#tapped talk

And now, the past three years Wes had spent coming to terms with his “disappearance” (see death), they’d been undone like the rows she had just knit perfectly. Sorcha’s laugh, like iron grating together, sent a rip of anger through Wes. Knitting had lost all appeal, and she dropped the needles to the table, standing already. 

“He so did, actually,” Sorcha replied after her laughter, as if she had known anything about Marcus in life. As if she had wanted to know anything about him before he died. No, he was an asshole. Everyone knew that - just like everyone knew that Wes was a bitch. Maybe that’s why the rumors were flying now, and she was fixing to end it. “It’s kind of romantic, if you think-”

“You don’t know shit, bitch,” Wesley cut her off in an instant, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and finally giving her dead eye stare at Sorcha. That’d been her name in highschool, whispered by girls like Sorcha behind her back, and eventually - her calling card. The stare from Wes was the mark of her wrath, and if you recieved it... you should be afraid. Very afraid.

But Sorcha didn’t look afraid as Wes glared her down. Instead, her lips had twisted into a smirk on her ugly face. It was a sickening reminder of the way Wes had started to fade from her reputation. The discovery of Marcus’ body had sent her fleeing to the shadows, waiting for it to pass over, wanting to hide from the whole thing again. Her voice had been silenced three years ago when he’d gone missing - so why did people care what she had to say now? It infuriated her, and Wesley felt barely even an inch away from snapping, entirely. Sorcha’s smile was about to be the last straw on the camels back, and Wesley took a step closer to her, a sneer of her own growing into a snarl. 

Sorcha wasn’t smiling anymore, and Wes didn’t feel the need to utter a threat. Towering above the other, still seated at the table, she made enough of an impression to intimidate the other girl into silence - for now. Surely, she’d start the gossip train the moment Wes left the double doors, but she didn’t care. Not anymore. Let them fucking talk - Wes was taking names down now. 

Sorcha Evans. Who would be next? Wesley couldn’t wait to find out, jabbing her hands out in front of her as she stormed from the rec room, stomping down the hall in her boots, teeth still sinking into the soft flesh of the inside of her cheek. The crown she wears may be crafted of iron and thorn, but it was Wesley’s, earned with years and years of work. She was untouchable. 

Wesley wasn’t going to let anyone be her downfall, not Marcus and certainly not fucking Sorcha Evans. 

“Even in fucking death, you’re ruining my life,” Wesley growled under her breathe as she made her way outside to cross the green, the cold air hitting her face refreshingly. Marcus had always made a habit of fucking with her - popping up at the worst times, ruining dates, sabotaging projects... some weird sort of attention grabbing technique. It had pissed Wes off since childhood, and that’s exactly why Marcus liked to do it. 

You’re not even scary when you’re mad, he’d tell her, laughing. Greeted with a fist and scowl, Marcus would only laugh more, and Wes would swear her hatred for him up and down. Now, she could practically him hear instead of the wind rushing by her ears, through her hair. You’re not even scary. 

In all honesty, Wes never realized how lonely the world was without him. All the times she’d spent wishing he’d just leave her alone were now bitter to her. All the stupid fights, the long periods of silence, the hatred, the fists - Wesley hadn’t realized how much Marcus truly accepted her for each and every fault. He smiled at her cruelty, her felt her anger at the world, he didn’t try to fix the jagged, broken edges she had. Marcus didn’t want her to be fixed, because he was even sicker than she was. Sometimes, Wes thought he was too much. He’d go too far, he’d hurt someone too much. Wes would hate him for it, but somehow - together they had stayed. 

Out of everyone in the shitty town, Marcus never told Wes no. That’s why she had hated him so much, despite everything. She lived to rebel. She lived to infuriate, to disappoint, to disrespect. Wesley liked being told no, just so she could do the opposite - and Marcus never gave her that. 

Now, he was gone. 

And what the fuck is Wes supposed to do now that his death, something she had always known, has been proven? Revenge against those spreading rumors and prying into Marcus’s life now that he was dead would only last her so long, and the venom that dripped from her words would only poison so much. Eventually, Wesley would have to stop fighting, and she’d have to accept the facts. 

Until then? Be afraid, bitches. Be afraid. 

It was the mantra Wesley had chanted since high school, the song that motivated her through each day, the rage that stoked her fires and gave her every bit of herself. Anger was what Wes was. It was all she knew. And if she could feel anger, she couldn’t feel the hurt. The sense of loss, the haunt of loneliness, the suddenly, eerie emptiness on her phone screen when he wasn’t blowing her messages up. 

It was just anger. 

No love, no loss, no laughter, no life. Just rage, fierce and fighting. Marcus Abernathy would not make a victim out of Wesley Ryan, she had promised herself that from the second she met him. Wesley Ryan would not be a name on his stupid, fucked up list. There would be no tears on her cheeks caused by Marcus. 

So far, that promise had stayed true. But now - his name was echoed through the halls, his bones burned into her dreams. Wes put her earbuds in, hitting the volume button six times to hit maximum.