Jaded (Jaded 1)

"I'm sorry."

He looked up, "Why? You've always been nice."

"I'm not nice to everyone."

"Those people deserve it, though. You're nice to who deserves it."

"No." I shook my head, numb. "I'm not."

"You're not nice to fake people, but…you're nice to people who are real. You like that. I've watched you, I've seen you be nice to people who are real, who don't care about being…popular or laughed at."

That was true, but I was more surprised that he knew that.

"So, you've been watching me, huh?" I joked, but I knew I was waiting for Bryce to ring the doorbell.

I was stalling, biding time. That 49% had reared its ugly head.

It took a little bit, but I realized that Marcus never answered my joke. He froze in place, his eyes glued to mine, and he looked like he was about to jerk into action.

"I was joking," I drawled. "

Relax."

And that was when the doorbell rang.

I think a part of me had sensed his approach, maybe I felt his footsteps on the front porch, or maybe I just knew how long he would've let me leave before he pursued. Even in madness, I still knew Bryce intimately.

Marcus jumped at the sound.

"You should go," I murmured as I was turning around.

"Uh…"

"There's a back door, through the garage. You can get out that way. You shouldn't go this way."

I walked into the front hallway and I felt Marcus leave behind me. He ceased being a blip on my radar as I saw Bryce's shadow looming behind the glass door.

My heart started to pound. I heard it and felt it and it sounded ominous.

"Sheldon!" Bryce pounded on the door.

This time, I was the one who jerked. I knew it was coming, the force just rattled me.

"Come on. I see you, you're right there! Let me in!"

Still nothing. My feet were glued to the floor. I didn't run, I didn't flee, but I didn't approach either.

"Look—I know you're mad. We can figure it out later. This is about me going pro, right? I'm not leaving tomorrow, okay? Corrigan got let out. I figured—I should be here because he's going to show up pretty soon. His mom called me. He's furious."

It was lies. All lies. And even the slight hitch of emotion in his voice was perfectly placed.

The door was securely locked. I reached up, numb, and coded in the alarm. I called out, huskily, "You killed those girls."

Bryce froze on the other side. He didn't say anything for a moment. And then, a choked, "No. What are you talking about?" He was desperate now. "Let me in, Sheldon! We can talk about this."

"You killed Leisha and you killed Bailey. And…"

He was going to kill me. I knew it in that moment, but I still stood there—frozen and paralyzed.

"I didn't," Bryce cried out, hoarse. "I don't…where is this coming from? I didn't kill anyone."

"You knew that Bailey hadn't died in the school. You knew that before Sheila told us. And you knew that Leisha hadn't been killed in the park. I knew that, but I never told you that. You were the only one who knew Bailey had talked to me. No one else was watching. It was only you!"

He went utterly, perfectly, absolutely still.

And then, a sigh of surrender left him and instead of hearing his maddening confession, I heard a different take, "I went to the cops yesterday. I knew that stuff because I talked to Officer Patterson. I talked to Sheila. She told me that stuff. And I saw your fourth note. It said on there that they were moved and he was going to move you too."

"You went down there to frame Corrigan."

That pissed me off.

"I went…I went to Sheila and I told her about the party last night. I just…I wanted you to be safe and I'm smart enough to know that this should've been handled by the cops from the start. That's why I went down there. I told them about the videos, about the second alarm system, about…I told them everything because this is their job. This isn't what we do. I just…" He sighed again and leaned his head against the door. I heard his muffled honesty ring forth, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

It was the right words, the right time, and the right person.

I wanted to believe it, but… "How can I believe you?" I cried out, hoarse. "I can't believe anything anymore. Corrigan, you, who else? I don't know where to turn anymore."

"You can believe me. I'm telling you the truth. God—would I…? I already have you, why would I need to—that's sick and wrong. I love you, Sheldon."

"Yeah." An ugly laugh left me. "I'm sure he thinks so too."

"Sheldon," Bryce breathed out. "Listen to me—go upstairs, to the office, and get the gun. I put it underneath the couch, remember? Go and get it and bring it down. You can point it at me, but please—let me in. Let me talk to you, not through this door."

I turned, but stopped before my feet could move.

I stood there and waited. For what—I couldn't say. It was a weird sensation. How do you turn your back on someone to whom you've professed your love?

"Look—," Bryce cried out. "If you're not going to grab it, just listen to me. Please."

I waited.

"He…he wants you alone, Sheldon. He wants you to be vulnerable. This whole time—it's been me or Corrigan. We've been there, at your side, the entire time. Through everything, through all the crap—my mother, your mother, Denton Steele. Even—even the cops thinking that Corrigan is this dick. This whole time—I'm your best friend, Sheldon. I wouldn't—I couldn't do this!"

"I don't know anything anymore," I cried out, shrill. I wanted to crumble. I felt it inside.

"I know! That's what he wants!" His fist pounded the door, helpless. "Seven years, Sheldon. We've been together for seven years. You've been my best friend for that long, before all the drama and everything that happened in school."

The popularity curse.

Bryce added, "Sheldon…I know you inside and out. Of anyone in this world, I know you the best. I messed up. I'm sorry. I didn't…I was just afraid. I was scared that if I told you that I'd gone to see Officer Patterson that you'd be mad and…well—it wouldn't have been as bad as this. I'm sure, but still this sucks pretty bad."

"Bryce…," I said weakly.

"Sheldon…please…"

I couldn't. I still couldn't.

"Please—of all—god—talk about emotional, huh?" His laugh was weak, but genuine. "Remember when we had angry sex and you told me that you loved me? I remember that. Sheldon, you just run all the time. You've got such a heart, but you cover it with poison sometimes. People have to be immune to poison to be your friend, but—thank god—only Corrigan and I are stupid enough to come back for seconds."

Of endearing speeches, his ranked the lowest.

"You're not helping," I said flatly, but I stood a little straighter, a little firmer.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry, but it's just…you're such a bitch, like, 90% of the time."

"That's supposed to be better?" I cried out.

"Well…I'm telling you the truth. I mean, that's my job, isn't it? To tell you the truth even when you think I'm a psycho madman?