Lorcan - POV (E7): Prelude to the Murder

Where the fuck are they? He thinks, as his eyes scan along the undulating bodies of his schoolmates. 

He doesn’t even understand why he would look for them here. They’re not the type to go dancing in the throng alone. He doesn’t even want to search for them. He thinks he’s not good at being nice to people who are sad. 

More importantly, Crowny is the last person he wants to be nice to. They should cry and bitch and moan for all he cares. They deserve it. How many times didn’t he cry after his mom died and he lost his dad? If he could do it, so can they. 

But still… he looks for them. He opens doors to people writhing on beds, puking their guts out and someone who definitely looked like they were stealing. 

“Crowny, Crowny, Crowny,” he mutters. He doesn’t even know where that stupid nickname came from. 

He didn’t want to say their first name because he didn’t want to feel like they were friends. He couldn’t use their last name cause he didn’t want them to think he respects them. 

He’s said their nickname with so much derision in his life. Like a slur. And here he was, looking all over for them. It’s just…

He sighs as he pulls out a cigarette. He keeps thinking of how they looked in the library while Imre and Nia started fighting. They looked so small for a moment. He had never thought to think that they weren’t as frightening as he made them out to be in his head. 

Because that doesn’t work, does it? Lorcan scoffs in annoyance. He can’t help it anymore. He’s tried to force himself to see them as he’s always seen them and what has that done? Gotten him to start viewing them as a person. A living breathing person who might not be so bad.

That makes him nervous. He lights his cigarette and leans against a painting that must cost more than he makes a month selling dope. 

Who is he if he doesn’t hate them? Who are they? A kid who was raised in a shitty family with people who treat them like a stepping-stool or a delicate flower that has to be kept in a glass cage. 

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he murmurs to himself. 

They’re the type of person Lorcan would defend. If they hadn’t said what they said to his dad, he might’ve been their friend. It sounds blasphemous to think that because it would’ve gone against Orla’s wishes. She hated them so through loyalty he had to hate them too. 

But fuck, he’s so tired. It’s been so long and he doesn’t know if he can keep it up because he’s been forced to know them now. They’re so smart, much smarter than him. He likes when they do that tick of theirs when they’re bored or don’t know what to say or worried. 

He could try to spin it in whichever way he wants. That being close to them would mean he can be mean to them and honour his mom and Orla. That being close to them means it would be like being closer to Orla. He could make up all the excuses in the world. 

But tonight, when they were talking to him, before he fucked it up and told them that he would never forgive them, he has to admit — he liked listening to them speak. He liked having a conversation with them. Almost as if they were both normal kids who happened to strike up a friendship at a party. Almost as if they were bonded by death and hate. 

He sucks on his cigarette deeply. So what’s it going to be Lorcan Stark? I either force myself to hate their ass forever or I stop being such a fucking asshole. 

It’s late and he doesn’t want to think about what that means in regards to his feelings for his dad and the reason he’s in prison. No, save that for when he wakes up tomorrow and freaks out because he decided he wants to try and be friends with the person he’s hated the most. 

But first he has to find them. He quickly takes puffs from his cigarette and stomps it out on some expensive mahogany table. He pulls on his lapels and renews his search. As he starts throwing open doors, his mind races with what he will say to them. 

I’m sorry? Fuck no. He can’t say that shit to them yet. There’s admitting he’s been a bit of an unfair dickhead and then there’s kissing their feet. They haven’t been that nice to him either. But he does feel shitty for ignoring that that prick had said all that shit to them in front of everyone.

Come Monday morning he’s going to beat the shit outta that asshole. Imre tried to hold him back as he aimed to swing at James who was smirking and calling Crowny a freak. 

He’s probably going to get suspended but it won't be the first time or the last. Grandma will get mad but maybe he can turn it around by saying he’s doing it for Crowny. She always wanted him to be less angry. 

He searches throughout all the house, and he starts just kicking doors open to make it quicker. After getting yelled at for interrupting another couple who’s fucking on a bed Lorcan notices the door to the background. 

He looks through the screen and squints, it’s very dark and he can hardly make anything out. Anyway, why would they be there? Maybe they just left. 

He goes to turn around when he hears a hoarse grunt. He turns around and asks, “yo? Crowny?”

He hears a reply but it’s not directed at him. “James?” Lorcan asks and opens the door. 

He blinks several times, trying to see in the darkness. At first he thinks the dark mass on the ground is a trash bag or something. But when he hears the raspy wheezes he rushes to it without thinking. 

He tackles James, throwing him onto the ground. James starts throwing punches that miss Lorcan’s face but hit his bony chest. Lorcan lets out a groan and searches frantically for something because he can’t see well enough yet to land a good punch on James’ face. 

His hand lands on something cold and heavy. He doesn’t even know what it is and he doesn’t have time to wonder as James throws a punch to his stomach. Lorcan goes limp and James tries to push him off. 

So Lorcan, blind and frantic, scared and angry, does something he will come to regret for several years. 

He raises the object and strikes down.