Moriarty
["weak"] they called me. A cruel smile tugged at my lips as I watched them all
cower
scream
run
I casually flipped over a desk to reveal the diminished jock cowering beneath it.
"Hey Tim"
He looked up at me, terrified. Words, screams, pleas, froozen by red hot terror. I leaned down until our faces were right next to each other. "Something wrong, Tim?" Still, he said nothing I breathed gently on his face. He flinched and whimpered, and a smile twisted my face. "Remember you used to do that, Tim? But your breath didn't smell so good. Not minty, like mine." He couldn't meet my eyes. Sweat was beading on his forehead like dew collecting on a shuddering leaf. "But you taught me a lot of things, didn't you, Tim? Remember our little lessons in the supply closet? After school? With the doors locked and the lights shut and no one to hear me crying, or your grunting? Remember how you used to breathe your filthy words on my face, Tim?" Now he met my eyes, diamonds shining inside his dull granite irises. "Remember your favourite word Tim? Remember calling me [weakling]? Because that became my name, Tim. Not Jackson. [Weakling]. Because you liked that name better." Cold, lifeless words formed on his tongue, and one crept out of his mouth and froze on his lips. /please/. I but my lips near his ears and whispered.
"I remember, Tim."