Her Eyes
Damn, she’s got a pair of eyes on her
Eyes that are windows to a hurricane soul
That threatens to suck you in and hold you captive
until you forget what light tastes like.
Eyes like a mirror
That shows you all the fucked up, twisted desires in your heart
Where your sickest fantasies
Are promises fulfilled.
Eyes that challenge
Eyes that have seen shit
Eyes that see shit.
I’m not afraid
Let her see.
Baby, you’ve never seen darkness like this before,
And I could use the challenge.
I look forward to destroying her,
Crushing her tight little body,
And shattering her deep, dark soul.
sixteen
Harper Apple
I have pathetically little to tell Mr. D on Friday. I haven’t made any inroads with the Dolces. He makes it clear exactly how he feels about that.
The problem is, I don’tknowthe Dolces. I know they’re rich, and I’ve heard the rumors and tales from everyone at school—there’s a dozen versions of the fate of Colt’s sister alone, and half the time, people seem to be mixing them up with what happened to the Dolce sister. I’ve heard that they pushed her off a balcony into a swimming pool and she drowned; that it wasn’t a balcony but a bridge; that she didn’t fall off the bridge but ran into the water and was swept away; that she didn’t run in but was swept away in a car; and that she didn’t die but went to a mental institution.
Everyone has their own version of every rumor about the Dolces, but the one I never hear is the Dolces’ version. I need to know them, need to figure out what guys like them could want, what they need. Not just for Mr. D, either. I like figuring people out, and I can’t figure out these guys. They have this air of mystery around them, as if they’ve drawn a circle around themselves that both attracts everyone and yet never lets them inside it. People are scared of them, but they also can’t help but flirt with that danger.
I remember Dixie’s words.They need someone to love them enough to tell them no.
That ain’t gonna happen.
Even if I told them no, if anyone told them no, they’d take what they want, anyway. They have money to buy anything under the sun, to buy off anyone who might stop them from doing anything under the sun. They have the power to get what they want and take what they want, everyone else be damned. They have more power than anyone in the school—not just the kids but the adults, too.
So how is a girl like me, who has no power over anything on this earth, going to give them anything they need? And if I don’t, why would they let me in?
I stood up to them, and it didn’t get me a lick of respect. It only put a target on my back. Royal called me trash, so now everyone calls me trash.
The next week is worse. On Monday, I open my locker to find it filled with garbage—brown banana peels, moldy yogurt dripping over everything, and slimy, rotten mushrooms that smell like fish. Even after cleaning it up, my books reek. Guess Royal got what he wanted—I smell like trash when I walk around carrying the stained books.