22/09/25
Everyone remembers Their first girlfriend.
I remembered mine—even if she doesn't
6th—Form had only just begun, the feeling of rejection and isolation that slowly crept into my soul from my supposed friends had settled in, like a virus, it was a matter of time before the rumours turned to the truth. The truth? My friends had moved on, by the first and second week of sixth-form I could feel nothing except alienation and that feeling would continue to haunt me until adulthood. I never truly recovered from being forcibly alienated from a friend group that I had been apart of since Year 7, a friend group that I had considered a second family—and yet through it all, only Blake remained loyal—for the time being, at least.
Of course, there was still a part of me that remembered prom night— and this is where the 'Metamorphosis' or 'Change' started to take place.
I stopped seeing Blake as a friend, instead, I would treat him as an obstacle, an obstacle I had to get past in order to reach my penultimate destination. A little bit of me felt sorry for him, a tinge of empathy and sprinkle of regret, he had no idea of what was happening behind closed doors, or what was in store for him. Fortunately for me, yet unfortunately for Blake, I was much more handsome and striking and taller than Blake and although I was socially-inept, none of this mattered to girls from Bradford—many of them had little to no standards in the first place.
Slowly, I re-emerged into the friend-group that had once abandoned me, now larger by five female students who were equally, if not more awkward and goofy as the boys and yet still drop-dead gorgeous. To my surprise, I was treated warmly, introduced to the girls that for the first two weeks I had not spoken to. I did not strike yet, it was too premature, too early, but the seedlings had been planted. I started to psycho-analyse everyone in the group, their dynamics, relationships, who they liked and disliked. Everything seemed in order, unchanged perhaps, with only a minute difference following on from Prom.
Then it clicked...
Blake & Maisy, who at face value, seemed a perfect, cute little couple—were going through the usual motions—which is to be expected in any relationship, but we were 16, not 26—and nobody had said Maisy had to stay with Blake.
HOOK.LINE.SINKER
So, this is how it was going to be. I had to avenge my past-self, I was no longer going to be a victim, I was no longer going to be looked down upon. I hated feeling powerless. I would no longer be the socially-awkward loser, I would do something that would have reverberations, even to this day. I went home that day, brain-storming ideas and formulating plans all the whilst maintaining the disguise and mask of friendship in front of Blake, who had not and would not until the final moments cotton on to my plan. I paced around my attic-bedroom, weighing up my options, knowing that there was a low probability any of them would work, knowing that this might all be for nothing. Nonetheless, I had to do this.
The next day I went straight to the 6th—Form Common room, which was surprisingly empty of any and all people. It felt like a mausoleum. I waited for Maisy to arrive, she still could not understand my purpose, but, truth be told, I didn't want her too understand my purpose. Slowly, her friends slip in, it's a slow, draining process, but I play the patient man. All throughout this waiting game, I am second-chancing anything and everything, questioning my own motives. Then, Maisy arrives, and I know what to do. The seeds are planted—and my revenge will be sweet.
It's amazing what you can do, with just a couple of suggestions and a couple of [false] rumors. People will believe anything, if you sound convincing enough.
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