Page 25 of Lords of the Campus

Maybe it’s a way to take back the control we felt was ripped away from us. No matter what she says, Lyric can’t understand what was taken away from us when she went straight to the police. We knew half the town thought we were troublemakers and were just waiting for an opportunity to see us get taken down a peg.

But it’s the other half who we thought were friends and family to us, whom we were hurt the most over losing. The pain of the loss still stings even now, several years later.

I’m conflicted because it feels like the thirst for revenge will never be enough and we could lose everything in our quest to quench it. We worked so hard to build new lives for ourselves and anxiety coils inside me at the idea of losing all that again.

But I also know this is about more than what Lyric took from us. This is about how she keeps lying to us, manipulating us and trying to turn us into the same pathetic kids who were once in love with her.

I don’t want to be that kid again. I’m a man now and I’m strong enough to resist the temptation she offers. Having sex with her might feel good, but that’s all it is. I need to remember that I’m still the one in charge.

Class goes by slowly and when I’m done, I head back to the frat house. Shooting off a text to Lyric, I tell her to bring me lunch and meet me in my room.

She arrives promptly, bringing a quinoa salad from the food court. I clear my throat as she comes in and sets down the food and she rolls her eyes.

“Seriously?” she asks. I don’t budge, so she begins stripping her clothes off, dropping them on the floor unceremoniously.

She hands me the food and I grab her by the wrist before she can turn away. “Kneel,” I order her. “You’re going to sit at my feet while I eat.”

A mix of expressions crosses Lyric’s face before she sighs and begins to lower herself to the ground. I throw her a pillow from the bed, giving her something to rest her knees on and spread my thighs apart so she can sit between them as I begin to eat my food.

She looks so pretty sitting at my feet like this and my hand subconsciously strokes her curls. She stiffens a moment before glancing up at me, then looks back down at her thighs.

As I eat, I glance down every so often to check on Lyric and she seems to be lost in her own head. I wonder what she’s thinking about and almost ask when I see tears streaking down her cheeks.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sight. What am I doing? I’m no better than the people from our hometown who cheered for our downfall, am I? My hand almost moves to cup her cheek, but I freeze, uncertainty taking over.

Before I can say anything, Lyric quickly wipes the tears from her eyes and juts her chin up, acting like nothing happened.

If that’s how she wants to play things, then fine. I don’t give a damn, either. Lyric knows she can’t manipulate me as easily as she assumed, so she had to give it up.

A rush of anger overtakes me, remembering the way she had us so completely wrapped around her finger. I can’t let her get to me like this. She cost us everything and I’m not about to let her do it all over again.

I pull away, needing some distance. “Go,” I tell her. “Get dressed and get out of here.”

With a confused expression, she grabs her clothes and dons them before heading out silently. If Lyric is going to be around us, I need to be better at maintaining distance.

I have to remember that she’s the enemy here. She’s the reason we lost so much in our lives. If not for her, who knowswhat life might have been like for us? With newfound resolve in my heart, I curl my lips into a sneer.

Lyric is going to regret the day she walked onto Sterling Heights campus if it’s the last thing I do.

14

LEVI

The rhythmic thud of the weight machine provides a steady backdrop to the churn of my thoughts. I pump harder, trying to work off the frustration that’s been gnawing at me ever since we started upping the ante on Lyric.

The tension in my muscles mirrors the tension in my mind, each rep a release, a way to focus on something other than the mess our lives have become.

Dammit, Lyric! Why can’t she just understand what she did when she tore our lives apart like that? I stop for a second, the sweat dotting my brow doing little to cool the rage that threatens to boil over.

Switching to the punching bag, my fists land with satisfying, repetitive force. The physical exertion brings a semblance of calm, a way to channel the anger that’s always simmering beneath the surface. My mind drifts back to simpler times before everything became a twisted, convoluted mess.

Zane was the first to be taken in by the Hudson’s. He and Archer were best friends in elementary school and when his parents died, they immediately stepped up. What happened tohim was a tragedy and I don’t discount that, but my story was very different.

See, I had parents. My parents were pieces of shit, though. They didn’t give a crap. I was in and out of foster homes in elementary school before I was put back with them in fifth grade. In middle school, I met Zane and Archer and we became a trio. The two of them were like the sun and stars to my moon. We just clicked. At the end of seventh grade, when my parents were arrested for dealing drugs, the Hudson’s took me in too.

We became brothers in every way that mattered and our bond solidified by shared loss and new beginnings. They gave us a family and stability.

I land a particularly hard punch, the bag swinging wildly in response. Despite everything, despite the anger and bitterness, I can’t forget what the Hudson’s did for us. They gave us a chance at a real life, a chance to be more than what our pasts tried to shape us into.

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