Rebel Revenge Inc_Rebel_Volume 1, Page 2

  Will I ever be happy again?

  Chapter 2

  The really crappy part about going to Electric Station City University, while it’s a great school, I grew up in the city and almost everyone knows my family. That means I frequently cross paths with people I know.

  Following the night of that party Travis had invited me to, I was consumed by fear every time I walked through the university, fearing everyone I knew—who could see me—saw I wasn’t the same Wynter I used to be. That I was tainted, ruined, broken. That’s how I felt at the time anyway.

  Now I feel tainted, ruined, broken, and angry. That anger consumes me every damn day, like a rope has been wrapped around my chest several times, making my lungs tight, on the verge of bursting. I want the rope gone. Want the anger gone. Want to be able to breathe without pressure. Want the pressure, the tightness, the feeling as though I’m being crushed to death— just like I felt that night—to vanish.

  Sometimes, if I take enough hits, the lightness surfaces, yet the tightness always remains underneath the haze that drifts through my veins.

  As I cross the campus yard, my bloodshot eyes begin to water. With tears, I think, not from the electric overcast of the city. But being high makes it hard to tell sometimes.

  Air in. Air out. Just breathe, Wynter, just breathe.

  Once I’ve gotten my breathing under control, I jog to the sliding metal doors of the building where my class is located. If I don’t hurry my ass up, I’ll be late again, and then everyone will turn to look at me as I enter the classroom.

  I really hate when people stare at me. I didn’t used to, but that’s another trait that’s changed. All because of that damn night.

  “Wynter!” someone shouts and, for a flickering moment, the drug in my system evaporates, wiped out by fear as I’m taken back to the hazy memories of that night.

  “Wynter!” someone shouts with a laugh. “Come on, baby; play the game!”

  When a hand touches my shoulder, I whirl around, dropping my handheld hologram, my hands clenched into fists.

  “Holy shit.” Beck, one of my close friends, raises his hands in front of him, his eyes wide in shock. “Calm down. It’s just me.”

  It’s just me.

  It’s just Beck.

  I let that sink in as I eye him over. His bright blue and blond hair, his baggy black pants, thick boots, and the chains that cover his vest.

  Like me, Beck comes from a wealthy, highly respected family in the community, but he’s always acted the complete opposite, unlike me. Neither of our parents have been super great to us, either; just to the people they want to dazzle.

  Beck lowers his hands to his sides and studies me worriedly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re freaked out? And”—he squints at my eyes—“have you been crying? Or are you … high?”

  “I’m not high. You know I don’t do that shit. I’m just sensitive to the electric overcast today.” Liar, liar, liar. I steady my breathing as I lower my fists. “Sorry, I freaked out. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

  He eyes me over warily. He’s been doing that a lot lately. All my friends have. “I shouted your name.” A crease forms between his brows. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  I did, I want to say. But it dragged me back to the past.

  Beck isn’t aware of what happened. No one is, except my parents. At the time, I wanted to tell my friends, but between the fear, shame, and threats, I decided to keep my lips sealed.

  “Keep your lips fucking shut, or else we’ll end you.”

  I force my lips to turn upward in a pretty, plastic smile. “I thought it was pretty obvious I didn’t,” I attempt to joke. “I was sort of zoned out. I slept like shit last night.”

  “You say that a lot,” he remarks with a frown. “Did you ever go talk to that sleeping specialist Wills told you about? Or maybe get put on some sleep poppy dreamer? I heard it can help big time with sleeping disorders.”

  Wills is Beck’s girlfriend and one of my other close friends. Growing up, Beck, Wills, Luna, Ari, and I were close friends. We’re still close and everything—well, up until a couple months ago—but now that Beck is dating Wills, and Luna is practically engaged to Grey, we don’t spend every waking hour with each other like we used to.

  It used to bother me that we started drifting apart the older we got, as relationships, jobs, and school got in the way. Now, they don’t spend enough time with me to notice how different I am. They started to notice a bit recently. And sometimes I just want to break down and tell them why.

  Tell them everything.

  “Don’t you dare fucking tell anyone about this,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do.”

  I try to blink away the memory.

  Afraid.

  Afraid.

  Afraid.

  I’m always afraid.

  “I haven’t yet,” I tell him as I collect my handheld from the ground.

  I don’t mention I have no plans on going. Not that I don’t appreciate my friends’ concerns and efforts to help me. But what’s ruining my good nights of rest can’t be fixed with different sleeping positions or anything a sleep specialist might suggest, and sleep poppy dreamer doesn’t mix well with savor glimmer haze, and I need the glimmer haze to survive.

  No, the only way I’ll be able to sleep again is if this pressure in my chest goes away, if the fear I carry around all day disappears, and this goddamn need to make them pay for what they did to me stops burning inside my chest.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  Revenge.

  The word pulsates in my veins; an angsty, screaming song; lyrics belted out at the top of my lungs. Yet, somehow my lips remain fused shut.

  Obsession.

  Obsession.

  Obsession.

  I want revenge.

  Beck inches closer to me and lowers his voice. “I don’t want to sound like an asshole, but you and I have always been pretty straight with each other, right?”

  I shrug. “I guess that’s one way of looking at our excessive ability to chew each other out.”

  His pierced lips quirk. “I like to think of it more as heatedly debating with each other.”

  “Man, you must be tired or something,” I aim for a teasing tone, but fail epically. “Usually, you just refer to our arguments as me being a bitch.”

  “Yeah, well …” He scratches the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable.

  “All right, Beck, just spill it,” I demand. “Because this whole twitchy, cyborg thing you’ve got going on right now doesn’t suit you.”

  “Doesn’t suit me?” He purposefully eyes my getup. “Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?”

  I put a hand on my hip. “Are you saying I can’t pull this look off?”

  He promptly shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” He sighs. “But this whole Goth, grunge look you’ve been sporting the last month or so isn’t you.”

  “So I decided to change my look.” I shrug. “People change all the time, especially in college.”

  “Yeah, but …” He struggles for words. Odd. Beck is the most chatty, outgoing person I know. Well, except for the old me. She was practically the female version of Beck. “You changed so suddenly.” He casts a quick glance at my face. “And it’s not just your clothes either. It’s the way you carry yourself.” A puzzled frown forms on his lips. “You barely smile anymore.”

  It takes every ounce of energy to make my lips spread into a plastic smile. “I’m smiling right now.”

  He shakes his head while sighing. “Don’t do that. We’re too good of friends for you to fake anything in front of me. Same goes for Wills, Luna, and Ari. We’re all worried about you.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze.

  While Beck has never, ever done anything to hurt me, I stupidly flinch from his touch. I’m not even positive why, other than that rope around my chest suddenly tightens.

  Beck more than notices, too, concern cramming his eyes
.

  “You’re shaking.” He stares at me with so much worry I feel as though I’m drowning in it. “What the hell is going on?” When my lips remain fused together, he slants closer. “Please just talk to me.”

  Talk to him, Wynter.

  Just open your mouth and utter the words.

  It’s not that hard.

  “Don’t utter a fucking word,” he whispers. “I don’t know how many times I have to stress that. If you do, you know what will happen. You’ve been told enough” His breath is hot against my cheek. I want to throw up. “You can only tell your dad. Pass along the message never to fuck with us again.”

  My heart pounds fiercely in my chest, but I will my voice to come out even. “There’s nothing to tell.” I laugh it off. The sound shrivels my heart. “So quit being such a weirdo.” I step back, picking up my handheld. “I have to go to class, okay? I’ll catch up with you later.” I hurriedly turn away to avoid seeing the hurt and worry filling his eyes.

  I hate that he worries.

  I hate that anyone worries about me.

  I hate that I make them worry.

  Even if I told them, they’d worry. And not just about me. No, if I divulge the truth, they’d have a lot more shit to be concerned about, like their own safety.

  I can’t do that to them. I can’t make them suffer like I am. And what happens if they don’t believe me? After all, my parents acted like they didn’t. I highly doubt that would happen, though. My friends are much better people than my parents.

  Still, even if I decide to risk their safety by telling them, I’m not sure if I could handle the looks they’d give me once they found out. Pity. Sadness. The way the pity and sadness would make me feel. And the shame I keep deep down inside me might rush to the surface and tear me apart.

  No, I can’t do it. I can’t tell them. I decided that after I ran out of the woods, barefoot and bleeding, and the Electric Station City squad picked me up. They put me in the back seat of their hover vehicle, like a criminal, and proceed to drill me with questions, like why I was in the woods to begin with, since the area is restricted and I didn’t have a pass. When I couldn’t answer, because I honestly couldn’t remember how the fuck I got there—still don’t—they started getting suspicious and hauled me into the city station. Once they found out who I was, they called my parents. Everything just sort of went downhill from there.

  Sucking back the tears threatening to pour out, I haul ass to the steel sliding doors and approach the stationed cyborg. Once he scans my ID on my handheld and buzzes me through, I run toward my class, wishing I smoked a little bit more before coming here.

  As I pass the cyborg recharging station in the communal area, I note the time on the hologram clock and let out a string of curses. Fuck, I’m going to be late again. And everyone is going to look at me. Again.

  No, I can still make it, I attempt to convince myself.

  I quicken my pace, weaving around people and cyborgs. Then, as I near the edge of the hallway that leads to my class, I slow to a halt as two guys appear in my path. Not just any two guys either, but Travis Marilellie and one of his buddies whose name I can’t remember but will figure out even if it kills me.

  I will remember everything. No matter what it takes.

  My legs tremble as sharp, bright, bleeding images flash through my mind in blurry, incomprehensible fragments.

  While I can recall most of what happened that night, not every detail is bright and clear, like the faces and names of those who took part in breaking me. I remember Travis’s voice, his scent, and at least a dozen other voices. Laughter. Screaming. Although, I think that might have been my screams. As for faces, that part is a blur. I’m not sure why; whether the trauma caused me to forget or if I was drugged up when the incident happened. The reason doesn’t matter. Remembering is more important. And to remember, I must face my fear head-on, something that dawned on me about a month after the incident.

  I was so afraid back then, running away every time I saw Travis or any of his friends. I hated myself so much for being so scared. Hated that fear owned me. Then, one day, Travis smiled at me, that stupid fucking smile that had charmed me to go out with him to begin with. Only, this time I saw what resided behind that smile. Saw what lay in his eyes.

  Darkness and hatred.

  Pure and utter evil.

  And that fucking smile did something to me. Made me want to shatter his soul like he had shattered mine. Made me want to be able to give him the same exact smile.

  That’s when the idea came to me. That I wanted—needed—to get revenge. The problem with getting revenge on someone like Travis, though? It isn’t that simple. With his high status in the city, turning him into the Electric Station City squad more than likely won’t work, and he’ll end up getting off, just like a lot of the people in his family have. Plus, he could easily make due on his threat if I went to the squad. My dad had also demanded I didn’t. Demanded I keep my mouth shut. That it’d do no good if I spoke up. That no one would believe me. That he didn’t believe me.

  Between that, the threats the guys gave me about hurting my friends, and the way the squad treated me when they picked me up from the woods, I couldn’t bring myself to speak up. That leaves me with getting my revenge in a different form.

  While I haven’t figured out the exact details, I’ve done the revenge thing enough to know I should start with getting intel on the guys who hurt me. It’s what I’ve done in the past. Usually, though, my revenge plots consisted of putting a snobby cheerleader in her place or shutting up a douchebag who was spreading rumors about my friends. Never have I gone up against guys who are basically worshipped by the members of this city; sons of some of the wealthiest, most powerful and respected families. The son of the family who owns this very university. The son of the mayor. The son of the owner of half the businesses in town. Those are just a few examples.

  As Travis and his friend continue to head toward me, oblivious to my presence, I lower my head and duck behind one of the massive steel columns that line the communal area. Then I fiddle around with my handheld and pretend to be deeply engulfed with something on it. Really, I’m listening, waiting. For what, I’m not sure. Something incriminating perhaps? Yeah, if only it was going to be that easy. I doubt that’s going to be the case. No, if I want to take these pieces of shits down, I’m going to have to dig and dig and dig until I’m surrounded by their dirt.

  Tilting my head, I let my hair veil my face as I watch them from around the column.

  “You decide who you’re bringing to Friday’s party?” Travis’s friend asks as they make their way past me.

  A sly grin curls at Travis’s lips. “I haven’t narrowed down my options yet. I’m thinking maybe Maci, but last time, she didn’t want to put out for me.”

  “Yeah, so?” His friend snickers. “Like that’s stopped you before.”

  His grin expands as he muses thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I’ll invite Maci. Show her how not to say no.”

  They exchange a fist bump then depart the communal area, grinning like a couple of rich, spoiled brats. Or, well, that’s how it appears to me, the girl who can see the truth now. To most people, Travis and his friend probably look like a couple of hot, sexy, fun guys. I used to think like everyone else. Now I know better.

  And I want nothing more than for everyone else to see what I see. Starting with this Maci girl.

  Closing my book, I turn to leave, deciding to bail out on class so I can convince Ari, my computer genius friend, to hack into the school records and give me the names and addresses of all the Maci’s that attend school here.

  I’m stepping out from behind the column, my mind too distracted, when I crash straight into a solid, sturdy object … Wait. Nope, not an object. A Greysteles, something I become hyperaware of as I’m about to fall on my ass and a pair of lean, sculpted, tattooed, bronzed gadget ornamented arms loop around my waist, stopping me.

  Greysteles are half-human, half-cyborgs, t
hat are created when a human becomes ill or gets injured and needs limb replacements. Usually, the mechanical parts of their bodies are in the leg and arm area, but I heard a rumor about a month ago that there’s a greystele wandering around campus that has a mechanical heart. How that works is beyond me—I never paid too much attention in science class. What I do know, though, is that my parents would freak out if I was ever caught talking to a greystele, since they’re considered pretty low on the social tier. Even people who were once rich and famous lose their social status if they have to undergo a greystele transformation. I’m not even sure why people fear them so much. If it’s because they’re different or because they’re stronger than the average human, which could give them a lot of power if there were enough of them in the city.

  Back before the incident, I wouldn’t ditch the greystele who just saved me from falling on me ass. Now I want to run away, but for entirely different reasons.

  Touching.

  His cold metal fingers are touching me. It’s been so long since someone has touched me other than my friends, for two months actually.

  “Sorry,” the greystele apologizes as he steadies me to my feet, the gadgets in his arms craning. “I didn’t see you there.”

  I hurriedly get my balance and step back out of his reach, my body shuddering from his touch. “It’s fine. It was probably more my fault than yours.” I shuffle back, hoping he doesn’t take it personally. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I suck in a breath and force my gaze upward. Force myself to get past the fear that the eyes I’m going to meet are going to belong to a face that was there that night, even though I’m almost positive there were no greysteles invited to the party. Still, I can’t get past the fear of fearing everyone.

  The eyes of the people who attacked me are what I remember the most. Or, well, the looks in them. The way they watched me as they yanked out my soul and shattered it across the bloody carpet. If only I could look every single person on campus in the eyes, then I’d know who hurt me.

  The moment my gaze meets the stranger’s, I decide he couldn’t have been at the party that night. His eyes are too kind, too soft, especially for a greystele. Crystal blue with flecks of metallic inside the pupils, making me wonder if his eyes are real or not.