"I think you should transfer." He says, to me that sounded less of a death sentence.

"But it is not like they are going to stay in the school forever. I can hold out until then. I’m not weak.

So please? Promise me you won’t say a word to mom. Huh?" I plead hopefully, desperately.

"I really wish I can. But no one would turn away from this. Not even a stranger. Let alone a parent." He has got a point. But that is not what would be right for me.

I hold my hands together. "I know that. But I’m asking you to please?" He huffs, he still has that unyielding look in his eyes. Full of rage and pity. This is not getting anywere. Anger spikes up in my veins. An outburst rips out of me before I have time to realize it. "If you want to help, then this is how!

You think I don’t have any sense of danger?

I do. And I’m telling you it isn’t that bad enough to get me quitting." I almost yell,

I’m feeling mad at everything right now. My careful rhythm is about to be disrupted. I suck in a shaky breath, cleaning my eyes aggressively.

I knew it. No one would understand. No one would ever understand me. I have been living an average life.

I don’t want an average future too. And I plan to do all I can to ensure it comes through for me. The bullying is a suffering I am willing to endure. Because being there is one of my tickets to a bright future.

I’m struggling against the tears that are still threatening to spill out of my eyes. And I am starting to feel one of those out-of-body experiences. A desperate hope that maybe, just maybe I really am not there having the bad experience. That it must be a dream about myself in some parallel universe. That I wasn’t involved and sitting right there in the mess.

I break down, unable to continue keeping it in. "Even if it was, I still would not quit. If I quit then. . . . . If I quit, it is only then that I would feel defeated. I have a goal to graduate from that school. It is either that or nothing." I end with an emphasis on a sobbing note. Dad is staring at me doesn’t say anything.

I wait.

Then thinking he is too flabbergasted by my sudden outburst to even utter a word, I turned to leave and return to my room, but then he spoke in a soft tone.

"It really means that much to you?"

I face him once again. Saying it alone would not be enough. He needs to also see it my eyes. My determination. My zeal. They say that the eyes never lie. "Yes." I say. "It does mean a lot to me."

CALYX

"Damn it!" I cursed out for the third time.

Where the hell is this man? He should have shown up by now.

"Should I call the Don and let him know?" The person I had called for assistance asked. Kendrick—known as K. He is one of the very few top men in the organization that I can say I am close to since we are more than acquaintances.

Our annoying closeness results from when we used to frequently spar. Most of the time because my uncle likes setting me up with him because he is a really good fighter. He had been introduced the game earlier than I was. We fought on our own a few times because we actually want to do so to test each other’s strengths. He bust my gut a lot before I got better and learned how to bust his.

I heard he is following in his father’s footsteps and studying to become a lawyer. He would most likely work in the organization than in the actual law field and be the third in command years from now according to the usual hierarchy system.

I knew that he recently came to Florida. But I didn’t know that he was so close. Living on the same street as me. It did not take up to five minutes for us to link up when I called him. After mapping out the plan for the new murder, I found that I needed assistance.

I work better on my own. But this was not one that I could do alone. Not that I couldn’t handle the task. I just needed him to keep up appearance and not come off as suspicious. So I had called him. We pretended to be the people sent to fix McVey’s car. K fixed it, and I planted the bomb.

This mission should have been over by now. But it has yet to begun. "No. Let us still wait longer." I respond. This whole situation would not have been this irritating and boring if I had brought a pack of cigarettes along. Note to self next time.

I made the wait less boring by thinking about my target and wondering what she is going through now at school or her workplace with the others. I miss the look of hatred and helplessness that she gives me when I bully her.

It is addicting. Makes me never want to stop bullying her.

K’s voice pierces through my peaceful thought and shatters it. "Want one?" He is holding out a pack of cigarettes to me. I refuse it. I badly want a smoke, but not one that belongs to him. It is a little about hierarchy. Not being too close and not letting guard down starts from here and continues on to when I become the next Don.

"What? Scared I would poison you?" He jests. "I’m not that paranoid."

"Your dull expression is telling otherwise."

"Can you just shut up?"

"I see I just hit one of your nerves."

He likes bantering and arguments. I’m not stupid to go with it like I used to. It’s not like I even have the energy. "What? Not replying to me now?" I mentally punch him.

It progresses to me killing him in my imagination.