LET ME SAY this first: I would not go soft on Ryan Smith.

When I had stomped to the hospital after leaving Wesley alone and stunned in the police station, I found out that Ryan was not only in the hospital, but he was in a critical condition. The blow to his head was apparently severe. The poor fellow just got out of operation, and even if that was enough punishment, I was still about to give him my revenge for calling me names.

I never particularly liked Ryan, but I never got to the point of wanting to kill him before. Those other times he called me names, I laughed it off. It had, however, been going on for almost half a year. If that wasn't the time for revenge, then when?

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

After leaving the hospital, I immediately drove my precious Diablo, a Harley Davidson, toward Ryan's house. Because the party only ended around five hours before, there were still a good amount of people trashed around the huge place, even though the host was in critical condition. Some were sprawled on the lawn, and some were in the pool. I trudged up the steps of the house and resumed my search for Ryan's room. When I passed by the room where I left Blake the previous night, I couldn't help but stop and peek in. Still rested on the bed was a shirtless Blake, tucked under a blanket. In his arms was Charlotte with her hair in a messy bun and wearing the shirt that Blake wore last night. You don't know how badly I wanted to scream into her ear that he puked in that shirt last night, but I had to keep my silence and only rejoice internally. I can deal with them later. Right now, I have a certain Ryan to completely and utterly destroy, I said to myself.

I found Ryan's room at the end of the hallway. Turning the knob, I quickly stepped in and shut it behind me. His walls had a blue to white gradient, and his floors had wine-red carpeting. A king-sized bed with black and white linens was at the back of the room, and on each side of the bed was a dressing table. Medals, trophies, and pictures were on display.

Scanning the pictures, I noticed some of them were of Blake; others were probably taken with the rest of the football team. I walked around the room and stopped in front of his desktop, and I couldn't resist switching on the MacBook and browsing through it. What shocked me, though, was the picture of a girl that was used as his wallpaper. Her golden blonde hair trailed down her shoulders, and her bright eyes were shining as she grinned widely. Beside her was Ryan, his arms slung over her shoulder, and his smile was also wide with glee. Both of them seemed to be having the time of their lives, and it seemed as if it was taken a few years back. Grinning at my newfound secret, I took a snap of the picture, tucked my phone back into my pocket, and switched the MacBook off.

Shuffling through the room, I grabbed a few Sharpie markers I found lying on the desk and started to draw on his pristine walls. Just like Blake's white Ferrari, I decorated them with symbols, words, and small drawings. At each corner of the room, I left an alphabet, and together they spelled out a certain curse word. I would let him figure that out himself.

But then again, I doubt he was that smart.

And when I reached the center of the room, I wrote a large YOU and smirked. This was definitely more creative than the white Ferrari, and since the poor fella already got some bruising and maybe needed plastic surgery, I made this easy for him to clean off.

You know, he only had about 362 dick drawings and two words to scrape off his wall, not that I counted. It wasn't that big of a deal.

***

"Summer!" I screamed for my best friend when I finally spotted her seated outside of Starbucks with a cup of coffee on the table. Looking up from her phone, she grinned and stood up to give me a hug.

"Sorry, I'm late. I had to run some errands." I huffed before sitting down opposite her.

"It's fine. I just got here anyways. What's so urgent that couldn't be talked about over the phone?" Summer shrugged, leaning in slightly with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"Now, you have to be completely honest with me. Did you ever have a thing with Ryan Smith?"

Summer's amusement disappeared in a flash and was immediately replaced with a scowl as she leaned back in the chair and folded her arms across her chest. "I don't want to talk about that asshole."

"So you did, then?" I wiggled my eyebrows and grabbed my phone from my bag. "This picture is his desktop wallpaper. Mind explaining?"

I pushed my phone across the table as if we were handling an illegal drug business. She picked it up and examined the picture carefully, her angry expression slowly melting away.

"This was taken in sophomore year. Nothing more to be said." She slid the phone back, and her cold expression slipped back on.

"Oh come on, Summer. There has to be a story behind all of this. You two look like a couple in the picture." Her scowl deepened as a realization settled in. "Oh my gosh. You guys were a couple!"

"So what? It was two years ago, and it meant nothing. Why bring it up now?" She looked like she could kick a kitten.

"'Cause this picture is Ryan's desktop wallpaper! The keyword, Summer: Is. He still has a thing for you."

"If he didn't like me back then, he wouldn't have those feelings right now. What we had was fun when it lasted, but if I had a chance, I'd rather not be affiliated with him in any way," Summer growled, snatched my phone from my grasp, and deleted the picture.

"Summer, you do know that Ryan is in the hospital right now, right? He might not live past today. He is in critical condition after Wesley basically trashed him up at the party last night," I confessed, watching as her cold expression started to melt down almost instantly as she turned to face me. Okay, maybe I twisted the facts a little, but I needed to know if Summer still truly cared for that unworthy boy. I have to say it was for investigation purposes before you start pointing fingers at me.

"Is he alright?" Her expression turned immediately into one of pure worry. "What happened? Oh my gosh, let's go." Summer shot up from her seat and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward her black BMW, and we tore down the street toward the local hospital. All the time in the car, though, instead of thinking about Ryan and Summer's possible past fling, I was only thinking about one thing.

I left Wesley in the damned police station by himself.

He's going to murder me.

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