Page 2 of Quinlan

That’s why he goes to a public school instead of private. His family is wealthy, but his dad sent him here.

They’re understaffed and don’t have the budget to care about you. He laughed at Rome one day. He wasn’t wrong.

No one goes to check up on their home.

His mom is okay with what his dad does.

Another monster.

They have a way to keep him in line. Joseph Langford threatens Rome that if he ever says anything, he’ll starve Rome’s three-year-old sister, Anne, worse than he does now. Maybe even to death.

Yeah. I’ll keep the good news for later.

After I give him my sandwich, the last I’ve ever made at Rex’s house. After I see my friend sort of smiling. His dark, harsh version of a smile, anyway.

Then Liam will help him get food for Anne. His parents are great like that. They don’t lock him up. They do their best to make up for what happened to their kid last year.

I wedge myself between the other kids. They don’t grunt or yell at me, even though I elbow my way past them. The opposite.

They want my attention.

“Hey, Damien! How are you?”

“Want to play ball after school?”

“No, he’s not going to hang with you. He’s coming over to my place. Right, Dame?”

The responses I give them are a shake of my head and, “Tomorrow. For sure, tomorrow.”

I won’t. I hardly ever go meet anyone other than my two best friends after school. But it’s fine. No one cares, really. They like that I remember their names. The fake smile on my lips. The grin I perfected to reach my blue eyes.

They see the fake me, and they like it. They’re drawn to it.

No one other than Rome and Liam know about my mask. That I had to learn to have one on and now I can’t take it off.

Being passed around from one foster home to another is why I am the way I am. It’s a survival mechanism. No matter what’s going on in my head, I need everyone to like me.

Murderous on the inside, everyone’s favorite person on the outside. Well, I wasn’t always murderous.

Before the Palmers, I had decent foster parents. The other kids were okay too, I guess. I did my best to make them like me and it worked.

When I was passed to the Palmers, that’s when shit got bad.

Over the last year, a little after Liam’saccidentand the shit I’ve been through at my foster home, I became vengeful. Hateful. No one would ever want to be around the real me.

Someone who dreams about revenge in the form of cutting up a particular married couple. Who has plans that would make it happen. Who smiles while he dreams of their hearts in his hands.

Blood everywhere.

Yeah, no one would want a friend like that. No one other than Liam and Rome.

Other than Jagger and Laurel, my foster siblings, who turn to me to protect them. I try. My God, I try. The healing wound on my left forearm is proof of that. It’s a shallow cut. Wouldn’t leave scars like those I have on my abdomen.

But I’ll remember.

Three rows of kids separate Rome and me. I shrug the left strap of my old backpack off my shoulder as I push through them. Swing the bag to the front so I can fish out my PB & J sandwich and have it ready for him.

“Rome!” I try again.

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