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Water poured from the faucet.
The school bathroom. Once bright walls had faded to a piss yellow, and the white tiled floors were caked in dust and grime. The janitor had been found dead last month. The school hadn’t bothered to replace him yet, not that anyone would take the job anyway, so it would stay this way for a while. The old one had looked like he was just about pushed to his limit. Hell, Max would have assumed the old man had done himself in if it wasn't for the…state of the body. Would be pretty fucking hard to decapitate yourself.
They still hadn't found the head.
Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll die before you graduate. Go out with a bang.
Water poured from the faucet.
He should probably turn it off, he thought. He was wasting water.
You know what? No. Hell if he cared about the school water bill or the ‘environment’ or whatever bullshit. What were they going to do, expel him? He owned the school. No one would dare expel Max Jagerman. He was God.
God until next year.
He should be more scared. After graduation, his life was over. All the power. All the fame. He couldn't just make someone do all the work for him anymore. Cheat on all his tests. Have every girl swoon at the sight of him, not because they actually liked him, but because of what he promised. Popularity. Sleep with Max Jagerman, and you shot up the social ladder.
Max let out a bitter laugh. He may be stupid, but he wasn't that dumb. He knew no one here actually liked him. Because he wasn't a person, he was a metaphor, a construct, a system. He was a game everyone was trying to win. He saw the way the other jocks shared looks whenever he was doing something they didn’t like. The way the cheer squad didn’t look at him like a person, but as an object. And he did the same to them. Or at least pretended to.
Water poured from the faucet.
It sputtered for a few moments when he had turned it on, the metal handle squeaking as he tried to pull it forward. He had almost forgotten why he was in here in the first place. Those fucking nerdy prudes. He despised them. The way they were just so…themselves. So freely exploring their own interests, so happy. It wasn't fair. It wasn't. It wasnt fair how free everyone at this stupid fucking school was. So he had to make it fair. He had to teach them a lesson. Because there were rules to life, rules that were stupid, rules that weren’t fair. Rules that hurt to break. And none of them knew that hurt, so he would make them know it. And it should feel good, he thought. To see the fear in their eyes at the mere sight of him. To hear them scream as he punched their faces in. Watched them bleed.
Why didn’t it feel good?
Maybe, if he pretended it did, he would start believing it. So why didn’t he? It made him angry, every pang of guilt at the back of his skull. The pitiful look in their eyes shouldn't make him feel sad. It shouldn't. Because if it didn’t feel good, then why did he do it to him every fucking day?
Tears welled up in his eyes. Shit. He splashed water in his face. He felt a sob threaten to escape his throat, and instinctively bit his lip. Crying was for pussies. And Max Jagerman was not a pussy . Max Jagerman was not stupid . Max Jagerman was not dirt . He was Fierce. Sexy. Terrifying. He was God.
If he repeated it enough, maybe he would start believing it.
Max’s lip began to bleed. The taste of metal startled him into biting down harder, and fuck that hurt. He really should be used to the taste by now.
He let go of his bottom lip, but any sound that came out was drowned out by the skin. If he couldn't hear himself cry, it was like he wasn’t even crying, right? It was impossible to tell if the wet on his face were tears or the water he had splashed. It was a perfect coverup. The only giveaway were his eyes, red and puffy. He could say he had pinkeye. Could pink eye develop in five minutes, or however long he had been in here? Fuck if he knew. And no one at school would, either. Except for the nerds. But they would be too scared to say a thing, anyway.
Because they were scared of him.
The thought left a bad taste in his mouth.
Water poured from the faucet.
He took a deep breath, splashed himself one last time, and pushed the handle back. The stream of water sputtered before turning off completely. Max ripped out a few paper towels and patted his face dry. He was late for class. He straightened out his letterman jacket and walked out the bathroom door. He was fine.
He was going to be fine.