I laugh at her bony body attempting to get off the concrete floor, her nose gushing uncontrollably with blood. She covers it up, tears spilling from her eyes.
Other kids are now laughing. She tries to get up, but they kick her back down onto the ground, shivering, bleeding, embarrassed. I climb my self out of the crowd of taunting people and make my way to home, thinking about my victory of winning another fight against Sam the weakling.
The door opens; my dad is glaring at me, with hatred, but a mix of disappointment. He stands aside, letting me through – before slamming the door shut. He spins round, his arms crossed.
“What have you done this time to Sam?” He asks his voice calm and relaxed.
“Nothing,” I lie,
“No? Then why is blood on your shirt?”
I look down at my shirt.
“And why did the school call me that you have been bullying a young girl, and you’re now suspended?” He inquires
“Oh! That, you meant that fight…” I think out loud.
“You had more today?” He asks, getting a lot louder,
“No!” I lie again.
I run up the stairs, slamming my feet against the steps, and then ran into my room. The door banging shut behind me.
I’m jealous of Sam, her skinny body and her beautiful face just ticks me off, making jealousy run through my fists and into her perfect face. I am strong, slightly big boned and the wrong kind of person to get in their bad books.
I can never wear makeup; I don’t really see the point. Boys do not wear it so there isn’t really an excuse for girls to wear it either unless they are looking to pull a lad. Which is normally the case.
***
Years slowly go past quickly, I get so bad - I have to move to a different school. I miss Sam, watching her suffer and beg was all part of my ‘fun’ filled life. I don’t get bored though; there are other kids to pick on, who can be much more fun than Sam.
I manage to finish school and get a job in the cleaners. It isn’t much but at least it is some money to start living my life.
I come home from work, my mind so blanked out from the boredom I had to endure for six hours. Dad is in the living room, he hears me slam the door shut and calls me. Sighing I follow his voice and sit down next to him, putting my feet up on the coffee table. He pushes them down. I moan, wanting to put my feet back up, but does as he orders.
“I think it is time for you to move out…” He starts,
“You chucking me out?” I ask,
I sit up and stare at my father, the one that says he loves me and doesn’t want to ever loose me. The one who still does my washing and cooks me my dinner. My hands tighten into a ball. I’m already getting annoyed with him and he has barely started speaking.
“…No, I just think you should start your own life, I mean you’re old enough now.” He continues,
“Dad, I’m 18. That ain’t old!” I exclaim,
“Yes, I know. But you get my drift don’t you?”
I lick my lips, I understand of course. The only problem is that I don’t want to go through with it. To be one that overpowers most people I know, I have to admit that I am scared of what is to come.
“I hardly earn any money at all, how can afford…”
He stops me.
”I’ve bought you a place… Not too far away from here so I can keep an eye on you.” He smiles,
I look at him; a smile begins to spread across my face. I wrap my arms round his neck and hug him tightly. He laughs and returns the hug, but quickly stops when he hears the beginning of ‘Eastenders’ starting. (It is an English drama that is one of my dad’s favorite program.)
In a few months time I am able to move in my new house. It isn’t quite a house, more of a flat. Each place has an upstairs and a downstairs. There is around about ten small houses in the building. The place is a little damp, but it is livable.
Life is going well; I grow out of my constant bullying and cruelty among the weaker and better looking than my self. I make myself a cup of tea in the small kitchen, half decorated and with a strange smell of cat piss. The kettle whistles when the doorbell is set off. I wipe hands on my jumper and walk over to the door. I undo the locks and open it. A strange, pretty woman around the same age as me is standing there. I recognize her straight off and moan, my eyes rolling while I sigh.
“What the hell do you want?” I ask aggressively,
“I want to set our differences aside,” She answers simply,
I dither for a moment, wondering if I should let her in. I have hated her for so long, and so has she. What is the point of coming five years later and wanting peace? I ended it long ago. I stand aside, motioning for her to come in. She looks at me, with a smile on her face like she had won something.
“I’m making tea, what do you want?” I ask,
I turn my back to her and pour in the hot water into the cup. I feel a cold, smooth object touch my neck. I moan, knowing the proper reason for her to come in. I put the kettle back on its stand and rest my hands on the work surface.
“I knew you never came in here to make friends…” I frown,
“Clever, aren’t you?” Sam laughs,
She turns me around until my eyes meet with hers. She has a feel of revenge in her. I feel her evil streak in her body warmth. She giggles, the cold knife still gently touching my flesh.
“Remember those years when you hurt me? Embarrassed me?” She questions
“Yeah, yeah… I know, I bullied you… oh no, shock horror!” I growl,
I feel my hands curl into a ball, ready to punch her face in, once again. But something is resisting me. Maybe it is the knife against my neck, or maybe I just don’t have the guts anymore. It was oblivious what she was going to say next, she was going to taunt me more, remind me of all the bad things I did to her. Say what she is going to do to me, after having all these years to do it, she finally has the courage, blah, blah, blah.
She says exactly what I knew she was going to do; I see tears in her eyes, like she is lost. Taking her pain out on me seems to be healing her. She carries on speaking, I barely listen – all I want is my bloody cup of tea.
“You used to push me against a wall; you used to threaten me… Well now it is almost the opposite. Except I have a knife and you’re against the counter,” She smirks,
I feel the veins popping, my nails digging into the palm of my hand; I feel my blood leaking out of them, escaping me. She shows off her gorgeous white, straight teeth, I want to grab them, pull them out of her perfect mouth and stuff them up her ass. Instead, I raise my fist up and take swipe of her face. I feel my fist slide across her face; I feel her nose crack against the force.
She stares at me, she’s pissed off now. Blood is pouring from her nose. I feel my face grinning broadly.
“You’re going to fucking regret that honey.” She threatens
“I’m honey now? I thought I was a fat cow to you? Honey, whoa there is a difference!” I laugh,
She doesn’t see the funny side of it. I feel the blade being slightly pushed into my neck. Any further she would open up my skin. My tough side is fading away from me, I try to get a grip of my self – but I am just too damn scared that this nutter is really going to rip my throat open.
She starts to laugh feverishly, her hands tightly gripped around the knife’s handle. I’m starting to get really scared. I must have done something to her to make her the way she is right now. The way she is holding the knife, the look in her eyes, the sound of her laugh - she looks and sounds like she deserves a long rest in a mental home.
“Please, you are being really stupid here…” I say, trying not to make too much movement in my throat.
“Stupid?” She crackles, “I don’t think so, I have always been clever, you were jealous because you were so stupid. That is why you bully me, you’re just jealous!”
“Who would be jealous of you?” I snarl,
The cold metal is going further into my flesh, I flinch. It is hurting now, stinging. She’s laughing even more, her hand shaking. Sam comes up even close to me, until I smell her peppermint breath.
“You bitch; you’ll wish that you never touched me!” She spits,
She releases the knife and puts it on the counter behind me. I rub my neck, happy that I am still alive and kicking and I am not some piece of dead meat lying on the ground with neck cut open, blood spurting and veins hanging out.
She finds her way to the door and leaves without a goodbye. I stand there, still rubbing my sore neck. I raise my hand and see my self shaking. I can’t call the police; there has been too much history between us. I might be getting the fine, not her. I run into the bathroom, scared at what I might see. It isn’t that bad, there is a dent where the knife was, around it is just red - probably a rash from all the rubbing I did. A tear slowly falls down my cheeks. This has never happened to me, I feel scared, I feel like the way Sam did when I hurt her… threatened her! I take another glance of mirror before turning my back to it. I walk into the kitchen and start to boil the kettle, awaiting my tea which I should have got ten minutes ago.
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