Playing Heart Games

Pre-Game 2: Play Your Part

AXEL

I've always thought of myself as the lovable anti-hero.

I don't rescue damsels. I don't slay dragons. Most characters in the book hate me. A few, rare, readers like me. They believe that deep down in the depths of my dark irredeemable soul there's an ounce of good. Occasionally, I live up to their expectations.

Like right now.

"How much?"

I glanced up from the screen of the phone, levelling my stare on the boy in front of me. He was thin, and twitchy, and wore a tragically hideous hoody that was way too big for him. From his pale skin and bloodshot eyes, it was clear that he wasn't entirely sober.

He blinked. "W-w-what?"

"How much?" I repeated. "For the phone."

For the video on it. For your silence. Get with the program already.

He blinked again. His arm twitched. "T—ten—ten thousand." Then he paused, as if he expected me to say no.

My expression didn't change as I reached into my bag, pulling out a roll of cash.

His eyes widened, his gaze glued to the money. He swallowed.

I keep my gaze locked on his face as I twirled the roll between my fingers. "This is your only copy of the video?"

He swallowed again and nodded. "Y-y-yes."

My eyes narrowed. I stood from the desk I was perched on, abandoning my slouch and stretching to my full six feet one and a quarter inch. I stepped forward, hovering over him. My voice lowered, deepened. "You sure?"

He paled, cringing into himself. "Y-y-y-yes."

I figured he was telling the truth, but I flexed my hand anyway, displaying the bruises on my knuckles. He paled further. Rumour has it that Axel Ryder, the school's resident badass, gets into a fist fight daily. It's not true, obviously. That would require way too much effort. But the rumour comes in useful occasionally—like when I have to intimidate someone.

"Good," I finally said.

He flinched when I slipped the phone out of his hand. I tucked it into my pocket, then I dropped the roll into his palm.

He scrambled to catch it, clutching the paper like it was a lifeline.

People and money. I was still playing intimidating, so I resisted an eyeroll.

Since he'd gotten what he wanted, he started to leave the room. He reached the door when I spoke.

"Douglas."

He stiffened, wide eyes flashing back to me. "H-h-how do you know my name?"

I tend to do my research when someone starts blackmailing me.

Instead of responding, I smirked. My eyes were cold as I moved towards him. "Tell anyone about what you saw Douglas Reed," I began. I leaned in, my voice lowering. "And I'll kill you."

His face drained of blood. He bobbed out a nod, then scrambled out of the room.

Of course, I wouldn't actually kill him. That would be way too much work.

I straightened as the door slammed shut. Then I sighed. A ripple of frustration and anger rolled through me. I resisted the urge to punch a wall. Punching walls was the reason I had bruises on my fists in the first place.

I slipped out the phone. I wanted to smash it to pieces, then burn the pieces. I smothered the urge. This was one time too many. I wasn't going to destroy the evidence yet. I tucked it back into my pocket.

What I needed was a nap. I hadn't slept in days. Douglas had been considerate enough to text me on bloody Wednesday, when I'd been at the wedding of one of Dad's business friends. In the Bahamas. So I'd spent forty-eight sleepless hours waiting till I flew back into town. Because how the hell was I supposed to sleep knowing that video existed?

I strode across the empty classroom, towards the marble counter beneath the windows. Students weren't supposed to be in classrooms at lunch without permission from a teacher, but what was I if I wasn't disobedient?

I rolled down the blinds and stretched out on the counter.

In a book, I'd probably be one of those anti-heroes that ruins all the hero's plans then, at the end, I'd do something super dramatic to save everyone, and die tragically in the process.

No, I'm not the hero.

But I play a pretty good anti-hero.

*

Hope you liked the chapter!

God bless

☆☆☆

Yemi Everest