Chapter 1: Untypical
Cain's day has been typical.
If he's being honest, the boredom that usually fogs his mind hasn't left yet, still lingering and numbing his nerves. After his last win on the road, he finds it difficult not to think of anything else as mundane.
He fidgets with the silver rings decorating his fingers, needy for something that can keep his interest, craving thrill, maybe the only emotion left he can actually feel.
He and his friends take their usual spot in the cafeteria, the entire school's attention dead set on their flashy figures. The troublemaker usually relishes in the curious and thirsty gazes of his audience, but today, he can't seem to keep half of his attention on anything.
A girl, ginger and hilariously forgettable, flushes as he stares right through her.
Her mind is filled with questions as her face starts to match the shade of her hair, wondering if she had done something new with her look to catch the eye of the most attractive guy in school.
Cain withholds the urge to roll his eyes—really, he just needs to stare at, well, nothing in particular.
The heartthrob needs to keep his mind awake is what, the absolute lack of anything happening tempting him to fall asleep on his food then and there. He doesn't even remember what he ordered, whatever it is, maybe it'd make a good cushion.
His friends remain entirely unaware of his struggle.
Careless as always, he thinks to himself, good for them.
They tease and laugh without a worry in the world, knowing that they could get away with anything they wanted if they willed it. Those are just the type of people Cain finds himself being around. The kind to reek of cigarettes and sex.
Mix that with an excessive amount of money and you've got yourself the perfect concoction for a group of adrenaline-loving teenage assholes, saved only by nepotism.
Not like he's any different. Without his luxurious cologne, deceptively sweet, deceptively charming, many would find that he's just as bad as his crowd, maybe even worse.
They resume being their usual selves, banter strangers would mistaken for genuine resentment indiscriminately tossed from boy to girl. It makes Cain chuckle for a moment, a pleasant and attractive sound, but it's not good enough to call a remedy for his boredom.
"Slut" isn't an uncommon nickname between them in the group, same goes for "manwhore" and "dickbag." In fact, it's become a term of endearment somewhat. That's about the only thing that enters his thinking process though.
He doesn't bother to tune in enough to understand entire sentences, the more Jacob and Lindsay talk about their next party, the harder he finds it to pay mind to anything at all.
He's floating in the clouds, eyes wandering from one corner of pretentiously large cafeteria to another. His gaze is unfocused, listless, up until a blonde little thing walks into the cafeteria.
Her peach cardigan awkwardly drapes over her long skirt, concealing what Cain could only assume was an irresistible pair of legs. Her entire ensemble is awkwardly mismatched, her feet resting inside plain doll shoes, cute as her button nose and hazel eyes. Her blonde hair's put down but generally, a mess—she looks a mess, the perfect kind of mess Cain would love to wrap and unravel for Christmas night.
Cain doesn't know her name, and he finds that incredibly tragic.
"Finally, a good source of entertainment." The heartbreaker's magnetic gaze narrows on a nameless girl, her laughter unrestrained as she jokes with another side character in a table full of side characters.
Almost instantly, all his friends' eyes are on her too, like a pack of obedient dogs ready to carry out their master's commands.
They're aggressive to him for the sake of laughs, sure, but at the end of the day, Cain is the one who stands at the absolute top of the food chain. And whatever it is that he decides to do, they're destined to be involved.
Just to make sure they stay relevant. A little fucked up, but it's just politics to Cain. Can't really avoid it.
The infamous prince of Rutherford stands from his seat and the cafeteria is high on anticipation. What scheme is the prized heattbreaker about to pull now? Who is he walking towards? Is it anyone noteworthy?
Cain can practically hear the questions buzzing in everybody's heads as he makes his way towards his next.... Well... What can he really call it?
"Oh shit, target spotted!" Jacob, a rather dim-witted but well-meaning jock exclaims from his seat as he watches his leader walk towards a group of girls, no one there significant or noteworthy. At least not until that very moment.
Target leaves his mouth much too easily, much too casually, because truth be told, that's just what everything is to Cain—an easy, casual game.
"Mind if I sit here?"
All eyes are on him, just like he predicted. All except a certain blonde's. A challenge, exactly what he wanted.
The girl sitting next to the mystery blonde nods wordlessly, budging to make room for the troublemaker.
It feels like the entire vicinity is watching them. And it's funny how there's some truth to that statement.
Cain's smile is like the devil's, dashing in ways that feel forbidden. His entire existence is questionable—his face is much too pretty to fit in with their reality, his voice much too smooth not to be a siren's trap.
When Cain approaches girls, that's exactly what he feels like, a siren about to lure poor fishermen captive.
Hazel eyes snap up at his face, he can see the unfiltered shock reflecting in them clear as day. For a moment, the blonde girl's uptight facade falters, a pink tinge growing on her face as their gazes meet. Something about her open lips and disarray sends an ego rush down Cain's spine.
She grimaces at him after. The hint of attraction on her face gone in a split second, as if it was never there.
The blonde reminds him of hissing cat residing outside their estate. Cain fondly recalls how it only took a few weeks, food, and affection for the feline to turn docile.
Everyone is deprived of something. And Cain's intent on satisfying the blonde's cravings.
So, the heartthrob persists. He already knew about her reputation in the first part, was already aware of her particular hatred towards the entirety of the male species.
He finds the challenge exhilarating.
"Hey, there. I don't think we've ever formally met." His grin is reminiscent of the sneaky cheshire cat's, about to mislead his silly little Alice.
Angela feels her heartbeat from her palms, realizes that the canteen is much too loud for her liking. The heartthrob now seated at their table is undeniably beautiful, unbelievably so, but she delivers a strong resolve because of his promiscuous reputation.
"I'd like to keep it that way. Thanks." She replies, a roll of her eyes conveying her distate. Her friends look outraged, but are too stunned to express it.
It's not everyday that the talk of the entire school sits on your table. But Angela would much rather not be another tool in Cain's holster.
"Oh? But that'd be unfortunate, I don't think I've ever met a girl as pretty as you." The flattery almost seems sincere. Almost.
Despite her resistance, Angela finds it difficult not to shiver under his attention. The smoothness of his voice is immaculate and she has to consciously ignore the content of his words to stop herself from being flustered further.
She comes up with the best response she can with her fogged brain. "You use that line for every girl you want to hook up with?"
He chuckles at her resistance. Her remark isn't quite false. In fact, it hits much too close to home, something Cain finds utterly amusing.
"Only for the ones that take my breath away," He smiles, the irresistible one everyone falls for. Angela finds that her knees have become much too weak from such a simple expression.
"Can I at least get a name? I can't keep calling you pretty girl in my head."
She only hums at his attempt. And for a moment, Cain thinks he's finally met an impossible case. That is, until a mumbled, "Angela," leaves her pink lips.
"Fitting." He replies, leaning into his elbow as he watches her pathetic attempt at finishing her meal.
"You've ever tried street racing, angel?"
The nickname almost makes her choke. "It's Angela. And no."
"Understandable." He finally stands up. Angela's relief—shoulders slumping and glare resting—is almost offensive to the girls surrounding her, knowing they'd have melted into his arms if it were them who were approached.
But Cain doesn't truly leave, and something about that is relieving to almost everyone in their table somewhat.
"Well, if you'd like to experience it for the first time, I'd be happy to be your guide. Just meet me here tonight, 9pm."
A piece of paper is pushed towards the defensive girl, the shift in Angela's expression giving away her true feelings, her intrigue. She looks at the piece of paper and transfers her gaze to his. She's transfixed for a moment. And Cain considers it a small victory.
"I'll think about it."
"Oh, shit! Underground racing? That's cool! Can I come with?" One of Angela's friends chimes, Peony, with eyes full of wonder. Her enthusiasm fizzles like an accidental burn in the tense exchange.
"Uhh," Cain's stunned out of his words for a moment, the intruder's smile endearingly wide. Still, she remains to be an obstacle in his newest challenge. It irks Cain a bit. The only thing he's heard about the brown-eyed girl is that she's sheltered, pitifully so, never allowed to attend parties, never allowed to drink or even be in a vicinity with cigarettes.
Cain would hate to babysit during a date, but Angela seems to relax after her little interruption. So he takes it, already scheming ways to get keep him and Angela away from the girl throughout the night.
"Sure."
"Ah, that's great!" She bumps his fist and for the second time that day, he's left a bit speechless.
Before he can be weirded out even further, he walks back to where his friends are sitting.
"What can you tell me about miss sheltered transferee over there?"
Bianca, his childhood friend with multiple pink highlights hanging on her hair, halts her chewing to give him an exasperated look. She looks tired of his bullshit. The usual. "Don't tell me you've given up on the blonde already."
A look of annoyance gives way on Cain's face in response. Of course not. Not until he gets her into his bed anyway. "I'm not switching targets. Just that she's probably gonna be a nuisance on my date with Angela."
"Hey, don't talk about P that way! We're paired up in Chemistry. She's actually really cool." Bianca retorts, surprising everyone in the table by actually having a good opinion on someone. Jacob in particular chokes on his oversized sandwich.
"Blah! No way she can be that cool, heard her dad was crazy overprotective. They might be into some extreme religious bullshit like sacrificing tiny animals or something. " The dumb jock quips, his opinion unwanted by Bianca, evident from her nasty scowl, but intriguing Cain nonetheless.
Lindsay's interest is piqued, her ocean blue eyes transfixed on the interaction, and soon, she butts in too. "Doesn't sound too far off. Heard she was from the suburbs. White picket fence folks always give me the creeps."
"Peony isn't like that." Bianca opposes the brunette with venom in her voice, causing Lindsay to pout.
"You never speak well of anyone, babe. I'm starting to get jealous." The fun-loving brunette pouts, her arms soon draping over her girlfriend's shoulders.
Cain looks away, strangely irked by the public display of affection. Love, ugh. Commitment, an even bigger yuck.
"Whatever. Hugh, you can deal with her, right? Just for the night."
Hugh, the pride of their school's swim team, tan and lean and almost every girl's dream, second only to pretty boy Cain and quite literally Cain's righthand man. It'd be impossible not to distract miss sheltered Peony with Hugh's rugged looks, the prime example of the freedom she's probably never dreamt of tasting. The plan's flawless.
"I swear to god, I don't get paid enough for this." Hugh responds, his irritation only aiding Cain's mischief-filled grin in growing wider.
"You don't get paid at all, but you do shit anyway because you love me."
"Whatever, it's just for one night anyway."
Cain's attention flies from Hugh to Angela's table one more time, the sound of her laughter admittedly pleasant.
"Yeah." The heartbreaker mumbles, his head racing. "Just one night."
Chapter 2: Fear and Amusement
Peony's never been one for sneaking out and tonight's not any different. She's just extending the scope of her sleepover with the girls. At least that's what she's going to call it, even though none of them want to come with Peony to her next venue.
"Why are you wearing that wig again, P? Run me through your thought process."
"Just to make sure no one who knows my dad is going to tell on me, Bel." The sheltered girl swiftly reasons, an orange mop of hair concealing her own, the bangs of the heinous thing is awkwardly straight, a fact Peony found absolutely hilarious and her friends found absolutely humiliating.
Nonetheless, the shameless girl twirls in front of the large mirror on the wall of her friend's room, not a hint of hesitation on her face as she adds finishing touches to her outfit, her checkered mini skirt and white tank top fairly stylish. No thought of removing the, for the lack of better words, fucking ugly wig seems to cross her mind.
Valerie and Isabel share a look, something akin to disappointment.
"I don't think anyone in the illegal underground street racing ring knows your dad personally, P." Isabel, her more softspoken friend, cozies up inside her purple dinosaur onesie, eyes dancing around her happy-go-lucky friend's outfit with uncertainty. It's pretty great, as expected from the secretly fashionable girl, up until the wig.
"Or recognize you in the dark ass tunnels." Val adds, sarcasm heavy on her tongue.
"We shouldn't underestimate my dad's connections, my sweetest, most darling cutie patootie sugarcakes. I can't risk it, dark or not."
Valerie visibly retracts at the pet names, tongue sticking out in disgust, and Peony snickers, satisfied by the reaction.
"Why not just, you know, not go? Like a normal person. Angela's not even. Wouldn't that be intruding?"
"She has a point, P." Isabel agrees, to Peony's disappointment.
"That's because Angela's babysitting her little brother. The circumstances just aren't in her favor. And hey! I was personally invited too, you guys were literally there!" Peony falls on the mattress the two are lying on, rolling around it to emphasize her annoyance, her betrayal, her absolute hurt.
"She wouldn't have went regardless. She doesn't really like Cain that much." Val adds.
"What?" Peony sits up, eyebrows scrunhed up. "This isn't about that Cain guy. My gals, it's underground street racing! It's a once in a lifetime chance before we're subjected to a mundane and grating life and eventually die a sad and lonely death."
"Overdramatic much?" Valerie's frown sinks deeper, unimpressed.
"Whatever. You hags can rot in here while I enjoy myself." Peony props herself up, standing up and approaching the room's window, big enough to sneak an entire person in, or in this case, out.
"How are you even gonna get there, stupid?"
"Bike, duh. There's a reason why we're in your house, Val, and not Bel's." Peony retorts as if it's the most obvious statement in the world. Isabel looks worried as she steps out of the window pane.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, you're going to get killed."
Peony's eyes narrow at Val. "Now you're the one being overdramatic."
"Angela would be very worried if she was here, P."
"Well, Angela's not here and I'm leaving because you two are bullying me." The temporarily orange-haired girl pouts, about to take a few steps away from the house when she's stopped by a grip on her wrist.
"I am genuinely concerned for your safety. Are you sure about this?" Valerie asks and Peony almost shivers from the seriousness in her voice, the coldness in her eyes. Protective, her friend had always been.
"Yeah. I got this baby with me." She pulls out something from her purse, an inch of silver gleaming under the bedroom's low lights.
Valerie's eyes snap to her face, the dissatisfaction on her face turning into a smile. "You're a crazy bitch."
Peony kisses her friend on the cheek. "That's why you love me. Thanks for the concern, V."
---
The moment the strange sheltered girl steps away from the crowd in an oversized puffer jacket, the orange wig on top of her head glaringly cheap, Cain just knows, by instinct, that everything is about to go to shit. The girl's enthusiasm hurts even more than the absence of a certain blonde—Amanda or something, he can't seem to remember with everything going on. Her big smile and wave almost sends him wheezing in pain.
A bunch of flashy cars are being shown off. The race is fortunately saved for later while the crowds are still getting fired up, cheers and whoops thrown around from every corner of the tunnel. Cain dreads the idea of having to stay with his schoolmate before to drive off and far away from the starting line in another race. Fuck, he really can't afford to lose because of a sour mood.
Luckily, Hugh steps in at the right moment.
"Hugh, buddy! I was just about the introduce you to this pretty lady here, uhh..."
The peculiar girl gives him a disappointed look, eyes straring dead into her soul. He would've been intimidated if not for the obnoxious mop of orange that's supposed to serve as her hair. He still doesn't understand why it's there.
"Peony, it's Peony. It's nice making your acquaintance, Hugh!" She shakes Hugh's hand much too excitedly, causing the usually stoic man to shoot Cain a look—one of primal fear. 'This girl is a weirdo.'
'Exactly,' Cain manages to express back, only by pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. His eyes shift towards her head for a momemt, Hugh's gaze following his, and that's when the realization really sinks in.
'Oh fuck, fuck you.' Hugh responds, having to physically restrain a sigh from leaving his lungs.
"I'm going to have to leave you to Hugh here, need to hype myself up for the next round and all. Why don't you show her around, bud? Introduce her to some of the folk here?"
Peony's eyes widen in wonder, and Cain catches it before it can turn into a full-blown disaster. "Oh shit, you drive? Can I ride with you—"
Before the girl can finish her sentence, Cain is already seven steps away from the pair, his hand waving high up in the air as he starts approaching the crowd.
"Don't have too much fun you two!" He teases, and in response, Hugh shoots him one of his lethal glares. If looks could kill, the heartthrob would be six feet under by now, which he'd much rather be, truth be told. He'd take being dead over dealing with the bullshit he's dealing with at the moment.
Some part of his mind still can't believe that the little miss Alice he was so sure he had under his claws stood him up. Even worse, she sent the Mad Hatter to fuck his evening over, as if not showing up isn't embarrassing enough for the infamous heartthrob.
It's just one girl. He reminds himself, nothing significant to beat himself up over.
Moving through the crowd, he grabs one of the girls he's sure he's hooked up with in the past and she doesn't waste a moment before eagerly following him to a secluded corner in the tunnel.
---
"You city people are fucking weirdos, I swear to god." The girl tries to say, coherent words impossible to form as another burst of laughter leaves her mouth.
The two hit it off surprisingly well. It's awkward at first, sure, but after talking about the band on Hugh's t-shirt, they quickly fall into a rabbit hole of conversation without noticing, topic flying flawlessly from favorite bread spreads (Peony finds out that Hugh has a particular distate towards peanut butter, the first and only person she can finally agree with on the topic), to siblings, to hilariously awkward first times.
"Says the one wearing that wig."
Peony snorts, adjusting the horrendous thing as she feels it slip off from the amount of movement she's done while laughing. "You like it? I wore it to fuck with Cain, mostly."
"You're smarter than I initially thought, country bumpkin." The athlete compliments, smile alluring behind the rim of his beer bottle. He places it down eventually. His eyes sparkle as she glares at him harmlessly, enjoyment never once faltering from her face.
He gets a rise out of Peony's reactions everytime he uses the nickname, her chest always huffing up in offense, fists forming into tiny balls. "I'm not a country bumpkin! Our town isn't that small!"
"Town," He repeats the word with a cheeky amount of emphasis, follows it with the right amount of sarcasm. "Sure."
"I'm gonna beat you up." She starts throwing hands, albeit playfully and if Hugh's being honest, he can barely feel her hits on his chest.
He stops her, still, holds her hands in his bigger pair. Because he refuses to lose in their made-up wrestling match. "With these adorable fists? I'd like to see you try."
Hugh realizes the implications of his words, feels the warmth of Peony's fingers in his. His heart can't take it and he pulls away, flustered from the little interaction.
His mind races, desperate to divert their attention to somewhere else. Chage the topic, perhaps?
"What do you think of Cain so far?" He asks, wincing once he realizes that he'd rather not talk about his idiotic best friend. Girls always seem to find him attractive and Hugh knows it'll sting once Peony, the first girl he's genuinely been invested in, admits it.
"Angela said he likes to make everything a dick swinging competition." She surprises him with her response, even more so once he looks back into her eyes, the amount of empathy reflecting in them knocking the air out of his lungs. She always seems to understand what he's trying to do.
It eases Hugh partially, his shoulders rising and falling as he starts chuckling again for the nth time that night. "She's not too far off. But I asked about what you think."
"Hm." She thinks for far too long, and Hugh waits for the punch the entire time. "I think his dick's too tiny to swing."
The laughter that leaves his lips is almost shameful—boisterous, loud, without a care in the world. Much like how the girl makes him feel.
"We really need to talk more." He says, nearly in tears.
"I wouldn't be so opposed to the idea. Maybe I can find some time for you in my schedule." Peony replies, playful as always.
Hugh pretends he has a notepad in his hands. Or a planner. Or whatever would be appropriate in their imaginary scenario. "Hm. Are you open to every other Thursday 4:15 to 4:35 in the afternoon?"
"Can I negotiate with every first Wednesday of the month, 1:30 to 1:45?"
"Only fifteen minutes every once a month? You wound me."
Peony's attention is stolen from him for a moment as the crowd's screams get noticeably louder, the cars that are actually participating in the race start entering. The cheers get defeaning. And the white lights of the tunnel are replaced with an array of neon in the dark.
Hugh can almost hear the gears in Peony's head turning. She looks towards him, eyes foxier than he's ever seen them be in the entire night. "Hehe, maybe I'll consider giving you more time if you helped me out with something."
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