We're so Miserable and Stunning (Peterick AU)

Ch3 - The Bulls Are Sedated And This Fight's Fixed

"Where the fuck are you going?"

I sigh and stop. I was hoping to walk by him unnoticed. Alan. I've only run into him two other times, but that's a conscious effort. He's not a good guy -- the two times I've run into him were bad enough to land me in the hospital. The first time I sort of tried to keep him away from me, and the aftermath of that wasn't pretty. In fact, the state he put me in was probably the worst I've ever been in my life. I feel a bitterness rising in me as I think back to it. That was freshman year, he was a sophomore. The second time, I laid limp and waited for him to stop hitting me. That time wasn't as bad as the first, but I was still pretty fucked up.

Why is he so angry?

"Home?" I reply, trying to keep my cool. He turns to face me and flicks his eyes up and down me once. He smirks.

Shit.

He pulls back and punches me, and I'm staggering back with my hand over my nose before I know it. Hot blood runs down from my nostrils.

"Fuck," I say under my breath, drawing out the first letter. I wipe my nose and flick my hand out to the side, spattering blood onto the ground. I bring my hand back up to my nose to make sure it's not leaking anymore. Some still drips out, but I wipe it away again and suck a breath in through my nose. I feel and taste the blood slipping down my throat. I spit some out before looking back to Alan.

"What the fuck was that for?" Oops. Didn't really mean to say that. I admit; I tend to be impulsive.

"I don't like you." It's such a stupid answer I don't know what to say; I just kind of gawk at him. Unbelievable.

Apparently Alan's happy with that though, because he just hits me again. This time the blow lands somewhere in between my jaw and left cheek. The whole area explodes in pain, so I can't really pinpoint where his actual fist came in contact with my face. My head snaps back a little and I take a couple steps back again. I move my jaw down, which was probably a bad idea. I hear a slight pop-crack from my jaw.

Damn, this kid can hit though.

He sets his hands on my shoulders, and pulls me to him. As I'm pulled towards him, he lifts a knee up into my stomach. I gasp and cough. Then I'm on the ground, and his foot is against my stomach. I can't make any sound, I have no breath. I roll onto my side, my backpack a few feet away from me. It came off when he tossed me on the ground. I clutch my stomach, trying to roll myself into a ball. He kicks at me, hitting me anywhere from my legs up to my head. Again and again.

I should stop walking behind the school.

"Get up," he spits at me. I groan and gasp, holding my stomach and making no effort to get up. "I said, get the fuck up," he says angrily, grabbing the front of my shirt and wrapping his fist in it, pulling my face close to his. He looks at me menacingly, and I almost want to laugh. It means nothing, nothing means anything. I drag myself to my feet, standing slumped.

"Come on," he says, punching me in the stomach, "I want you to fight back."

His fist lands against my stomach again, and again, and just as I think he might punch straight through me, he takes a step back. His brown hair, usually parted down the middle, is hanging down over his eyes a little. He's breathing just a little heavier than normal while I'm over here spitting up my guts.

Speaking of which, I might vomit if he hits me in the stomach again. I lean against the back wall of the school, my hand over my stomach. I breathe through my mouth, my nose clogged - by dried blood, presumably. Alright. I take it back. This matters. This sucks.