Rebuilt For Revenge (Editing)

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Octavia POV:

"For the last time, it was self-defense!"

Matthews didn't even look up. "For the last time, no, it wasn't."

"Just accept it."

"I have accepted it. That's why you're cleaning the halls tomorrow."

I slammed my hands on his desk. "No, I am not. I already have a date this afternoon in the cafeteria. You're lucky I'm even going to turn up for that."

Matthews finally dragged his eyes up from the stack of papers he was repairing. "A date?" His tone was flat.

"Yes," I said with full confidence, even though "date" really meant mopping. "A date with destiny."

He gave me a long look, unimpressed. "You'll still be mopping tomorrow."

"What about those two brats who hit me first? Am I the only one getting punished here?"

"They're the mayor's daughters," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face like I was giving him wrinkles in real-time. "Unless you want me fired?"

I crossed my arms. "Let me punch them one more time and I'll consider us even."

Matthews finally looked up fully. His serious mask cracked for a second, like he couldn't decide if I was joking or genuinely psychotic. Probably both.

"Sorry, but I'd rather keep my job, thanks."

"They can't fire you," I shot back. "You're the guy. You've basically rebuilt this school with your bare hands. You're like... the school's duct tape. There's no replacing you."

He blinked. "Was that... a compliment?"

I groaned. "Don't get used to it."

A smirk tugged at his mouth before he forced it back into his usual scowl. "Thanks. But that compliment's not getting you out of cleaning."

"Damn it."

"Now leave. I'm almost finished with this and then I can finally go home."

"Am I still doing the hallways tomo—"

"Yes."

"In all four buildings?"

"Yes." He popped the "P" in "yep" like he was enjoying this.

"That'll take me forever."

"Then you'd better get some sleep tonight, hadn't you?" he said, and I swear I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I muttered a curse under my breath and stormed out.

-----------------------------

"Do you not know how to mop a floor?" I snapped an hour later, ducking as Blondie swung the dripping mop like it was a sword. Dirty water flew across the café and splattered on me and Trixi.

"Bitch!" Trixi shouted, grabbing a chair like she was about to go full WWE.

I yanked it out of her hands. "A chair is not the solution!"

Blondie ignored us and twirled the mop like he was auditioning for a budget Kung Fu movie.

"Put it down before you—" I ducked just in time as the mop head whooshed past my face. "—decapitate me."

"Oh, that's it." I stormed over to the bucket, grabbed another mop that had been soaking so long it looked waterlogged, and flicked it at him.

A wave of cold, soapy water hit him straight in the face. He spluttered, using his own mop to shield himself—forgetting that his mop was also soaking wet. Which meant he just made himself even wetter.