K A D E N

The next couple of days after Sam's gran passed were the worst. It felt surreal just saying it, let alone believing it.

School was another chore added to the list. It was made worse when I approached my locker one morning, a dent and a huge red X marking it. Taped to the metal was an article.

Gripping the straps of my bag, I took the paper down and scanned my eyes over the text, already hearing whispers formulating around me.

Jane Mordecai, 17, was shot to death last Sunday. Police have strong reason to suspect that it was the victim's brother, Kaden Mordecai, 16 . . .

I crumpled the article the way I'd done to Phoenix's when I'd found it on her. The tannoy sounded then. My name was called, a voice telling me to make my way towards the principal's office.

Aware of the stares directed my way, I began to make my way there, but it wasn't without difficulty. It seemed like every step I took, there was an article taped to a locker or a notice board or clasped in someone's hand.

I passed Hampton on the way. He had a copy of the article. "Guess I underestimated you." Then he walked away, making sure to knock my shoulder whilst doing so.

Even the receptionist gave me a cautious glance as she led me into the office.

"Take a seat." The principal inclined her head towards the chair.

"You've read it." I said, noticing a copy of the fabricated article in front of her.

"I have."

"So am I being kicked out or. . ."

"Of course not. This is a cruel joke to play. I want you to know that we're going to do everything we can to get to bottom of this. We will not tolerate bullying in this school."

I sighed. I had a pretty good idea who was behind this.

"I'm going to inform your parents about this."

"Please don't." I rubbed my temple and sat a little straighter. "They're going to come back in a few days anyway so can we just let them enjoy the rest of their holiday while they can? Please."

She moved her hand from the telephone. "Very well."

Seeing that the conversation was over, I stood up. But before I left, the principal stopped me. "If you run into any trouble today, don't hesitate to come to my office. The door's always open."

A little too much for my liking. But I just nodded my head.

-

School wasn't the only place that the fake article surfaced. It was in the local newspaper. Word spread fast about Ms Johnson's death-- it was no wonder that this had too.

I lost my job that day.

"I'm sorry but my hands are tied." My manager said, once calling me into his office. I'd seen a lot of offices that day. "All this attention is bad for business."

"It's not true." I knew my voice was verging on desperate.

He avoided looking at me. "I'm sorry." He said again. "You'll still get paid for what you've done this month."

After an elongated silence, I nodded. Picking up my bag, I swung it over my shoulder and left his office, bumping into the Jenna on the way. She muttered an apology but otherwise looked anywhere but at me.

I did my walk of shame out of the diner. The comments had varied that day:

sick fucker

do you think he really did it?

how could do that and to his own sister?

why the hell isn't he locked up?

"Kaden." I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

"What?" I sifted through my keys, looking for the one belonging to my car.

A hand appeared on my arm and with a sigh, I turned my head to the side. Phoenix was wearing a Blitz apron and sported an anxious expression. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Come on." She shot me a disbelieving look.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what I can do to help."

"Nothing." I deadpanned. "Look, it's best if you just keep your distance from me."

She didn't say anything for a while and then, "Do you think I did this?"

I waited too long before replying. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"I wouldn't do this." She said fiercely.

I stared at her for a while longer. "It doesn't matter. It's out now."

"But it's not the truth."

My hand stilled on the car handle. Having no words to respond, I got behind the wheel to go home. But I wasn't sure what home was anymore.

-

That same day someone had smashed in my window. I came into the house to find the kitchen floor covered in glass. I picked up the brick by my feet and looked at the gaping hole in front of me, the wind rushing into the room. There was something attached to the surface of the brick and when I removed it, I saw it was the article.

Glass crunched under my feet as I ran a hand through my hair, feeling ready to drop from the exertion my body had gone through today. The words stared back up at me.

Jane Mordecai, 17, was shot to death last Sunday. Police have strong reason to suspect that it was the victim's brother, Kaden Mordecai, 16 . . .

I was 15 when I first met Dante. He was smoking and laughing with a couple of other guys. He acted normal. You wouldn't have guessed he was part of a drug dealing unit. He was just another average guy.

I was the loner. I wore glasses before I got contacts. The guys I sat with at lunch were simply there because we were on the same team. I played soccer back then as well. I wasn't the star quarterback. Or the goalie. Just another player.

I quit the soccer team when Dante came into my life. I quit a lot of things but also gained a lot of habits too.

But before that, I was the same stupid, hopeless kid. Once I found out that my dad was in debt and that we might be losing the house, my first thought was to find a way to get money and fast. I didn't go out to get a job like a normal person would, instead I went to Dante. I heard about him from some guys at school. They said it was easy work with generous pay so naturally, I was drawn in.

I just didn't know that once I was in, I could never get back out.

The packages started small, the addresses close to home though that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Soon, one delivery turned into two, then three and so on. The packages got bigger and the places sketchier. The deliveries didn't always go to plan. On more than one occasion I found myself running away from the sound of a cop car.

Three weeks into the job and I'd made over a thousand. It wasn't enough to pay off all of my dad's debt but it would have made a considerable difference. I should have stopped there but I didn't.

The first time I got high was in a warehouse. I'd gotten back from making a run and handed the envelope of cash to Dante. He patted me on the back and I couldn't deny that some part of me felt proud even though I knew what I was doing was wrong, not to mention illegal.

He led me to a table where some other guys were bent over, white powder dusted across their noses. It started with cocaine at first. I even got a small pocket of it to go- a 'starter pack' is what Dante called it. Then it was cannabis and spice, at some point there were mushrooms. The methods varied; snorting, injections but I always preferred to smoke.

I continued to make deliveries in return for drugs. The changes were subtle but one person noticed. Once Jane found out, she was furious. She threatened to tell our parents but I begged her not to. I promised her that I would stop but by then I was already addicted. So she took it upon herself to rehabilitate me. She searched up ways on the internet on how to help someone with an addiction. She gave me pamphlets, took me to sessions where you listened to people's problems in hopes they'd fix your own. She was relentless in her pursuit.

I became more distant from everyone. I pushed Jane away but she refused to leave my side. I became more irritable, I got into more fights, I met with the cops a lot more but she didn't give up. And eventually, her method worked.

I was suffering from withdrawal, making it the hardest few months of my life. Too soon, I went back to Dante, not to return to making deliveries but to tell him that I wanted out. He obliged and I thought that was the end of it. For a while, I felt like I was living my life again.

Only for it to end shortly after. I should have known better than to think Dante would let me off the hook so easily. It should have occurred to me that he wouldn't let someone who knew what he was doing just walk away. Not without a price.

He timed his revenge perfectly, painting it as a gang shooting. His crew against the Millers and my sister was just unfortunate enough to get caught up in it. I was sure the bullet was meant for me but I wasn't the one that died that day.

Dante didn't stop there. Killing the one person that meant more than anything to me wasn't enough, he had to make me pay.

The gun was found in my bag, prints all over it. It was enough evidence in court to show that I was involved. Not to mention, I'd fallen back into my addictions. Without Jane, there was no one left to pull me away from the edge. I supposed Dante thought if he couldn't bring me down then he'd let the law do it. And it worked.

I guess he did the same with the Paten guy. Played with him until he got sick of it. Joshua didn't stand a chance, not when it concerned Dante.

He won.

It made me wonder why I was still breathing. Or if I would be for much longer. I stared at the article once again and then the brick. It went through my window this time, what if it was one to my head next time? Joshua's end came through the drugs so would the same happen to me? It would be a pitiful irony.

Placing the brick and article on the counter, I crouched down to pick up the shards of glass. I held onto a piece, feeling it cut into my skin and I stayed like that for a while before dropping it. I felt nothing.

Drops of blood fell to the ground as I got out a broom. I had decided to invest in one after the state my living room seemed to return to on multiple occasions. Now it had another purpose.

I moved onto the window next, finding a plank of wood from the garage and hammered it onto the borders of the glass. It wasn't the strongest material but it was enough for now. At least I wouldn't freeze to death.

I leaned back and grimaced at my work. The sting from my hand was beginning to irritate me so I looked through the cupboards until I found one that held a first aid kit. I was tired. My eyes almost closing as I poured the antiseptic over my cuts and felt them burn. Once they were clean, I wrapped some gauze around my hand, taping everything into place.

I stared at my bandaged hands, knowing that underneath, the wounds would close and scars would fade, but nothing would be healed.