Chapter 2: What's brown and sticky?

Jae's Point of View

I was hell bent to destroy the world and possibly shove a lighter up to its face when I woke up and my father told me the news.

No, I maintain that I am not an arsonist. Unfortunately. Or fuck- this god damned house wouldn't be here anymore. Back to the point that really pissed me off like no shit- after telling me the news, the highly respected, powerful and vindicated beyond all doubt man who was my father proceeded to tell me- his son, to go and roast myself.

That and the fact that business wasn't going as well as usual lately due to some meddlesome people who liked to drive around in blue and white cars with sirens going off at full blast was enough to put me and daddy dearest on shaky grounds... or rather, our almost non-existant relationship. It was see through, but omnipresent. He was scared of me though, I knew it. Because he was getting old and, well, I'm growing up to be a big boy now, aren't I?

I smiled widely.

Or maybe it was because I was insane.

Father offered to start up the campfire.

I offered to shove a stick up his pompous ass. Needless to say, the old man didn't take that very well.

I guess it was my fault that those "right arm men" of his got caught. Could I help it if the bastards liked to plant flashing neon signs saying "I'm a criminal, catch me and throw me in jail" over their heads? Seriously, the black suit uniform of the stereotypical mafia mob was just a movie and novel thing, but obviously the dipshits lacked in the upper department (I can't be one to comment on the lower department) because they turned up to their first big deal with black sunnies, suit, tie and all.

They deserved to die. Obviously, once they were caught they couldn't live- it was one of father's golden rules. We all knew anything could come outta people's mouths when under extreme torture. I'd had my own fair share of it. Don't let the pretty faced politicians fool ya- torture exists as surely as I get my own with sluts. And hell, that's a pretty sure thing.

Of course, I was just generally in a foul mood to be spewing off excessive foul language- usually I'm quite calm. I'd had my share of both sides of torture, and frankly, neither was pleasant. Nor was the fact that father now put a group of thugs on me at school. Fuck, I wasn't even at school half the time. Of course, he did it because he hates never knowing what's going on in my fucked up mind because it unsettles him. He's a man used to control, used to knowing everything. Now I'm thinking pseudo analytical crap. Maybe I should've given up shooting innocent people and gone down the path of the psychologist in need of a psychologist instead. But then, I would've missed out on all the fun I've had these past few years. And who'd want to miss that?

Me though, I was a person of few words, if you like. It's not that I'm immersed with myself, it's that I'm immersed within this life and I know that I can't back out. Once you're in, you're in- theres no fucking way out. So when I was twelve I put down the coloured crayons in exchange for a knife, and I made my first kill. Thinking of such a thing as a matter of course made it somewhat easier to bear… I hadn't forgotten all what mum had said. I remember thinking back then that, since God sufficed to stuff me into this hell hole, I'd at least make it a comfortable hell hole for us. Too bad she wasn't there to experience the comfort.

If comfort could be described in terms of a mansion. Portraits along the hallway, ten bedrooms, five studies, one library, two pools. I dunno what father was thinking when he bought this place because it only served the purpose of eye candy… unless he had planned to have another nine fucking children with my late mother. Fuck, I hate him.

The corner of my mouth turned up bitterly.

We were too much alike, that's why.

I opened the door to my room, and noticed that the floorboards were newly polished again, probably by the maid cowering in the corner. What's with people and obsessive compulsive disorder these days? Still, you had to have some credit to work for people like us, and I didn't go out to make trouble for the servants. But then, it was probably because I saw them as less than human. Servants, slaves, animals all belonged under the same category: i-n-s-i-g-n-i-f-i-c-a-n-t. I walked past, and the maid visibly shuddered when my steps slowed. Next thing I know, she'd probably have a heart attack. I'm not that hot am I? On second thoughts... I leaned towards her, and she backed away. God, she wanted me, I just knew it.

I took a step toward her.

That's when the door to father's exclusive library opened. And I saw a muscle twitch in his cheek as he got an eyeful of where my hand was. There's no need to expand on that, right? He probably fucked her himself.

Sure, I get around, but at least I hadn't screwed the life out of anyone. Yet. I'm not that much of a dickhead.

I just like to play.

His eyes were hard as he fixed his reading glassed to the front of his exclusively tailored shirt. To anyone else, he'd look like a kindly grandfather. He wasn't really that old though, just being on this side of the law had taken its toll. Looking at him, no one would have guessed that he was nothing short of a mass murderer. And looking at me, people saw the average high schooler- jock maybe, punk maybe, emo maybe, goth maybe. Maybe. I loathed that word.

I was a maybe.

Father's place in the black market was also a maybe.

My face was expressionless as I nodded to him in a gesture of respect. I knew the courtesies. He straightened his shirt, a gesture I am too used to, a gesture which usually meant "fuck off bastard or I'll blow your brains out with my CZ X211 bazooka". I promptly decided that I did not need a free makeover session which possibly would involve the loss of my head and other, more vital organs. Hell, anything but that. I turned to go, and he stated blandly to my back, "Aren't you going to apologise, son?"

Apologise for giving him a free arse massage? Fuck no. The old man probably needed one- he needed to get out of that strait jacket. Not that I cared.

I continued walking.

My bag was near the door, and I casually slung it over my shoulder whilst ignoring the pricks who immediately swarmed around me. A disgustingly muscly guy slung an arm around my shoulders like we were buddy-buddy and subsequently, I flicked it off like I was brushing aside a speck of dust. Really, that's what they were. Insignificant and definitely not a valuable resource for the rest of the world. If they were, then, man: poor world.

I walked in the general direction of the bus stop. We owned a limo (or ten), hell, but father suggested that I try learning the meaning of the word "inconspicuous". Just another way of telling me just who wielded the power here. And just who every fucking other person listened to.

I looked deep into the muscle guy's eyes, "You touch me, you die."

As I said, I'm a guy of few words. He backed away, but continued to talk- so much so that my shoulders tensed as I considered throwing him a punch. Though of course that wouldn't look too good to father- these thugs were his finely picked, hand selected eyes and ears. And a means to restrain me before I decided to go on a sudden killing spree or something.

"I'm Raymond, sir, and I'm so glad to be in your service, I mean-"

He was cut off by the rumbling of what had to be the bus. Figures, I'm always late, but I never miss that tiny yellow and red thing.

The shouting in my ear was like an incessant mosquito I wanted to slap dead.

"Oh my god, the bus- we're going to miss it- my first day on task- your father-" and other such crap came out of his vile mouth. I hated any mention of my father, and my eyes narrowed dangerously. The other thugs all took a unanimous step in towards me- well, well, my father had informed them well of my violent tendencies hadn't he? But even he hadn't seen anything yet. I waved a hand towards them, either acknowledging them or dismissing their existence. But that Raymond boy obviously thought I was waving exclusively at his too small head and t-shirt to match, and grinned at me. Grinned. I took a step towards him, considering making him stop grinning in the most painful way ever.

I'm talking along the lines of castration here.

Yeah, I'm screwed up. You can't blame me... you know, in case I decide to come after you and kill you or something. Anyone would be screwed up if they lived in hell.

I smiled endearingly as the bus came to a stop twenty meters ahead of us, and continued to stroll towards it, rather leisurely. How patient the driver was- of course, not due to the lesson I had taught him the last time he didn't stop. This day was getting better.

I started up the stairs, feeling all the eyes on me, yet knowing that no one could touch me- I revelled in it; wallowed in it. No one dared to come close to me. To add to my bad start to the day, that girl, what ever her name was, was still seated in that seat. My seat. Blonde bimbo. My fists clenched as I strode up to her silently- anger coiled within me like a deadly snake. I placed my arm on the back of her seat, and bent my head, some awful sentence managing to manifest in my mouth before I could restrain myself no longer. I removed the book from her grasp almost gently. Then, smiling, I ripped off the pages, one by one.

Pretending to be smart.

I had always been methodical. Her cornflower blue eyes grew wide and filled. I savoured it. I liked causing pain to others, because if I didn't, I'd be on the other side of sanity already. Pain to someone else was better than pain to me. With that thought, I slashed the page down, hard. Who knew that the girl didn't draw back, and a scratch appeared on the side of her face before blood welled up.

Paper cut! A sing song voice in my head cackled gleefully.

That's when, for a moment I was gazing intensely into the warmest pair of brown eyes I had ever seen, and then my head snapped to the side, my cheekbone aching. That would be one massive bruise. She wasn't strong, but she was fast, and she had already moved back.

One thought- just who the fuck was this chick?

My eyes narrowed as she glared defiantly at me, eyes flicking pointedly to the huddled form of the other girl- what was her name? Elizabeth, that's it, cowering on the seat of the bus. Something came over me then, and instead of wanting to rip out her heart and stake it to a white picket fence, I walked towards her, lashes brushing against the throb of my cheekbone. Don't ask me what came over me, but my mind quickly found a logical stem to that. I wanted to toy with her. That's when that annoying faggot Raymond decided to be the tough guy.

"I'll take care of her, Jae."

I ignored him, and prowled towards her with the deadly stalk of a hunter cornering his prey. I almost licked my lips. Surprisingly, she made no move to step back. I liked a girl with spirit, I thought as I leaned closer to her. I liked breaking them.

I cleared my mind of useless clutter. Toy. She would soon be a toy. My toy.

I was always possessive. My lips barely moved as I murmured two words against her ear, liking the way her hair moved silkily to my breath. "After school."

Soon, my dear.

I was utterly surprised when she brushed my menace aside, and her eyes blazing, trailed a finger seductively along my cheekbone, the dull twinge telling me that's where she'd hit me. Then, in a low, sultry voice that sent a chill down my spine she said, "No, I'll meet you after school."

The girl had guts. I turned, smiling coldly as I stepped off the bus.

She mocked me.

A/N: Well, this chapter's finally up, even if it is quite shorter than the previous .:wipes brow:. This chapter was completely from Jae's point of view (no duh!)… oh please my sweet munchkums, don't throw rocks at author girl cos of her stupid habit of stating obvious… since when did I start speaking in third person? God, I sound like a little kid. Anyway, back to the main point of this A/N, which is that, hopefully, this chappie wasn't too bad. Even if it was, please drop a note. Jay is pretty different to Tia, right (from his POV)? I would just like to say that Jae is one screwed up boy (my poor baby), but he does have a sense of humour somewhere beneath the angst. Some of you may not like Jae atm, but that's the way it's supposed to be. If it says anything, I still love him! Please review and make me a happier person so I write more and more and more… dedicated all to you lovelies.

Much love,


Thank you so much to the sweethearts who reviewed the first revised chapter:

Darkscribe: Review soon? Lol, well, that's what I hope you'll do, but I'm assuming you meant update soon, sweetie. Thanks for reading and enjoying chapter one, I will try to update more, I swear.

Doodlekins: Thank you for the much needed encouragement on updating. I'm really nervous about what people think of this chapter, because it's from Jae's point of view and he's a really different character to Tia and all. Lots of swearing .:grimace, hope people don't mind, it's just part of his character and background. Keep reading and reviewing if you're enjoying this story- though even if you're not enjoying it you can still send in constructive criticism:). S.J Maas? Yeah, her story's brilliant isn't it? .:humbled:.

Heartxstrings: Yeah, it's been a while… but- but- but- it's here! Finally. Hope you enjoyed this chappie. Heh, potential is just talent that hasn't been expressed. Oh, that makes me sad… come out talent, come out, come out wherever you are! Hug! Thanks for dropping a review, you rock!

Juniper Nights: Aw, sweetie, thanks .:blushes:. Oh shucks, it's the lovely, encouraging reviewers like you who make me want to keep writing. I adore you!