King Of Bridgewater

Dorian’s P.O.V

“Stay the fuck out of my way, Golden Boy,” I yanked my arm free of Noah’s grip, storming off into the freezing night. Fuck Noah Carter and that goddamn punch he threw, trying to play savior when no one asked him to. My boots loudly hit the pavement, like I was stomping out a goddamn wildfire. But the flames raged on in my chest. Hypocritical little prick.

 My jaw clenched, dragging my mind back to when I’d first seen him in the locker room and he introduced himself as captain. Blonde hair, light blue eyes, and his body all defined lines and sculpted muscles. All-American-Pretty boy. He probably had fucking skincare products to keep his skin that dewy…and his lips as red as they looked.

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, clenching my fists into balls. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth, but it was nothing compared to the fury coursing through me. Just a few years had passed and yet, the bastard didn’t even remember me. Not a flicker of recognition in those stupid, icy-blue eyes. Two years, two fucking years of knowing each, and Golden Boy couldn’t even spare me that.

Typical fucking Carter. I thought, my lips curling as I spat onto the sidewalk. Hypofuckingcrite. He dragged me out of a fight I could have managed on my own, then expected me to say what? Fucking thanks? Like I should have kissed his ass for stepping in?

I barely took note of the campus as I began strolling back to my dorm, buried memories swirling around in my head. It was like he’d ripped the lid off something I’d locked away a long time ago. I didn’t want to think about that private school, those hallways that felt like war zones, or the scrawny, scared kid I used to be. But tonight, I couldn’t stop.

Back then, I was eleven. I never met my father and I only had a mom who worked three jobs and spent her life trying to put food on our table. Food that was never quite enough because I was literal skin and bones, undeveloped for my age. Too quiet for my own good, with too-long hair–couldn’t afford a proper haircut and mom was too busy to cut it for me. Secondhand clothes that clearly told every designer wearing spoiled prick in that school that I didn’t and would never belong. I got into that rich-kid school on a scholarship, and that was mistake number one. Those little shits could smell weakness from a mile away, and I’d reeked of it. 

The first few days, I thought I could blend into the shadows, and keep my head low. Turns out, kids like me don’t get by so easily. They cornered me by the lockers, laughing, ripping my backpack open like it was some kind of joke, dunking me upside down in the huge trash cans.  I couldn't fight back, just stood there, red-faced, and shaking while they broke my nose and treated me worse than shit.

And there was Noah. Perfect, shiny Noah. he had that easy smile, that stupid brown hair that flopped all over his face, and that everyone-wants-to-be-me energy. Where I was struggling, Noah was popular and loved. But for some godforsaken reason, he decided to talk to me. He was the only person nice to me in our school. My stomach clenched as I remembered the paper plane I’d gifted him, there had been a tiny note scribbled on it in our funny code language that could only be read by him if he ever dismantled the paper plane. I hope he's never read it.

For a while, I actually believed he was different and that I’d found someone who gave a shit. He’d walk with me to class, ask about my book, and…he…called me his friend.

But friends don’t stand by and watch while you’re being ripped apart.

It was during lunch, and those little rich bastards cornered me in the toilet when I’d gone to take a piss. They’d pressed my head into the dirty tiled floor right by the urinal as they started with their usual shit–calling me poor, asking if my mom was a maid–but this day, it got worse.

They slammed my head against the tile, hard enough to knock the wind out of me and cause a warm trickle down the side of my neck. As if that wasn’t enough, while kicking and screaming, they dragged me into the toilet that was out of order and…well, you know how it goes. I was fucking waterboarded in shit and urine. When they finally allowed me to catch a breath, crying and flailing, I’d jerked my head to the side, looking right out of the stall and there he was.

Noah. my fucking best friend…hero…whatever the fuck little boys called the popular rich kid who befriended them when the entire school hated them. He was standing right in front of the stall, eyes wide in horror as he watched. But most importantly, he was close enough to step in…to stop it.

And he didn’t do a fucking thing.

“Coward!” I gritted into the empty air, kicking at a loose piece of stone on the sidewalk. The sound of it skittering across the pavement made my chest tighten. I swiped at my face, realizing too late I’d bitten the inside of my cheek raw. Blood pooled into my mouth and I swallowed it back.

I hated him. I hated how he’d smiled at me back then, made me believe I wasn’t alone, and then abandoned me when it mattered. And I hated how, even now, he could crawl under my skin just by existing.

Noah fucking Carter. The universe had shoved us back together, and now he was going to act like I was some stranger. Like we didn’t have history?

Fine. let him play dumb.

But I wasn’t that scared, skinny kid anymore. I wasn’t the one getting shoved into lockers and locked-in incinerators. I trained day and night, bulking up, hell, joining the fucking ice-hockey team for the gruesome physical training in high school so I could be able to defend myself. Honestly, I never had a passion for the game, but because I was fucking determined, I quickly became a captain in my high school and I was spotted by a coach during our high school Ice-Hockey league, earning me a full-ride scholarship to Bridgewater University to play on their team, Artic Blades which was been scouted by the fucking NHL.

Unlike Golden Boy Noah who had life handed down to him since he learned to walk, I spent blood and sweat to earn a spot in the Arctic Blades.

And now, it was time to show Noah who I really was. Knowing the fucker, his pride, and joy would be his title as captain. 

Step one: strip him of honors and become the new king of Bridgewater.

Step two: make him pay for everything.