A Serenade For The Innocent 1 Reigning Queen

I mean it figuratively, but with the way he behaves like a living corpse then you might as well take it literally. I don't understand John. He's not stupid, nor is he getting bullied. In fact, most of my cla.s.smates want to befriend him. He avoids people for no clear reason as if we're transparent! He always sits in the back of the cla.s.s, listening to the lectures, unmoving and mute.

Now, I'm not a nosy person, but once you saw him you'd be curious too.

"Good morning, Miss President." The girl says, stuttering, by the time she sees me enter this ridiculously s.p.a.cious room. They call this thing an office, I call it a waste of s.p.a.ce.

I gaze at her, trying to conceal my annoyance. "Good morning," I smiled, pretending to be nice. I hate this b.i.t.c.h. "Anything new with that garbage can issue?"

"Stephanie, there's a problem. They informed us why they don't want to deliver the-"

"Spare me with that, please." I walk towards my table hiding my frustration. I am not frustrated with the issue, I am frustrated with her. "Give me something I could control. If they refused our request, then that's too bad, but it's out of our reach now." I scoffed as I pull my chair, I didn't sit yet. "And how many time do I have to remind you to call me President?"

"I'm sorry, Miss President." She mumbled while balancing her gla.s.ses. "Ah, I should tell you that the manager at the convenience store-"

"Enough. We're not talking about that." I interrupted as calmly as humanly possible, trying not to show my irritation in vain. "May I remind you, Miss Claire, about what I said before regarding our affairs outside the school? By something I can work with I mean a.s.sociated with the committee. Let's not talk about our part-time job while we're here in the office."

"I'm so sorry um... they're all on your table. I made the usual setup. Student council related matters are on the left side. On the right are some... unrelated ones. You got another letter from that handsome suitor, Steph!" She chuckled, I didn't.

I glared at the girls standing in front of my table so sharp it could pierce through her thick and empty skull.

I'm sorry, ma'am, umm… Miss President." At least she got the memo.

I took the unrelated doc.u.ment she was talking about, for some reason personal affairs like this still manage to land on my office. I opened one envelope among countless others on my table, what welcomed me is a handwritten letter in a paper with a vibrant yellow color. Ah, so she wasn't lying, it is a love letter.

Tsk. Again?

I thought these stalker shenanigans is over? Here we go again with the same desperate garbage human beings attempting to indirectly tell me how much they want to f.u.c.k me. I don't even want to read it! It's already painful to look at. Haven't I made it clear how I hate to have a relations.h.i.+p with boys who have d.i.c.ks for brains? Who the f.u.c.k is it this time? I bet it's that Lawrence guy again!

I appreciate their purpose, but I don't like them so that means no! They won't be able to have s.e.x with me today, and that won't change even in my dying breath!

"All right," I said, again with a sweet tone. It gets painful to pull off if I look at her face. "Thank you very much, you may leave now." Please get the f.u.c.k out now.

"You should head to cla.s.s, too, the bell is about to ring."

"b.i.t.c.h, bye," I muttered under my breath hoping she didn't hear a thing.

I sighed when she left the room. It seemed like I tossed the weight of the world off my shoulders. G.o.d, I hate her. I opened the letter she's so excited about. I couldn't be bothered to read the rest of it aside from the closing line which reads as follows:

'Sincerely yours,

Lawrence."

Shocking.

You know the best thing about letters written in Oslo papers? It feels so d.a.m.n good every time I rip them.

I stand up as I tear the glitter-clad letter into pieces. I scoffed when a familiar figure of a man happened upon my attention. Staring from the huge window behind my table, I catch sight of him walking on the school grounds. The curtains have been unveiled, the lights are open, and the backdrop is set: John Smith enters the stage. He's late again, but that's something I'm already expecting.

As usual, b.i.t.c.hes whisper when he walks past them. Look at how they giggle with those blus.h.i.+ng faces. Their squeals are so annoying! I am forced to listen to it every single day!

Between you and me, the only distinction I and the b.i.t.c.hes below have is where we stand. The one sitting on top of the food chain versus the ones below. It's easy to determine the big difference between us but it's something John cannot see. Whoever you are you will never be a part of his priority list; you may be the pope, the president, the queen, the emperor, or the prime minister but to anyone, he has nothing to say. No matter how big, no matter how influential, no matter how powerful, no matter popular, and no matter how wealthy he will be blind to it!

No…

He doesn't care.

"John Smith, you motherf.u.c.ker, you're doing it again," I said whispering to myself as I study his movements.

I sit on my chair and scanned my table, that's when I notice the thick pile of papers all lined up for me to skim. I forgot that this is the reason I remained standing up, to begin with. I scoffed as I drown myself in the thought of having the same endless work by this tomorrow once again.

My position made me realize that a leather chair is not the most pleasant place to sit on. The sofa right in front of my table, however, calms my nerves, it's comfortable. But few want to sit there. And there's a good reason why. If you find yourself sitting on that soft furniture that means two things: you're either getting your d.i.c.k sucked or you're f.u.c.ked. The latter happens a lot, so I'm the one who handles it. I let the others do the former. They love sucking d.i.c.ks that's why they're here!

And that's why I've reached what they haven't. I don't rely on s.l.u.t's tactics to get on top. And I have a nameplate to prove that. Let me read it for you:

Margaux Stephanie Barnes, president!

I can't believe I made it here alive and unscratched. It gets me all the time. A constant reminder for me and for everybody. It's my personal trophy and their personal Jesus. However, right next to it, only a few inches away, are papers. Consequences. Oh power, so easy to gain with a pretty face, so hard to maintain with a s.h.i.+tty att.i.tude.

See, we know one another now! We're having an intimate relations.h.i.+p! Since we're getting close now, you might ask yourself why I'm even here if I'm not willing to commit. Some always have a difficult time answering that question. They have essays and boring speeches just to present an answer. But they are not me. I only need one word to convey my perspective:

Fame.

It turns me on when they say my name and my face pops into their head. There is no better feeling than being the center of everything!

Although if I am speaking publicly I would write the same long essays and recite the same boring speeches I despise. Call it the duality of me, it's necessary to have the people's eyes locked on me.

Then there's that guy. John Smith, the man who has no qualms about what other people speaks of him. I s.h.i.+ne as I walk down the hallway; meanwhile, he casts shadows in each step he takes. He is the dullest person I've ever laid my eyes on. He's a lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d, yet people idolize him, some even wors.h.i.+p him! A man with no character, no ideology to speak of, and no known belief. Is this moron supposed to be better than me? Girl... Bye! This is a problem for me. This is just too f.u.c.king much! And no one seems to understand how serious this is!

Which will take your curiosity the most: the intellectual elite such as I, or the mysterious figure with a shady character? Some choose the former, but the latter is remaining to be triumphant. He eats all the fame for himself, and he's not aware of it. I'm losing to a person who's pretending to be a deaf mute! And here I am, the icon of the student body, trying to win against him? It's making me seem pathetic! This is an uneven match yet somehow the losing side is winning!

I mean, he is kinda handsome and I get that, but all these praise people give him makes no sense. Look at him; he goes to school with the messiest bed head I've ever seen! Ugh, come on! I wouldn't even dare let others stare at me without combing a hundred times!

Then there are his large eye bags so droopy that it's impossible not to criticize! I take time and effort to give the treatment my body deserves as if I'm carving diamonds my skin produces bringing out my natural perfect luminance. And he's there looking like the very avatar of darkness itself and that's okay with him? I would rather die than to own his style!

They praise him because of how smart he is but I can say with pride, even to you, that I am far smarter than him. I guess the guy's rich? He attends this school without the need for a scholars.h.i.+p or a part-time job after all! But that reason is not enough! I may not be richer but there are handsome boys out there far wealthier than his entire clan combined! The attention given to him is off the charts and he is not qualified for it!

Somehow John is just... He's famous and I do not understand why! Everybody talks about him, everybody knows his name, but n.o.body knows anything about him. This man is a blank slate!

A man like him is shoving me off the spotlight? If this persists, he might plan to run as the next president and he will win. Don't ask me how I come up with such a ludicrous conclusion. f.u.c.k if I know! But I'm not giving this position away; not to anyone, not to you, and definitely not to a guy named John f.u.c.king Smith!

If someone threatens to overthrow the ruler of the jungle, she must learn to adapt to remain sitting on the throne. No matter how ridiculous the opponent she needs to keep sitting on that leather chair. I need to keep sitting on this leather chair.

So I've devised a plan against him. I will befriend that little tabula rasa f.u.c.k. No, I am not planning to help him fix his miserable life! Who do you think I am, the president of United f.u.c.king State of America? I am doing this because he's the new big thing on the campus! Imagine, if I became friends with the infamous unfriendly guy then I'd be, like, famous-er than him. I can already hear them calling me the hero who helped out a lonely man in need of a friend! And I'm confident this would somehow work because, you know, he's like, famous. For some reason.

Who could befriend him better than his cla.s.smate? If that's the case then I am lucky we are attending the same cla.s.s. We only spoke when it is necessary but I noticed he's always gazing at me. Those eyes say he knows I exist, those eyes tell me he has something to say! Those are the eyes of a man longing for a woman's touch. That's good, but not under normal circ.u.mstances.

Besides, I'm forced to get involved with every student and they're forced to suck it up.

He is not an exception.

"Hi!" I said with the grace of a queen as I approach him from where he sits. Helen Mirren would've gagged if she saw me!

But to no avail. He ignores me. This is perhaps the single thing about him worth applauding, John is a great equalizer. He treats everybody like s.h.i.+t. I bet this is how he views our teachers too. There is no social cla.s.s in his own world. However, today is the day we'll change that. I didn't cancel all of my after-school gigs only to find out he'll give me the silent treatment... again!

I sat beside him. "What are you doing?"

"Please, stop talking."

He stands up and walks straight out of the room leaving me in my lonesome, dumbfounded.

The nerve!

I chase after him. The girl is the one chasing after the boy, he should be disgusted with himself! This alone could make me known for being that desperate b.i.t.c.h who wants to have a taste of that poor loner boy's junk. He tries to escape, but when I pull him towards a dark corner, he knew he wouldn't be able to run away from me anymore.

"Are you going to listen now?" I said as I stand in front of him, his only escape route.

"Please, please you have to let me go. If he found out, I'm with you... you'll be in danger!"

I was about to tell him how ridiculous he sounded when a beeping sound interrupted what is about to come out of my lips.

John took a cell phone inside his pocket. When the light of his phone's monitor hit the highlights of his face, his expression changed from the face of a troubled man to the face of a man gazing at his a.s.sa.s.sin. His hands shook unnaturally, it was insane. Sweat drips from his forehead, rolled on his chin until it finally dropped from his jaw. And as the first bead of his sweat drops on the ground so did his jaw, revealing an appalling expression I never would have expected a person such as John Smith could muster to summon. He explored his surroundings with his eyes, panting and gasping as he tries to look for something, or perhaps someone. But he didn't move an inch of his body; not his head, not his hands, not his chest, not his feet. He simply moved his eyes all over in random directions.

I am at loss as to what is happening but with the horrible state, he's in I realized it's not good. That message he received scared the living s.h.i.+t out of him. He's fidgeting and wheezing so much that I thought he's dying.

His movement stopped.

He looked at me.

He looked at his phone.

Then he covered his mouth with his shaking hand, his eyes still glued to the monitor of his phone, slightly reflecting the subject of his greatest horror.

"I want you to leave, or else..." He said looking at me. Futility plastered all over his eyes, tears readying to burst, fear drowning in it.

"What is it, John? Talk to me! The student council will help you!"

"Just..." John paused, trying to regain his composure as he swallows his saliva. "Run far away from here, please!"

Is he crying? I've been observing John Smith for a while but this is the first time I saw him shed a tear.

It made me curious. This could be a blessing in disguise, this could be a good step. With the face mimicking that of a concerned parent to her child I took a step forward. With a shriek, John Smith took two steps backward as I can see the hair on his skin visibly rise. Perhaps he can see the face of a grinning harpy hiding beneath the mask I wear.

"I am not who you think I am, John! You need to trust us! You need to put your trust in me. What is going on?" John, you better start talking before I'd do something we'd both regret.

"Nothing, please, go! Get out of here!"

At the moment, two things are in my head. What the h.e.l.l is in that text message and what am I supposed to do now? I thought the wisest move is to take his phone from him. My heartbeat hasten on the thought that something could penetrate John's stoned expression!

And so I did. I s.n.a.t.c.hed his phone from his hands.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry, John but this is the only way!" You better cooperate or else I'll get you on your knees with my heels on your ball sack.

John extended his hands towards his phone but, for some reason, he became powerless. He tried to s.n.a.t.c.h his phone back but with a soft slap from my hand his entire body got swooped away with a pirouette as if riding a tornado; his feet failing him, his breathing heavier, yet his eyes still filled with vigor. It's as if his energy is drained into nothingness but a sense of irrational determination grants his leer a band of courage. He tried taking his phone away from me by force once again; a commendable move… if only he's shaking too much! It's impossible for him to resist me if he's that miserable.

"I'm begging you, give it back!"

"I only want to see what's on your phone! I know you can find a way to understand!" You're making this hard for me motherf.u.c.ker!

"Please, you shouldn't look at it!" He charged forward once again, but I managed to grab his face with my bare right hand; my thumb accidentally entering his mouth, his sweat greasing my palm, drops of tears roll down the gaps between my fingers, and his saliva drips into my wrist. My left hand secures his gadget on top of my bust. "You're going to be involved!"

That's the point. I opened John's phone and scrolled past his lock screen.

"You're going to regret opening that message!" He said as I push his face away effortlessly.

And then I saw it.

Taking his phone is not a wise decision after all.

Even my jaws dropped and my brows furrowed after seeing it. I understand. The hasty beating of my heart fills my body with unfathomable chill because I completely understand now. That was the first time John and I had a common understanding.

It's a text message. In it are three photographs. One is a blurred image of me and John when I sat beside him in the cla.s.sroom earlier. I scrolled down a little bit to see another photo of us back when I chased after him on the hallway.

"Please, give my phone back." He said, begging with a tortured soul. "You don't want to get involved in this!"

But I viewed more. I did not wish to go on any further but, the heavens are my witness, at that very moment it felt as if I lost control of my fingers paired with a surreal awareness that I am still the one moving. My mind knows I am moving my fingers, but it cannot comprehend what is making it move. Thus I continued to slowly scroll further into the message, and there I know only oblivion awaits. The third image. I was already expecting it yet it still made my heart skip a few beats. It was another photo of us while talking right here in this dark, cramped alley. You know what frightened me the most?

It was a close-up shot.

I looked around in panic. We're the only ones here. I looked up, looked down, looked in every area, every direction, every highlight, every corner, everything the light can see, everything the human eye can perceive, and everything the universe has touched. Everywhere! There was no sound, no flas.h.i.+ng; there's only the two of us before these photos. Who in the world could perform such sorcery? There was no one between us, no one below us, no one above us, no one around us; there's naught but the two of us here living to bear witness of our conversation. There's no way anyone could've taken that photo. Yet there it is! As my heart pounds loud, I moved my head, my body, and my eyes in all random direction to find who's responsible for this.

No one, I caught sight of n.o.body, just the darkened walls, and the crimson sky.

Maybe it was only a delusion. I refused to believe something like this. Why would they torment John of all people? With sweat dripping on my face, I scanned the photos again. I gasped as I accepted this awful truth.

The photos are all real.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I nodded and gave his phone back. He nodded in response.

"I hope you would find a way to forgive what I did today, John." You better not release those photos and make up some weird rumors, John!

I left without saying a word as I hear him cry alone in that dark alley. I went home. I talked to n.o.body. I ignored my mother's reprimand for the first time in my life. I didn't call the cops.

Today it's just me and this oh so frightening memory as I bury my face on my pillow, sobbing. That night I dreamt of nothing but darkness.