What Does Not Kill Me...

As I stepped through the band hall doors, the contrasting temperature tickled the back of my neck and made the hair stand up on my arms. I subconsciously let my older sister, Julie, go ahead of me, overwhelmed by the big, bad high school life that I had just walked into. I was a freshman and knew my place at the bottom of the food chain.
“Hi,” a boy said, pulling my attention to a cart just inside the door. He was taller than I was, obviously older, and had a smile that exuded charm.
“Don’t talk to him,” Julie snapped and yanked me along behind her as she walked further into the room and away from the boy.
And with those four words, my interest was piqued.


Two months later, at the first contest of the season, Chris, the forbidden boy, and I sat in the stadium stands, waiting to hear the results of finals. Chris slid his arm through mine, making my heart speed up with every breath. I felt every nerve ending in my body spark at his touch, and I knew that I had to have him, no matter what it took.
On the bus ride home, on a natural high from winning the contest, my insides were swirling and jumping. The chilled night air flew through the open window, offering some sort of clarity to my tight nerves.
“You were right,” I typed in the text message to Chris. “I was flirting with you earlier.”
Quickly hitting send, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, waiting…


Three days later I shut my locker and scooped up my backpack, turning on my phone to check my text messages.
“Hey,” Chris whispered in my ear, “did you get my message?”
An involuntary smile spread across my face, and I could feel his breath down my neck, warm and inviting.
“No,” I said between giggles. “What did you want?”
He shrugged. “You’ll see.”
I followed him down the hallway to the band hall, willing my phone to go any faster. When it finally turned on, I opened my messages, holding my breath, my pulse rate jumping through the roof.
“I can’t stand it anymore,” the first message from Chris said.
I shot him a puzzled look as he held the door to the band hall open for me, but he quickly avoided my eye contact.
Opening the second message, I caught my breath as the words “Be mine” popped up on the screen. In an instant, Chris had gripped my hand and pulled me to the side, letting others pass by us. I felt my face heat up and my knees wobble as I looked up into Chris’ face.
“What do you say?” he asked, smiling down at me.
I took a deep breath and nodded.


Three weeks later Chris and I stood beneath a small tree outside the last marching contest of the season with my older sister, surrounded by the rest of the marching band.
“So someone told me you were trying to make out with my little sister on the bus,” Julie shrieked, crossing her arms across her chest.
“I didn’t do anything, Julie,” Chris shot back, taking a step toward her.
“Alright,” I said, stepping in between them, “that’s enough. It’s just a rumor. This is ridiculous. Can’t we just let it go?”
“Only if you let us take care of him for you,” a member of the mob yelled.
Then before I could move, the whole group erupted. Julie jumped toward Chris, Chris lunged toward the anonymous voice, and the whole crowd squeezed together. I desperately shoved my way through the crowd, chasing after Chris as he stalked away from the group. I shot one last nasty look at Julie before I took off after him around the edge of the truck.
When I caught up with Chris, he was yelling at another percussionist and shaking with anger. Trying my best to stop another fight, I stepped in between them, softly trying to talk Chris down from the ledge. As I reached out to force him to back away though, Chris grabbed my wrist, twisting it around to hold me immovable. Panicked, I tried to push against him, but he only increased the pressure on my wrist. I could feel the numbing pain working its way up my arm.
When Chris finally let go and walked away, I watched him go, rubbing the fresh bruise on my wrist, blaming Julie for the fresh troubles.


Almost a year later, I walked into the band hall at 6 am for practice, throwing my bag down on the ground and slumping down next to it. Shutting my eyes, I maneuvered around, desperate to find even five more minutes of sleep.
“We need to talk,” Chris commanded from behind me.
Sighing slightly, I stood and obeyed, careful to avoid hitting my latest bruise from him on the riser I had been leaning against. I followed him out to the hallway, dragging my feet and with my head down as I instinctively responded to his dominate body language.
“I can’t play this game with you anymore, Lynnette,” Chris spat, turning and pushing me against the wall. “We’ve been dating for a year now. When are you going to stop being such a prude and give it up to me?”
My stomach turned one quick somersault before I opened my mouth and whispered, “Chris, I don’t-“
“No, do not say you won’t,” he interrupted, moving his hands to close around my neck, thick with the promise of pressure. “You will whether you like it or not. I don’t need your permission. I can just take it.” One of his hands moved up to grasp the back of my hair, holding me from any type of movement. “I could even take it right now if I wanted.”
I closed my eyes as some wall inside of me broke, letting all of my strength come gushing forth. “Julie was right,” I whispered, my hands beginning to shake with fresh anger and frustration. Feeling every old bruise and scar on my body, I gave one hard push to send Chris backward and force him to release me.
“Julie was right,” I said louder. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re not getting anything from me ever again.”
In one quick motion, Chris lunged toward me, framing my face with his enormous hands. “Don’t ever talk like that to me again,” he warned, his eyes glinting.
Then with one swift motion, I felt my fist grow tight and whoosh into his gut. I watched him stumble back and double over, ignoring the profanity that came issuing out of his mouth in one long string.
“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I ordered before spinning on my heel and marching back into the band hall, my newfound strength guiding my step.

...makes me stronger.

Hello, Lynnette!

I'm Audy and I must say, this was a pleasure to read. Great beginning, really did get my attention, and what held me? Your writing style. I was exactly where you took me, and it was a pleasant ride. Even though the topic/content was dark, the way you briskly portrayed the series of events added a sort of "lightness", that is to say, the style matched the theme of the story and served well to portray the phases/steps of a bad relationship. (You know? First the honeymoon, then the wrath...)

Your protagonist has had bad things happen yes, but she is able to fly past all of that and get stronger by it. By writing out a year's worth of events in a quick pace, you matched the message with the form of writing. I don't know if that's how you meant it, but regardless, this is artistically masterful.

The nitpicks:

“Hi,” a boy said, pulling my attention to a cart just inside the door.

. Inside the room? And is her attention directed to the cart, or the boy by the cart? A bit confusing.

In an instant, Chris had gripped my hand and pulled me to the side, letting others pass by us.

"pass us by" sounds better - plus, I stumbled when reading it that way. Might just be me.

...smiling down at me.

Nothing wrong here, I just love your emphasis on his "tall" frame. It really accentuates his dominance.

Julie shrieked, crossing her arms across her chest.

I would choose a different verb other than "shriek". The evoking image is just to ridiculous. "Yell" works fine. "Said" works. We can get that she's angry by her arms crossing, don't need to be over the top with 'shriek'.

The next scene with the attacking band kids was....bizarre. At the time, I had no idea why they are all turning against Chris, or why they even care who he dates. Why should there be an angry mob just because Chris and MC make out on the bus? The only thing I could have concluded in my mind (at the time) was that the sister was behind it - in any case, the scene didn't make much sense and some explanation/rewriting is in order.

Chris grabbed my wrist, twisting it around to hold me immovable.

'immoveable' just seems awkward here. 'still' 'fixed' 'in place' is perfectly fine. Or if you really want to use immovable then I would rewrite the sentence a little bit.

...and force him to release me.

forced - past tense

Will there be more? Please continue writing!

~ As Always, Audy

Audy covered most things, so I just have a couple of thoughts to add.

My English teachers are always telling me this: A good short story has one setting and describes one main event. Your story spans enough time to be a novel. In fact, if you filled in the gaps you could make this a novel (I think that would be better than having all the 'three weeks later' things - I'm always dying to know what happened in between). However, if you want it to be a short story, I suggest you choose one scene from this and re-write it to stand alone. Otherwise it could possibly be a series of short stories, that could work too.
Something you need to remember is that readers aren't stupid (usually :p ). You don't have to give them the whole back-story - sometimes you can just jump straight into the action and wait for the readers to catch up.

So far as I can tell the main action of your story is the ending. If you give enough information there you won't need the rest of the story and the piece will be more cohesive.
For example:

I walked into the band hall at 6 am for practice, throwing my bag down on the ground and slumping down next to it. Shutting my eyes, I maneuvered around, desperate to find even five more minutes of sleep.

So we already know that she's exhausted. You then introduce Chris to the scene, so we can guess that he is the cause.

“We’ve been dating for a year now.

We know how long they've been dating.

careful to avoid hitting my latest bruise from him on the riser I had been leaning against

moving his hands to close around my neck, thick with the promise of pressure

Feeling every old bruise and scar on my body

We know that it's a long standing, abusive relationship.

If you add something else in like 'Perhaps my sister's dislike for him had some grounding after-all', then you've given us all the information we need in that last section. You don't actually need all the back-story. Then you could work on putting more emotion and action or whatever you like in that last scene and I think it would be a lot smoother than telling all these separate scenes with gaps in between them.


All in all I really liked this. You really drew me in and got me interested. I like your characters and your ideas, and your writing style! This piece has heaps of potential and I'd love to see what you can do with it.

Hope this is helpful!

- pigeon