The Truth About Kian

06. Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes

:: C H A P T E R S I X | FEEL THE FEAR IN MY ENEMY'S EYES ::

October 2

My mom always told me that good things come to those who wait. I used to think it was a load of bullshit when I was a kid. What's the point of waiting? Whoever came up with that crap must have never known how to fight for something that they really wanted.

But here's the thing: sometimes fighting for every single thing that you want tires you out. Sometimes I wish that I could have everything handed to me on a silver platter. That I could get into any college that I wanted to without worrying about scholarships or having enough money to pay for even one semester.

God, I hate them sometimes. They're supposed to be my friends, so why is it so clear that they don't give a shit about me?

Even though Kian didn't hate the Inheritors like I did, at least he wasn't blind to their faults. I understood why he wanted to fit in — the Inheritors could make your life miserable if they didn't like you — but ditching his have-not friends was only something that a jerk would do.

I rested my head against the cool bus window where the morning light poured in. I felt the beginning of a headache behind my eyes. Kian was close to perfect—brilliant and beautiful with his slanted amber eyes and lashes that were naturally long and dark — but his penmanship was clearly something that had needed work. Every single one of his journal entries was messily scrawled in thick, dark ink. It was like decoding hieroglyphs. And in a way, I guess it was. I was decoding the mystery that was Kian Daniels.

But it was more than that; in the past few days I had learned a lot about Kian (I had even invaded his most private thoughts), but I was still didn't understand him. I mean, why would Kian, the popular athlete, want to keep a journal? I thought only melodramatic and misunderstood bad boys did that.

How did that cliché go? Oh right, the bad boy with the motorcycle and attitude problems secretly kept a journal that revealed how he wished to be accepted by his peers. As far as I knew, Kian wasn't in the possession of a motorcycle or a bad attitude. He was the opposite of a sullen rebel—he was a golden boy with a shiny future full of success and happiness.

So what had caused him to give it all up?

Taking a sip of coffee, I bent my head to read another entry, hoping that it would reveal more about Kian, while my one hand absently massaged the crick in my neck.

October 10

I met a girl today. But it's not what you would think. Some of the guys from football had cornered her by the vending machine—the one no one ever uses because it just carries water—after practise. I guess she stayed because of some meeting (journalism or SRC? She looked like the type), but I never asked because she took off as soon as I pulled Skylar off of her.

See? This is what I mean about the Inheritors. Most of them are sick bastards, but the decent ones are the ones who keep you coming back for more. But the sick ones, well, they get away with shit like this. Dave let it slip that Meg had sicced them on her. I don't know why, but I know that I've got to keep an eye out for her. She looks so familiar that I can almost put a name to her face, but I can't because she doesn't belong with the Inheritors, and that's the group where you can find me. Usually.

My stomach clenched, rebelling against the mouthful of coffee that I'd just swallowed. I couldn't read anymore, at least right now. I rewrapped the elastic band around Kian's worn journal and dropped it into my backpack just as someone's weight dropped into the seat beside me. "Hi, Reed," Liam said, smiling as he plucked my mug out of my hands and took a long sip.