Anger Issues

*Author's note: This is just me trying to develop a character better. This may appear in a future story, it may not. Give me feedback, I really need it!*

“Hello! Archer, my good friend!”

I took a sharp intake of breath. Calm, calm. I could do this. I had gone two weeks fight-free. I could do this, I could do this. I marched past the doorway where my tormentor was waiting, pushed through the crowds and forced myself to continue to my locker.

“Williams, didn't you hear me?” Jake called from behind me. He insisted on keeping the mock kindness get-up going, as usual.

Jake Berenson.

Oh, how I hated the guy. The trouble with Jake was that he wasn’t dumb like most bullies are. He was actually quite smart, rich, and handsome. It must have been boring to be as perfect as Jake, because in his free time, he would harass me. Jake knows about my issues, and even though I try (oh, gosh, do I try) not to let him get under my skin, he always knew the right buttons to push that get my blood boiling. Why me? Because he knew that no matter what I did, I couldn’t keep myself from a fight. And if I ever tried to blame it on him, no one would believe that perfect Berenson would ever do such a thing. But Archer? Oh, yeah. It’s always my fault. Always.

I rushed to my locker and fumbled with the lock combination. I was having trouble focusing on the numbers. I missed the final number two times and had to start over. I cursed my ADHD. How hard was it to hit three simple numbers? Come on... 5, 27, 16.

“My feelings are hurt.” Jake whispered right in my ear, startling me. My hand jerked and I missed the numbers again. I slammed my palm against my locker and muttered some words that could have gotten me detention. I pulled off my backpack and threw it to the ground, whirling around to face Jake.

He grinned at me, his perfectly straight teeth gleaming.

“What do you want?” I growled. “I really don’t have time for this.”

He tilted his head and brushed his golden-brown hair out of his eyes with one hand. Brown eyes gleaming with mischief, he crossed his muscular arms over his chest and stared and me.

“It seems like you don’t have any time to talk to me anymore, Archer. What’s wrong? Don’t you miss me?”

I clenched my jaw and turned my back on him as I tried yet again to open my locker. I was going to be late for my first class, Spanish.

I finally opened my locker. I shoved my book bag inside and grabbed my items for class.

Without looking at Jake, I slammed the locker door and started down the hallway, trying to keep a calm, confident stride. The students standing in groups in the hall parted around me, shooting wide-eyed, cautious glances in my direction. They reminded me of sheep, herded together in nervous packs. My temper was legendary, and everyone knew that this was my second try at eighth grade. Jake had made sure to that as soon as he had known. Jake was an adored idol among the student body, despite his cruelty towards me. Even though Jake was asking for it every time, even though I had never done anything to provoke an attack, the students and teachers believed that I was the bad guy, the bully. Whatever, I would tell myself. You hate human contact anyway.
And I did. Right?

Jake came around and began walking backwards in front of me, his smug smile glued onto his perfect face. I took another deep breath. Calm, calm...

“So.” Jake said, his tone conversational. Uh oh. That was never good. “How’s the Spanish coming? Mr. Combs told me it has been difficult on you. You may not pass.”

My eyes widened. How did he know that? Never mind, I already knew. I shook my head in disgust. He was such a suck-up when he needed to be, he could get information out of anyone. I continued walking, trying and failing to ignore him.

“How are you failing Spanish? What with being Mexican and all...”

“I’m not Mexican, I am Spanish. Get your facts right, Spain is in Europe.” I snapped.

Jake snorted. “Whatever, Mexico, Spain, you speak the same thing, and you’re failing it!”

I was born in America. I was sick of trying to explain my background to Jake. I had a feeling that he ignored the truth so he could feel free to make whatever stereotypes he wished about me. Being a third generation Spaniard, though I may have looked like I spoke Spanish, I did not.

“You may even have to retake eighth grade a third time. My goodness, buddy, you really need to get your act together! You must love middle school, to stick around this long, correct?” He noticed my lack of response. His smirk grew larger.

“Your silence tells everything. You do like school, don’t you? I know why.” He leaned in closer. I recoiled and tried to walk around him, but he blocked my way. I tried to go the other direction, but Jake had somehow cornered me against the wall in an empty side hallway. My shoulders slumped as I accepted that I would have to listen to whatever twisted story about me he had written. I leaned my head back against the cool stone of the wall and closed my eyes in frustration. I was going to be late.

“Your parents. That’s why you like it here.”

I jerked in surprise and anger.

“You know nothing about my parents.” I sneered. He didn’t. How could he?

Jake waggled a finger. “Ah, but I do.” His smile became hard and his brown eyes sparkled with spite. He was no longer being mischievous. He was actually going to try and hurt me now. I gritted my teeth in apprehension. When Jake got like this, well, let’s just say it never ended well for either of us.

“I know that your parents work day and night, that you practically raise yourself. I know that when your father is home, he’s drunk. A disgusting, slimy drunk. Wasting what little money you have to buy booze. Poor Archer.”

I pushed off from the wall and glared at him. “Shut up.”

Argh, he’s doing it again! Gotta get away, I thought. Don’t let him drag you in. Just get to class. I began to walk down the hall. Jake let me pass, but his grin was still there. That horrible smile. I just wanted to wipe it off his smug face. I forced myself to continue. Almost there. One more hallway and I would be free.

“Do you fight at school because you can’t fight Daddy?” Jake called.

I froze and looked at him. “What?"

“Or are you just looking for attention?” Jake mused. He had a mock thoughtful expression on his face.

Just keep walking! my conscience screamed. But I couldn’t help it. He had me. My anger was getting a tight grip on me. I took a step toward him.

“I know that you are failing at school as well as in every other area of your miserable life. You are the perfect example of someone who is going to end up in prison, broke, and alone.”

I gave him a small smile to hide my pain. “Are you sure you aren’t talking about yourself?” I retorted.

Jake just grinned. “When you’re in prison, I will be sure to visit you, show you what a screw up you are compared to everyone else. I mean, look at you now!” He looked me up and down and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Not much to look at, really, and certainly not very smart. It’s no wonder your dad drinks.”

My breath began to come in short gasps. No, no, no, no. I took another step forward. We were about two meters apart. I set my books on the ground and clenched my fists.

“What did you just say?” I whispered.

Jake bared his perfect teeth, leaned in, and whispered back, “It’s no wonder your dad drinks.” He straightened and looked me right in the eye.

“If I had a failure of a son like you, I would too.”

One more step. Another.

Don’t do it!

He insulted my parents and me. My lifestyle, my money, my learning disabilities.

He will be seen as the victim. What will it accomplish?

What more could I lose?

Another step.

Please...

Jake saw the confliction in my head and winked. The rage swelled inside me until all I could see was his smirking, idiotic face taunting my every move.

I charged.