Dean Lockwood

Plotting

TW: suicide

I didn't want this dream-like moment to end. I didn't want the snow-swept, marshmallow-topped happiness to be over. I did not want to discuss the book.

And so I didn't say anything. I didn't move, I didn't speak, I simply sat, like a statue, staring into his dark eyes. I was waiting it out. Waiting for him to speak. Trying to figure out a way to rewind back onto the snowy field, losing a snowball fight and losing my unbreakable demeanour. I wanted to be drinking hot chocolate opposite a normal boy who didn't cause my nervous system to break down with worry and guilt.

I wanted to fall for a guy who wanted to fall for me. Not just use me for his sadistic plans.

Dean was an expert at waiting it out, though. He could tell what I was doing. His eyes stared me down, trying to break me. His face was locked in a neutral position, with the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. He kept his attention on my eyes, with the most intense eye contact I had ever endured in my life. His dark eyes held an emotion that looked close to mischievous, close to excitement, but not quite.

I was the first to break, of course. I looked down away from his eyes, down at the muffin we were sharing. I wasn't hungry anymore.

"Can we, like, forget about the book? Just for tonight. Please," I asked, close to begging.

"Oh, c'mon! It will be the perfect end to a perfect date."

I flinched inwardly at the word 'date', hoping he didn't notice.

"I don't want to talk about the book. I don't want to talk about your terrifying obsession. Please, let's just forget about it," I implored.

He kept staring at me for a few moments, searching my eyes even though I refused to look back at his. Suddenly he lept up, towards my bag, and rifled through it in fast-motion. I jumped back, taking a second to realise what he was doing, then leaned forwards again, trying to grab his hands before he could grab...

"Aha!" he said triumphantly, brandishing his book with a irritatingly pleased look on his face.

He looked over at me, my face full of anger and disappointment. He leaned forwards, almost too close to my face, and chucked me under my chin, his mouth wide with amusement.

I rolled my eyes and gathered up my bag, preparing to leave. As I stood up, I felt a hand clasp my wrist, and I looked back at Dean's smug ass face. He was holding open Terry Overman's page with his long pale fingers. I needed answers.

I slumped back down in my seat. He raised his eyebrow at me, and I took a big bite of the muffin with as much of a 'fuck you' face as I could manage.

"Right then, darling. As you're aware, I have a page for Mr Overman. And, you're not stupid, you know what my intentions are. So, I'm planning on using poisen." He lowered his voice to a whisper, and I had to lean in to hear him. "I'm going to do it on Monday. You see, every morning, Overman goes to the staff room and makes himself a coffee. He does this at 8:30. Well, at 8:55, he goes to the toilet, because he has a tiny ass bladder. That's when we sneak into his class. I have a load of rat poisen in my garage, because last year we had an infestation. I will spray it into his coffee. By 9:10, he will be dead."

I looked at him, horrified.

"But, what happens when he's found? People will know he's been killed."