it.
The fetishisation.
Tens and tens of comments, of guys wanting 'to fuck Indian pussy'. April is not even Indian — she is mixed race. How fucking stupid are these fucking ugly boys?
If April is a two out of ten, why are there more guys admitting to wanting to fuck her? According to their distaste, she's flat, inexperienced, and wants to wait till marriage. How are they bad reasons?
"April is a fucking trillion out of ten." I furiously raise the crumpled paper. "Thiago, what the hell is this?"
I was about to note the girls he gave low ratings are people of colour, until:
"Ines is a seven?" exclaims Jackson, grasping another crinkled sheet. There are ten papers in total. "My sister is a four?"
"You gave Naila a one!" remarks Theo. "She's a cow?"
Thiago squeaks a yelp as I brutally batter him onto the locker, the rumbles resonating in the rebounding pitter-patter in the shower stalls. He whimpers, the metal sores his back.
The outrage subduing my senses, my rationality, I murderously clamour, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
I hate boys like him. I repeat: I hate, hate, hate boys like him. They are the reason why girls are frightened and develop insecurities. What he does is a stem of rape culture, and it reinforces that culture, either subconsciously and consciously — does he even realise that? No. He's fucking ignorant and should be fucking educated on controversial and serious topics. Girls and women have no right to suffer such uncalled torment.
April started to self-harm because of this asshole. He is begging for death.
"This is so fucked up." Tanner gags, as if the ten-paged crisps are nauseous. "I feel so bad for these girls. They don't deserve this."
"What did you think you'd gain by making degrading lists?" demands Theo.
"Do you even know what shit like this can do?" says Jackson.
I pin his upper body with a careful arm across his neck, snarling, "You are a fucked-up, disrespectful bastard."
Thiago thrashes to get free. "It—it was just for fun!"
"Fun?" His pulse intensifies. Thump, thump, thump. "Prejudice is fun?"
"You want to know something?" begins Jackson. "No one is ugly. It's just society's standards — social constructs of stupid, unrealistic and dangerous expectations, mostly created by fucked-up men, which demoralizes a person's self-esteem and confidence, both boy and girl, both man and woman. It causes mental health issues, suicide, body dysmorphia, eating disorders, self-harm, and it disregards the admiration of different ethnicities—"
"I never did that!"
Theo picks up the page on the floor, the one with April's name in the midst of other girls. "This crap fucked up girls."
"It can cause sexual assault," adds Jackson. "It encourages a rape culture. Who knows, some guys could have —" He gulped, refusing to verbalise that possibility. "God, you're so bloody dumb!"
"Him and every guy who took part." Theo reads the lists again, mostly the comments under Naila's name. "I swear, if you mentioned any minors in here ... like my sister ..."
My mind wanders to Penelope. The blood within roars. I replace the length of my arm with my hands, encasing his neck and solidifying the grip till he gasps for breath.
"You have a peanut allergy, do you not?" I gritted darkly. "Tan, you got those nut chocolates?"
Tan grins. "Right here. You want to stuff some in his mouth?"
Thiago thrashes. "Wait ... Wait!"
Tanner zips open his bag, withdrawing chocolate bars. He unwraps one, nearing it to this fucker.
"Wait, please!" gasped Thiago. "Please! I—I got their permission."
"Our—Our friends would have told us," I mimicked. Jackson snickers. "Who else participated?" Thiago whimpers, his fingers clawing my hands to wrench them off. Veins bulge the sides of his head. Delight brews in my chest. "You are so confident until you come across guys five times your size. I will not ask again," I threaten slowly, mercifully easing my clutch for him to speak. "Who else participated?"
Thiago whimpers as Tanner brushes the nuts across his cheek.
"R—Rhett ... Hunter ..." Minutes of naming the senseless fucks.
I release him, his sense spinning is disorientation.
Before he can adequately recover, wheezing and coughing and cupping his windpipe, Tanner clocks him in the head, rings on. Thiago crumbles to the tiled floor, groaning, and gradual blood leaks from his nostrils.
Then Tanner stuffed the chocolates into Thiago's mouth, forcing him to chew and swallow his allergy.
We all gape at Tanner. First the basketball game, now this. He is not the violent type, normally leaving the, ah, love language to us.
"What?" he says. "He pissed me off."
We watch Thiago wheeze as the allergy begins to show. It clogs his throat, puffs his cheeks, and he endeavours to grab his bag to whip out a packet of epinephrine injections. Tanner kicks the bag away, enjoying at least a minute of watching Thiago suffer.
Finally, Tanner takes out an injection and mercifully gives Thiago a shot.
Tanner drops the crisped lists on Principal Burrows' desk, astonishing him at the sudden conference. He spreads out the sheets whilst I enlighten the situation. The more I explain, the deeper his frown lines. I suggest he suspend the boys for a week, to which he happily obliges, followed by a month of compulsory detention. This is brilliant as it will tarnish their record and limit their chances of getting into Universities.
It may not be much, however it is better than nothing, as it means that their potential careers are annihilated before they could begin. Beautiful.
A day later, April Levesque returned to Edgewater Independent. She missed a week, as she was strangely ill.
She was acting odd in Psychology one time, for that group project. She was fatigued and appeared more miserable than usual. She fell asleep in that lesson, in Tanner's warm coat, and I unzipped mine and crushed it into a pillow, pushing it underneath her folded arms for her to sleep better. Tanner and I stayed in that class, patiently waiting for her to wake up. When she did, she was surprised, mortified and shy.
I encounter her in the domed-glass ceiling foyer. Students descend the grand staircase on either side, in the school's grey uniform, coloured attires for Sixth Formers.
Are the boys who created that list blind? April is outrageously gorgeous. If she doesn't realise that, I pray she will soon. Her hair is her signature feature — I'd know who she is simply by noticing those mesmerising, tight brunette coils, prolonged to her mid-waist. I involuntarily glimpse at her sleeves, pondering how many scars are secreted beneath. I perceive something browner than her skin adorning her fingers. Henna.
"I wish you punched Destiny. Next time, please do. For me."
She straightens, then places a scolding hand on her hip — something I notice she usually does for a comeback. "You should go to Japan again. Or another slum. You need to be humbled a bit more — What's so funny?"
I shake my head. This girl got me grinning like a maniac. "You look like a cup."
"A what?"
I wave a hand down at her physique. Her right hip is leaning, a hand on it. The fact that she is short makes the comical sight much better. I snort to suppress further snickers. "A goddamn cup."
She looks down at herself. "How the hell does a person look like a cup?"
"You tell me," I manage, chest tight with laughter. "You started it and pulled it off real well."
She scowls. "You're so weird."
"Someone seems to have anger issues."
"I don't," she snaps, then gathers herself for a much softer and calmer, "I don't."
"Right," I drawl, merely to frustrate her. She is amusing when she is mad. A bit peculiar for me, really, to find that ... captivating. "I do not mean it in a bad way. You are merely funny."
"I'm not funny."
"Then why am I laughing?"
"Your sense of humour needs to be checked."
"Humour is subjective. You look like a cup with that right hand on your hip, plus you are small."
She scowls, dropping her right arm, her cheeks reddening. "I am growing."
"I truly think you need a good luck card for that."
"I am growing." She straightens a bit more, edging closer to examine her height. "See! I'm not even that short."
"You are. For me, at least." She levels to my shoulders. I pat her head. "It is okay, child. Life is not fair."
Annoyance flashes as she discerns my enlarging smirk. "Are you talking to me to waste my time, or is there something you want?"
My fingers pat the strap of my bag. "We do not talk a lot-—"
"We do not," she agrees.
"—so me talking to you must be weird—"
"Kind of."
"—but I want to take you somewhere. I am sure your mum will trust me. Can I take you to the Tower?"
"Your Tower?"
Technically, it is not literally a tower. The name sort of stuck to it. "I know a calming spot. I just want to talk to you."
She shifts her weight to her left leg. "Is it just you?"
I understand immediately. "I suppose you would rather not have anyone knowing your personal life. I will never hurt you."
"I — I know," she stammers. "It's just ... I hate men sometimes. Oh my God, I'm sorry for instantly assuming that —"
"April."
" — I know you will never hurt me —"
"April."
" — It's just that guys are scary sometimes —"
"I get it," I try to soothe.
" — I know it's not all men, but —"
"It is enough to be terrified," I finished. She stops rambling, surprised at my comprehension. "I know. Men are horrible. There is no doubt about that. If it makes you feel any better —" I randomly pick up a skinny, strong stick. "Here. Stab me in the eye."
"What?"
"I will never hurt you," I repeat. "But if you want, you can come with me and, erm, stab me in the eye if I ever do something or just go home."
She warily takes the stick. "The Tower, right?"
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"No." She tries for a smile. "Today should be my first visit. I just need to get home by six."
I wonder if she is wearing a scarf because of the cold or: There was a bruise on her neck. A surge of protectiveness bellows within me. Who would hurt her? If Luke's conspiracy is true...
We sauntered through the parking lot.
"What is wrong?" I ask.
She freezes. "What?"
"You are limping. Are you hurt?"
"I'm on my period," she explains quickly. Too quickly. "I tend to walk like a penguin. It's pretty uncomfortable wearing a pad all day and walking."
"I see. Have you got any painkillers?"
"Um, no."
"I can get some —"
"No, it's okay. I'm fine. Thank you."
Her eyes brighten at the prospect of my motorcycle. She takes a helmet. I helped her to fasten it a minute after a struggle, her head reluctantly tipped upward, gaping at me.
My cold fingers caress her warm cheeks, accidentally brushing the three, mending scabs on her left. My own healed scar tingles. "Do they hurt?"
"No." Her breath tingles onto my chin. "I've dealt with worse."
🌺
I don't know if Derek's anger at people like Thiago is good.
Disclaimer: I do not promote violence ok 😂
Also, unfortunately you do get people who disregard their own colour in terms of beauty. It's absolutely appalling - perhaps the result of eurocentric and unrealistic standards that has been socialised into our cultures from a young age, whether we are aware or not.
An idea of April's painting of Bodie Banks:
This is originally by Alfred Conteh, an African American artist.
This is exactly how I envision Bodie. Of course, you don't have to see him in that way!
It is truly unfortunate that racism exists. In fact, there should be no reason for racism. No excuse. At the end of the day, we are all internally the same, just as Julian mentioned.
However, just like Derek said, people would blame anyone, regardless if it is rational and irrelevant.
This book has A LOT of themes that you MUST be educated on. This book has a lot of symbolism. You may have an idea of what they are.
Racism is one of them, but also the system's results. Now, the system is a system of all systems: law enforcement, education, medical services, businesses, etc.
It is all controlled by the wealthy as the wealthy established the foundations of society.
Samuel is the product of the system. Can you guess how?
Bodie is the product of the system. In fact, he has a huge similarity to Samuel. Can you guess how and what?
The wealthy has the power to manipulate the system to their advantage, which can explain why crime amongst the wealthy are often not properly solved, and this triggers controversy as they're going against everything they built for society to function smoothly.
They're pushed to the side because the rich have the power to gain leverage over those in the law. You can research some cases to have an insight, such as the Jeffrey Epstein scandal.
The Everstons have been affluent for hundreds of years, and in a way, this makes them more powerful than Samuel. But you may think that Samuel is powerful than the family because of what he did.
I purposely created the Everstons to show you something, and soon enough you will realise what.
There are different types of rich. You can see that in this book. Camila, Destiny, Kristina, Roy, etc, for example, are middle-class/ upper-middle class.
Examples of the middle-class professions are police officers.
Examples of upper-middle-class: physicians, engineers, professors.
But the Everstons and Matthews are upper class, aka the "elite". This class is in the highest status in society. They own lands, factories, and have the most social and economic influence in the world. Examples are royal families, politicians, celebrities.
You can change your class by the idea of working hard, which is what Samuel did. He went from working class to upper class.
I understand this is Wattpad. Most Wattpad readers expect smut, but please also know that I am writing this book to educate readers on situations that should be taught in schools. Because not everything is about sex, my loves. There is a much darker truth behind all the obvious in each street that you should be aware of.
As Lin said, if you understand from simple words, you're a fool. So, if you want, you can try and comprehend from the words of this book, but also do your research to gain more depth into dilemmas such as this.
I write to amuse, apprise and assist.
Best regards,
Adreen Fernando 💖