Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Right now, it doesn’t seem like she cares, pushing herself away from the wall she was leaning up against while waiting for me to get out of class. Has she been waiting here all this time? “I don’t have anything to say to you,” I announce. One of us needs to be the bigger person through all of this. I’m not going to sink to her level.
“That’s fine, because I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” she snaps, looking me up and down with disgust in her eyes. “So, what? Do you think you’ve won now? Is that what’s going through that stupid head of yours?”
It’s amazing, actually. I’ve always known she was sad and pathetic—I mean, who devotes so much of their life to making somebody else miserable if they have anything good going for themselves? But now it’s like I’m looking at her for the first time, really seeing her for who she is. Insecure, jealous, petty. I have to wonder what’s happening in her life that she feels she needs to be this way toward me.
Then again, my life has been fucked for years, and I don’t go around making it everybody else’s problem. There are only so many excuses to make for a person. “First you say you don’t want to hear anything that comes out of my mouth, then you ask me a question. Which one is it? Do you actually want an answer?”
Her head snaps back slightly like she didn’t expect me to retort. Maybe those days are gone. Maybe I can stand up for myself, after all. I’m not so alone anymore. Finally, I don’t have to be alone.
I lift my chin, meeting her gaze without blinking, silently daring her to do something about it. Let her try. It won’t go well, because at the end of the day, this is all about Tucker. She won’t gain anything by tormenting me.
“You disgusting, filthy fucking piece of trash,” she spits, getting in my face so I can feel the heat rolling off her. “It’s time for somebody to put you in your place.”
“Well, I guess you would know trash when you see it, right? I mean, you look in a mirror every day, don’t you?”
She can’t hide her shock any more than the people around us can hide their laughter. For once, the sound of it isn’t directed at me. I feel stronger, braver, and I can rest easy knowing this isn’t my fault. I didn’t approach her. I would be happy if I never saw her again.
Narrowing her eyes, she growls, “You bitch.”
It happens before I can brace myself. The force of her slap against my left cheek is hard enough to snap my head to the side. I’m only vaguely aware of the surprised gasps that ring out around us, a little too busy registering the sudden pain that explodes across my face and inside my skull.
What does she expect me to do? Am I supposed to crumple in a ball and beg her to stop? Or maybe she thought I would burst into tears and hide.
The truth is, she has no idea what she’s done because that is it. The final straw, the one that breaks the camel’s back for good. White hot, boiling rage explodes in my chest, consuming me.
Slowly, I turn my head, glaring at her, and she has the nerve to smirk… before I curl my fist and shoot it out as hard as I can.
I don’t know what’s better: the way she stumbles backward, or the absolute shock on her face when she does before covering her eye with her hand. “Fucking bitch!”
What am I supposed to do when she throws herself at me? The only thing I can do. I vent everything that’s built up in me, everything I’ve locked inside for much too long. The outrage and the pain, the loneliness, the heartbreak. The fear that nobody will ever understand me or want to be around me if they knew what I did.
It all comes out and so much more as I shove, kick, punch, and slap. By the time a pair of hands takes me by the shoulders and pulls me away from her, I’m panting for breath, snarling, ready to fight off whoever stopped me because this feels too damn good.
Only it’s a professor, not a student, and they look pretty pissed. “What is this, a wrestling ring or a school?”
Another professor is holding Tiana, who I have to say looks a lot worse than I feel. Her eye is already swelling shut after I landed that punch, her T-shirt torn at the neck and blood-stained. It’s only when I taste copper on my tongue that I realize it’s my blood, because she busted my lip.
I’ve never felt so triumphant in my life. I could almost sing. I’m so happy, because I felt something. Something real, something brutal and intense. And it’s amazing. I almost want to thank her for giving me the opportunity to experience this rush of pure exhilaration.